Page 87 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“I can tell. Even if you’re not showing, which you aren’t. I can just tell.”

“I don’t know,” I tell her, sitting back down closely enough that we can talk without anyone hearing.

“Mommy, I want more fruit pouch,” the toddler says, tugging on her shirt.

“Okay, baby, one second,” she sighs. Then she hands the bottle to me and grabs an applesauce.

“Is it really that obvious?” I ask, cradling the baby and running the nipple of the bottle along her bottom lip. She takes it, frowns, fusses a little (probably at the temperature of it, like her mom said) and then gives in, sucking hungrily.

“Intuition, I think. But also, yes. You’ve touched your stomach multiple times since I met you, a telltale usually,” she says as she sets up snacks for the toddler.

“I have?” I ask with obvious shock. “I didn’t even realize.”

She just smiles and sits back, visibly appreciative of the help. And honestly, I don’t mind feeding the baby at all. In fact, the way it gives me a job with purpose, it’s a nice slowdown from the things going on around me. It’s soothing. “It’s a subconscious thing,” she goes on to say. “Almost like even if you don’t feel pregnant yet, your body knows you are. Your heart knows you are.”

I blink back the tears that have apparently formed in my eyes. “Sorry,” I say, shaking my head.

“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s a wonderful, overwhelming, life-changing thing,” she says.

“It’s just…” I bite my lip and lower my voice, my eyes meeting hers. “He doesn’t know.”

“Oh.” She nods empathetically. “And I don’t know when to tell him because it wasn’t planned, and I don’t even know what he’s going to say or think.”

“But you love each other,” she says. “That much is obvious. I’m sure he’ll be a little shocked. Then he’ll come around. The good ones always do. And watching Morgan Bale recently, he’s definitely one of the good ones.”

On cue, I hear his voice behind me. He’s helping the medics with an older couple that are clearly struggling. While they work, he’s on his knees working with them.

I swallow hard. Because she’s right. Despite what I assumed in the beginning, Morgan Bale is very much one of the good ones. And honestly, that scares me even more.

“Alright, who wants a blanket?” the dad asks as he approaches again. I pass the baby and the bottle off to the mom before standing up.

“Scarlett brought us dinner,” she says with a smile.

“That’s amazing,” the man says.

“Oh, it’s hardly dinner,” I say modestly of the fruit, crackers, meat, cheese, and, of course–

“Applesozzzz,” the toddler says with half of it dripping down her chin.

“It’s more than enough. Thank you,” the man says, and I smile before making my way back towards the kitchen.

“Alright, what else can I do?” I ask as the door swings shut behind me. “Give me something to do.”

“Did you eat your sandwich?” Tongs man asks.

“I took a bite,” I tell him.

“Eat your sandwich,” he says. “You can’t pour from an empty cup.”

I open my mouth to say something in return, something just as salty. But honestly, he’s right. I’ve been traveling all day, stressed about the storm and hardly eaten anything. So I do as I am told, sitting on an apple crate in the corner (something I seem to be making a habit of, it seems). While I munch on the sandwich, the woman’s words replay in my mind, as well as the cook’s words too.

One of the good ones.

Like his dad.

I know a little about the Bale story. A husband and wife who created an empire. But I don’t know the full story. And I can’t help but want to know, all things considered. So I pull my phone out and look it up.

Article after article appears, and I weed through the ones that are just gossip and speculation until I get to the root of the story.