Free The Billionaire's Reluctant Pregnant Bride: A BWWM Romance by Imani King Page B

chest. I think she would, too, if doing so wouldn’t potentially compromise the health of a possible future Easterbrook.
    “Let me make one thing clear,” Priscilla Easterbrook begins, “If that child is indeed my son’s, it will be raised as an Easterbrook. My grandchild will be raised properly.”
    “What exactly are you saying?” I ask slowly.
    Her nostrils flare. “I know what you’re doing. You have manipulated my only son. Maybe it is through trickery. In fact, I have reviewed the situation and ascertained it must have all been a calculated move on your part—however, I cannot discount the possibility that all this was all due to one reckless mistake made after another. Well, at least without proof I cannot discount it. In any event, it does not matter. You have already damaged my son’s heart. I will not have you hurting him any more. And, even more importantly, I will not allow my precious grandchild to be used as a pawn in your selfish schemes.”
    She pauses, as if she’s expecting me to say something. Well, alright, I will. But there is really only one thing I can say to all of that. “What?”
    “Don’t you dare try to lie to me,” she says. “I know your kind. Young and beautiful. ‘Artistic.’ You probably squat over a canvas and squirt paint all over it in some manner that resembles your menses, and then proceed to sell the monstrosity to wealthy men so burdened by their ennui that they are able to force their broken, desperate minds to find meaning in anything.”
    Um…what? WHAT?!?!?! What kind of art was this lady looking at?
    Her lips thin. “I know you think you will receive more in a divorce settlement, but you needn’t bother. I simply will not allow Preston to get married without a prenuptial agreement. If the child is my son’s, I am willing to overlook your character, but only for the sake of my grandchild. In exchange for granting us custody, you will be receive a generous stipend and visitation rights. I think that one weekend every quarter shall be sufficient, excluding holidays, of course, which the child will spend with the Easterbrook family. You will be expected to visit whether you want to or not—I will not have the child thinking you abandoned him or her. However, at the same time, I do not want them to become overly attached.”
    Under the table, my hands are trembling. “You expect me to give you my child?”
    She regards me dismissively. “It is best for both of you. You may continue with your artistic…well, I don’t want to call them ambitions, but I suppose I must. Still, you will be able to live out your life in luxury which is what you wanted in the first place, wasn’t it? Here.” She groans as she tosses a mountain of paperwork almost as big as the bouquet on the table. “Sign this.”
    I grit my jaw. “No.”
    Her perfect eyebrows rise. “No?”
    “No. I’m not even going to look at it.”
    She crosses her legs. “Maybe you should. This offer will not last forever. If you try to marry my son, I will make your life a legal hell.”
    “I don’t think you understand. I appreciate your concern for my child’s welfare. And, should he or she be Preston’s, I have no doubt you will be a formidable grandmother. But while my child may grow up with the privilege of an Easterbrook, he or she will also grow up with the love of a Jones.”
    “Are you suggesting I do not love my own?” Priscilla Easterbrook sneers.
    “No. That’s not what I’m suggesting. However, I don’t think that you have the right to get an attitude with me when you are the one who invited me here, and it was just to condescend my family, question my motives, and doubt my love for my child.”
    She studies me again. “You do not fool me. This isn’t over.”
    “I didn’t think it was,” I say, standing.
    Just then, the door bursts open. The most beautiful blond haired, blue eyed young woman I’ve ever seen bursts through.
    “Oh God, mother,” she exclaims. “Preston and