Noah, clearly happy to be the center of attention of both his parents, obliges eagerly.
Dante makes sure I’m comfortable on one side of Noah before he hops onto the other side of the bed.
Noah looks between us with a grin splitting his face. “I’m glad you’re home, Mommy.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” I kiss the top of his head. “I missed you.”
“And I’m glad you became my daddy,” he says to Dante.
The softness in Dante’s eyes when he looks at his son always catches me off guard. The way he behaves toward Noah sneaks into my heart when I have my defenses lowered and wreaks havoc with my hormones.
Dante brushes a hand over Noah’s head. “I’ve always been your father, and I will always be.”
Noah considers that for a moment before nodding to himself as if he’s decided to accept a fact that will never change. No matter what happens between Dante and me, Dante will always be a good father to Noah.
“Can we have pizza this weekend?” Noah pipes up.
Laughing, Dante looks at me.
The dark look in his eyes as his gaze plays over my face makes my stomach flip. Dante has always been too handsome for any woman’s good. Yet it’s not only his physical appearance that appeals to me. I fell for his dark intensity right from the start. From the first moment I laid eyes on the new guard in charge of my security, my heart was no longer my own. I gave it to him on the night he opened the car door at the fundraiser and took my hand to help me out.
The heat of his touch scorched my cold fingers and hit me right in the chest. Boldly, he’d trailed a gaze over my face and the tight white dress I was wearing even though, if caught out, the act could’ve cost him his life. If my father had seen how his guard was looking at me, he would’ve had him shot without asking questions.
Dante placed a hand on the top of the open door, preventing me from bumping my head when I got out. He lifted my skirt and handed me the short trail so it wouldn’t drag in the mud. And then he shook out an umbrella and held it over my head as he guided me to the hotel entrance with a hand on the small of my back as if I belonged to him.
The truth is I did. I belonged to him from the second I felt the sharp arrow of desire as his shoulder brushed up against mine. I’ll never forget his smile as he stared at my face while holding the lobby door open for me. It was a proprietary smile. After that day, whenever I sought him out in the guard lineup, he’d give me that smile, that private message that I was his. It’s a pity I was too lovestruck to realize he was never mine.
“Mommy?”
I clear my throat. “Mm?”
“Can we? Can we have pizza?”
“Um, sure. Why not?”
“Pizza it will be.” Dante reaches across Noah and caresses my cheek with the back of his hand. “But we better eat in. I’ll call for a delivery.”
“Can I have extra cheese and pepperoni?” Noah asks. “Please?”
“You can have anything you want,” Dante says. “Now, what are we reading?”
Noah puts a small hand on my leg, touching me with the utmost care. “The yellow plane.”
Dante shoots me a conspiratorial smile. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
I listen while Dante reads the story, simply enjoying the company of my son and his father. For many years, I’d thought this was something we’d never have. I’m happy for Noah and grateful to Dante for always making time for Noah, no matter how busy he is.
When we’ve tucked Noah in with his dinosaur, I slip out of the room, eager for some solitude to come to terms with everything I’ll soon have to face, but Dante takes my hand in the hallway and says, “Come with me.”
As always, my traitorous body, even in pain and convalescence, heats up at his touch.
“Dante.” I hold back. “Where are you going?”
As he’s clearly heading toward our bedroom, the question is stupid. What I meant to ask is why he wants me to go with him.
“I want to show you something.”
Those words always scare me. I don’t like it when I don’t know what to expect, but as someone who knows what it feels like to need closure, I sense this is something he has to do. Maybe it’s a good opportunity to get what I have to tell him off my chest. Postponing the inevitable only prolongs the pain. We may as well say our piece and get it over with.
