All the things I’ve been dying to say to him since I saw those pictures online stick in my throat.
“Hey,” I say. Quiet and unsure now.
He runs his hand through his wild, long hair. “Hey.” His eyes slide away.
“She didn’t mean what she said upstairs. What you heard.” I wish I could leave it at this. The part of me that hates confrontation, that always wants to be nice and kind and never make people uncomfortable, cringes.
But I need to say this for Belle, even if my emotions are tempered.
“She’s upset because she was looking forward to you coming home early. We made a special dinner. She even decorated a sign. She’s been missing you a lot, and with her background with her mom, she struggles to trust because she’s afraid to be disappointed.”
“Fuck,” he says and lets out a breath. “But I didn’t—I never promised her—”
“You told me you were going to be home early. I took you at your word and told her you’d be home.”
“Dammit.” He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t even raise his voice, but there’s simmering emotion in those soft-spoken words. “I’d planned on it. But the schedule got shot to hell today. That happens.” His eyes narrow. “Which is why I never told Belle I would be home early. And I never toldyouto tell her.”
I feel his frustration coming off him in waves. In the time I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him anything but calm. His reserve keeps his emotions behind an icy barrier, away from the world. But that reserve is cracking.
I sift through the words of our conversation. “But you never told menotto tell Belle. And you didn’t look like you were suffering in the pictures of you partying it up with yourfriend.”
His stormy eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw it online. The model was sitting on your lap while you were doing shots.”
He takes a half step forward. “What were you doing looking me up online?”
Some of the heat leaves me, and guilt and embarrassment surge up. “I was trying to find out why you were delayed. You didn’t answer my texts, and I didn’t know what to tell Belle.”
“She’s not myfriend, as you call her. She has a part in the movie. I didn’t get your texts. My phone has been having trouble getting a signal lately. I’m sorry if you couldn’t get through to me. But I gave you backup numbers. You could have called them and talked to me directly.”
Silence echoes around us as he looks down, and I can almost hear him counting to ten. He finally lifts his head, his gaze meets mine, and I feel chilled all over. “I don’t like drama.” His tone is as icy as his eyes. “You didn’t need to stalk social media in an attempt at playing gotcha. What’s happening here?”
“Nothing’s happening,” I say, defensive now. “But the news said you wrapped early and there was a party. It looked like you were having areallygood time.”
“Some people finished early and let off steam.” His normally quiet voice goes hard. “I didn’t. It’s Francesca’s birthday, so there was a cake and shots. Francesca is sleeping with Sebastian, not me. I don’t know what pictures you saw, but she likes attention and she likes to flirt, especially when she’s been drinking. I shut her down and left the second I finished my last scene.”
My anger dissipates, and I’m left deflated. My anger was for Belle. But I can’t lie to myself. A part of it was also fueled by jealousy.
Because I like him, darn it.
The big jerk.
I stare at him, trying to make sense of my conflicting emotions.
Frustration is evident in his weary-looking eyes.
“Maybe I should have taken her up on her offer,” he says softly. “I haven’t had a single damn day or night to myself in months. So if I want to stay out all night and get laid, I can.” He stares down at me with barely contained tension.
And just like that, my anger is back in full force.
I advance on him. “No. You. Can’t.” With each word, I poke him in the chest. “You have a little girl upstairs who is devastated because she’s been waiting for you all day. I know you’re working insane hours. And I’m sorry if I told her you’d be home when maybe I shouldn’t have. I know you’re burned-out and exhausted. I get it. But you have to do better if you don’t want to damage Belle any more than what her mom has already done.”
I lean even closer until I feel the heat of him. “Beneath all her cuteness and her spunk, she’s sad and lonely and vulnerable. She needs you. What she doesn’t need is to feel like an afterthought. She’s already been dumped by one parent. She might not continue to be the same loving little girl if her heart gets broken again, and this time by her father. It might not be your fault, but life isn’t fair, and it’s up to you to fix this. A movie or some hookup is not more important than your daughter’s heart, so you are just going to have to figure it out.”
Ronan is frozen. Is he angry, in pain, or just annoyed that the temporary nanny overstepped her bounds?
I can’t regret what I’ve said, even if I wish I’d had more tact. But I stand by the truth of my words because I’m trying to protect Belle. And though Ronan doesn’t realize it, I’m trying to protect him as well. Because, despite everything, I know he wants to be a good father, and in the long run, it will shatter him if he fails his daughter.
