by Monroe, Max
Although, with news breaking of our engagement, I didn’t exactly make it through my errands without spotting a few cameras being pointed in my direction.
Luca’s and my love story has become a whole fairy-tale kind of thing.
Famous actor falls in love with a lowly production assistant.
So much so, that I snagged a copy of a gossip magazine with Luca’s face on it from one of the racks near the checkout because the headline—Luca Weaver Engaged: Has Hollywood’s Baddest Boy Been Tamed?—made me giggle.
I don’t know that Luca is the type of man that can ever be tamed, so to speak, but I don’t want to tame him. I just want him to be mine forever.
The diamond ring on my left ring finger shines a reminder, and I wiggle it around a little and grin.
Apparently, Harris luck is on my side.
With three reusable grocery bags in tow, I head into the kitchen. “Lucky, I’m home!” I shout as I toss the bags onto the counter, but I don’t get any response.
“Luca! I’m home! Where are you?” I call out again, even louder this time, and begin to unpack my grocery bags.
About a month ago, I officially moved in with Luca—into the LA house he was renting but now owns—and while I love this house, I really do, it’s too fucking big for just two people and a dog. Hence the need to yell really loud.
Yeah, but that might change soon…
“Upstairs, princess!” he finally shouts back. “Just got out of the shower!”
Once all my bags are unpacked, I take one particular item and hide the box under my shirt. It’s the main reason why I ended up going to the grocery store today, but a reason I’m trying not to think too much about until I know for sure.
I don’t waste any time heading into the bathroom off the entry hallway and locking the door behind me.
Box torn open.
Instructions read.
I do my business and set the stick on the counter next to the sink.
Just two minutes.
In two minutes, I will know.
Holy moly. Nerves flutter around inside my belly, and I just stand there, tapping the toe of my sandal on the tile floor and staring at the timer I set on my phone.
Two minutes have never felt so long in my life.
The sounds of Luca padding down the stairs fill my ears, and I double-check to make sure the door is locked. I don’t know why, but I just need to know the results before I tell him what’s going on.
“Billie?” he calls out. “Where the hell are you?”
“In the bathroom! Be out in a sec!”
I hold my breath as the timer counts down the last five seconds.
Five…four…three…two…one…
Eyes to the stick.
Pregnant.
Oh my god, I’m pregnant.
I have a baby—Luca’s baby—growing in my belly, right now.
Holy moly, this was not in the plans. I mean, I am on birth control, but apparently, said birth control wasn’t controlling much of anything about eight weeks ago…
My eyes go wide, and I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
And then I put a hand to my belly and gaze down at my fingers.
There is a baby inside there. My baby. Our baby. Inside me.
Hell’s bells, I knew I was feeling off for the past few weeks, but this is just about the most unexpected news I’ve ever received.
With only two weeks left of filming, I recently found out from Serena that I am going to be working with her permanently, and Luca already has another movie lined up in the winter.
He’ll be on location in Australia for eight freaking weeks.
And then, after that, we were going to try to fit in our wedding and honeymoon and…now I’m pregnant.
Am I ready for a baby?
I stare down at my belly again and I can’t deny I’m a bit terrified, but I’m also really fucking happy. Incredibly blissed-out, to be honest.
Now, I just have to tell my future husband that, even though we were not planning on having a baby right now, Surprise! We’re having a baby.
Oh boy. Deep breaths. It will all be okay.
With the stick in my hand, I step out of the bathroom and head to the kitchen.
When I spot Luca standing near the island, I start to open my mouth, but I shut it quickly when I realize he’s on the phone.
“God, Rocky,” he says. “It’s so good to hear from you. I’m pretty sure I’ve left you one million voice mails since I managed to get your new number.”
Holy shit. Rocky. His sister.
He nods his head and smiles. “I know. I’m a real fucking prick. I’m sorry it took me this long to get my head out of my ass, but I…” He nods.
“Yeah, I know. I mean, I’ve only been trying to get ahold of you for what feels like fucking forever, but eight years was a long fucking time for me to be MIA. No doubt, I definitely deserved the silent treatment. Probably deserved more than just that, to be honest.” A laugh leaves his lungs. “I think it’s time we put all our bullshit aside for my niece or nephew, don’t you?” He pauses and then nods as he talks again. “Yeah. I heard you were pregnant back in May. Figured you’d had the baby by now.” He smiles hugely then. “A girl…? What’s her name…? Holy shit, she’s already four months old? Goddamn. Congrats, sis, I’m so happy for you.”
Is it just me or is the baby thunder feeling really fucking loud right now?
“Wait…” He pauses, and his brow furrows. “Yeah, I heard it was some guy from New York.” Suddenly, he stops pacing and looks down at the counter, his eyes turning heated in a way I haven’t seen them since the day I stepped up on his Alaskan porch uninvited. “I must be hearing you wrong because I could’ve sworn you said Harrison Hughes, and there’s no fucking way that’s right. I know, out of all the fucks in the world, there’s no fucking way you’d have gone and had a baby with that asshole.”
Luca’s jaw goes tight. “What the fuck, Rocky?” He pulls the phone away from his face and scowls before tossing it onto the counter with a thud.
Jesus Christ. What is happening right now?
I know he doesn’t have any sort of respect for phones, but this isn’t the way I expected the call with his sister to end.
He stands there at the kitchen island with both of his palms resting on the counter and his eyes staring straight at the ground.
“So…” I say quietly, and he looks up to meet my eyes. “What’s going on?”
“My sister called,” he says. “She’s still a bit pissed at me, which is understandable,” he updates. “But now I’m fucking pissed at her. The guy you couldn’t remember? He’s my Charles. My fucking childhood nemesis, the worst fucking kid I’ve ever met in my life. And he’s my baby niece’s father.”
“Seriously?” I ask and realize the stick is still in my hands. Oh shit. Quickly, I hide it behind my back. “Sounds like a lot of information to process.”
Probably not a good time to let you know that’s not the only baby you need to worry about.
“Yeah.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “But I can’t deny that she sounded really fucking happy.”
“I’m glad you finally got in touch with her.”
“Me too. She said she’d call me again when I’d had time to calm down.” He smiles. “I guess she still knows me pretty well.”
I nod.
When his eyes spot the magazine on the counter, he laughs. “I see you got everything you needed at the grocery store.”
I giggle. “Yep.”
“Hollywood’s Baddest Boy,” he states and rolls his eyes. “This headline is ridiculous.”
“Personally, I like it,” I retort. “I mean, I’m the one who’s taming Hollywood’s Baddest Boy. It makes me feel like a total badass.”
Luca laughs and walks around the kitchen island to pull me into his arms.
But when I wrap only one of my arms around him, he glances behind my back. “What’s in your hand?”
Oh shit. I
slip the stick into the back pocket of my jeans.
“Nothing.”
“I just saw you put something your pocket.” Luca grins down at me. “What are you hiding, you little liar?”
Oh, boy—or girl—here we go…
Luca
“Uh…see… It’s kind of a funny story…” She pauses and pulls out one of the stools near the kitchen island. “But maybe, just maybe, you should sit down first before I tell you.”
I narrow my eyes. “C’mon, princess. What is it?”
“Probably not optimal timing,” she mutters, and I start to step toward her.
“No, no, no,” she says, shaking her head and pointing one index finger toward the chair. “Sit down first, and I’ll tell you.”
“You’re either being super dramatic right now, or I should be concerned. I’m not sure which.”
“Luca,” she whines.
“Fine,” I say and sit my ass down on the stool. “I’m sitting.”
“Okay,” she says, and I watch as she takes a big, deep breath into her lungs and exhales it slowly. “So, I was feeling a little off…well, a lot off, and I…” She pauses again.
“Princess. C’mon. What’s going on?”
She doesn’t respond with words. Instead, she pulls something out of her back pocket and hands it to me. “Here.”
I look down at the white stick in my hand, and one word stares back at me—Pregnant.
Wait a minute…
I shut my eyes.
Am I seeing things?
Then I open them again.
Pregnant.
Nope. Definitely not seeing things.
I move my eyes from the stick to Billie, back to the stick, until finally, back to Billie.
Her teeth worry against her bottom lip, and there’s uncertainty in her eyes.
“Princess, does this mean what I think this means?”
She nods.
“We’re going to have a baby?”
“It looks like, not only are you an uncle, but you’re going to be…a dad,” she whispers.
I’m on my feet and pulling her into my arms.
And I just hold her there, tight in my embrace. My nose is in her hair, breathing in the soft scent of her flowery shampoo, and my heart is pounding wildly inside my chest.
My baby is inside this woman’s belly.
“Are you happy?” she asks me, her voice hardly a whisper.
I lean back and stare into Billie’s eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this overwhelmed by happiness in my whole fucking life.”
A fresh sheen of tears fogs her pretty eyes. “You’re not mad, then?”
“Princess, why on earth would I be mad?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs one petite shoulder. “I mean, we have so much going on right now with work and planning a wedding and making amends with your sister, and, well, I was worried it might just be a lot to wrap your mind around.”
“If you ask me…” I smile down at the woman I love. The woman who is my whole fucking world. “I think our life is pretty fucking perfect right now.”
“Me too.” Her responding smile reaches out and touches my heart. Billie stands on her tippy toes to press a small kiss to my lips. “I love you.”
I reach down and pull her into my arms again. “I love you too.”
After over four months of trying to get in touch with Rocky, I finally hear from her and find out that not only do I have a niece, but the father is a guy I pretty much hated when we were kids.
And now, my soon-to-be wife, my Billie, is pregnant too.
Goddamn, what a day.
But it’s a great day. A fantastic day.
Besides the whole “I’m probably going to have to beat the shit out of Rocky’s baby daddy when I see him” dilemma, I couldn’t ask for a better fucking day.
Or a better life.
Thank everything for my Billie.
THE END
Do you love Luca and Billie and want more Hollywood rom-coms from Max Monroe?
Have no fear, girlfriend! Our next release will be just that! And, even better news, you won’t have to wait long! Coming this spring! Stay tuned to our social media and subscribe to our newsletter for more info very soon!
Do you need more from Max Monroe RIGHT NOW?
Don’t worry, girl, we’ve got you covered!
If you’re in the mood for some more sweet, sexy, swoony, and downright hilarious rom-com, we know just the book for you!
The Billionaire Boss Next Door
This is the first stand-alone romantic comedy in our Billionaire Collection and, trust us, this book is going to make you laugh your a$$ off!
You are going to love, love, love Trent & Greer!
But if you need a little convincing, a little excerpt to whet your reading taste buds, so to speak, keep reading for a sneak peek of your next must-read!
Stay up-to-date with our characters and us by signing up for our newsletter
You may live to regret much, but we promise it won’t be this.
Seriously, we make it fun!
Character conversations about royal babies, parenting woes, embarrassing moments, and shitty horoscopes are just the beginning!
If you’re already signed up, consider sending us a message to tell us how much you love us. We really like that. ;)
Follow us online:
Facebook
Reader Group
Twitter
Instagram
Goodreads
My name is Thatcher Kelly, but my friends call me Thatch. You might know me, or, if you’re new here, you might not.
So, I’ll just take this time to tell you about myself.
I—and pretty much everyone else—would describe myself as an insanely handsome, crazy successful, addictively charming, and irresistible man of many talents.
I’m confident, maybe to the point of cocky, but I’m not the kind of guy who gets lost in the logistics of people’s opinions.
I take life by the balls. I live without regrets or hesitancy. I do what I want, whenever I want, without fear of judgment or societal constraints.
Basically, if Lenny Kravitz were an insanely successful billionaire banker and had an extra two inches of length behind his zipper, he’d be me. Now, I’m no bullshitter—or rock god, for that matter—but what I lack in musical expertise, I more than make up for in all aspects of giving pleasure.
I’m aces at fucking. Amazing with my tongue.
And so damn generous with gifting orgasms, you might as well call me Santa Thatch.
Simply put, I’m all the good and delicious things.
But before you start licking your lips and getting amped up to know me, I need to tell you one very important thing: this story isn’t mine to tell. It’s not even about me, really.
I know. I know. What a fucking disappointment, right?
But I’ve had my time, and now, I’m told, it’s best if I pass the torch.
And I guess, if I have to give up the limelight, there’s no better person than the guy in this story to turn it over to.
See, while I’m not the main player in this game, one of the best guys I know is.
And, while I know it would be considered “mannerly” to tell you his name, I’ve never really been one to play by the rules. Plus, I’m a big fan of surprises and teasing, if I’m being honest.
But don’t worry, I never tease without the certainty of satisfaction and pleasure in the end. With me, a little teasing goes a long, long, big huge climax way.
So, what can I tell you about the leading fella of this little tale?
With a chiseled jaw, svelte physique, and striking green eyes, he’s almost as attractive as me. He’s got a great sense of humor and impeccable taste—he knows me, after all—and a heart of fucking gold.
He’s a bit of a workaholic, but he’s smart as a fucking whip.
This mystery man is the kind of eligible bachelor that would’ve made Prince Harry look like a British schmuck
before he committed himself to one beautiful American for the rest of his life.
No offense to the royal ginger, but he ain’t got nothing on my homeboy.
And if the world’s hospitality industry were stationed in Buckingham Palace, this guy wouldn’t even be Harry. No way. He’s a William all the fucking way.
His last name stands for a billion-dollar empire, and my buddy will one day take the throne and be in control of all of it. We’re talking the kind of success and appeal that would give that dude who hosts The Bachelor a boner.
Yeah, Chris Hansen would definitely tent his pants over this guy.
Wait. Is Chris Hansen the host for The Bachelor, or is he the one who catches sex predators in a staged kitchen with cookies and Kool-Aid?
Meh. It doesn’t really matter.
What matters is Mr. Mystery.
All he needs is a woman who can show him there’s life outside of the office.
To help him let loose. To challenge him.
To bust his balls and call him on his bullshit.
A sexy, curvaceous woman to blow his fucking mind.
And you know what? I have a feeling, a gut instinct so to speak, that just might be what he gets…
This might be my perfect, addictive, literary greatness of an introduction, but this is one hundred percent his story. And hers too.
Fluffing hell, guys. You’re in for one hell of a ride.
Greer
It’s the end of December—otherwise known as the Bermuda Triangle of the calendar—and still, I find myself outside of my bed, wearing business attire rather than pajamas, and acting as a functioning member of society.
Insanity, I tell you.
A notification pings on my phone, and I snag it from my kitchen counter to glance at the screen. After spending the entire night in my office—with the door locked because, you know, weirdos—and then rushing home with exactly one hour to pack a suitcase, I’m praying the news from Uber isn’t grim.
“Don’t say known for great conversation, don’t say known for great conversation, don’t say known for great conversation,” I chant to myself.