“No fucking clue,” he says, “but the baby is mine.” He swallows thickly. “I’m a father.”
“Cheers,” I say, pouring us each two fingers of whiskey. “To fatherhood.”
We clink glasses, and as I drink mine, I picture what Brielle would look like, carrying my baby. Lorenzo might be devastated that he’s stuck with Hillary as the mother of his child, but I want nothing more than for Brielle to have my babies … sooner rather than later.
16
Brielle
I saunter into the house,pretending like I don’t have a care in the world, even though, deep down, I kind of feel guilty for buying Nicole a new car with Kane’s credit card.
The idea popped into my head when we left to go shopping and Nicole mentioned that her father had taken her car back, stating that her choosing not to fall in line with his expectations meant she needed to do it all on her own.
I commend her for doing what she wants, regardless of the consequences. I wish I were as strong as she is. She knows what she wants, and she’s going after it—hence her following her dream of opening a coffee shop and bookstore.
In Harbor Point, you need a vehicle. We don’t have public transportation, like the big cities do, and getting a rideshare is ridiculous. So, rather than go to the boutiques to buy more clothes neither of us needed, I asked her what car she loved and then took her to the dealership to buy it for her. She argued, but I was persistent, and when the dealership said they had to get approval, I figured Kane would refuse, but when he approved the purchase, I told Nicole even Kane wanted her to have the new car.
She cried, and I was glad to have given her something she needed—not that she needed a two hundred-thousand-dollar car, but now, at least when her shitty father sees her, it’ll be a slap in his face because fuck him for trying to screw over my best friend.
“Good evening,” Kane says calmly, making me jump.
He’s changed out of his suit into a pair of gray sweats and a T-shirt, and I hate that he looks just as hot dressed down as he does dressed up.
When I glance behind him, the table is set up for two, complete with candles in the center.
“What’s this for?” I ask carefully, trying to gauge what kind of trap I’m walking into.
“Dinner.” He grins. “I’d like to say I made it, but I’m not the best cook, so I had the chef from The Terrace make it since you’d seemed to enjoy the food there.”
“Why?” I blurt out.
Kane quirks a brow. “Can’t I have a romantic dinner with my future wife?”
He steps over to the chair and pulls it out for me, and I walk over. Since I haven’t eaten dinner, I give in and have a seat, letting him push my chair in.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Kane asks, lifting the bottle.
“Is it poisoned?”
“No.” He chuckles. “Not unless you consider a bottle of 2009 Château Lafite Rothschild poison.”
He pours us each a glass and then takes a sip to prove I won’t keel over if I drink it.
“So, how was your day?” he asks, lifting the metal lid off his food.
It’s filet and lobster with risotto and it looks mouthwatering.
“It was good,” I tell him, playing along.
I’m starved, and I’d like to eat this delicious meal before we ruin it with an argument.
“What did you do?”
I glare his way, and he chuckles.
“Fair enough. You bought a new car. Though I’m surprised you bought a Nissan when you love your Porsche.”
“It wasn’t for me,” I admit, preparing for an argument. “I told you I was buying Nicole a maid-of-honor gift.”
