Page 70 of Dancing in the Dark

If she noticed the way it trembled, she didn’t mention it.

Cato and his driver dropped us off out front of Tim’s bar, and though Cato didn’t seem all that inclined to leave his little friend behind, he stayed in the car and, a moment after arriving, left again to be swept back to the mansion he calls home on the hills.

“You want me to put her to bed?”

Hours after we stepped through the heavy glass door guarding the front of Charlie’s building, I find myself crushed into the couch cushions under Mia’s octopus-like grip, her hair tickling the side of my neck and her legs curled up so her knees rest against my belly.

She sleeps, and yet she holds onto me like she’s afraid I’ll run away while her eyes are closed.

“That shit earlier wiped her out,” he rumbles, sitting forward on the couch and setting his elbows on his knees. “I expect she’ll stay asleep for a while now.”

“Can I hold her for a few minutes more?” I tighten my grip around her tiny body and bury my face in her hair. She’s not your baby, Seraphina. She’s not yours to keep. “Please? Once I do, this all ends and real life starts again.”

His lips twitch with a smile as he slumps back again. “This is real life. Believe it or not, but that kid who smells like sweat, dirty socks, and wet puppy is actually real life. Fun, right?”

I breathe out a soft snicker and trail the tips of my fingers over her leg. “I had no clue I’d like the wet puppy smell until I met her.”

“Now you’re too deep to walk away.” His eyes glitter with playful taunting. “If I have to wave my daughter around like a prize to tempt you back into my life every single day, then I’m not so proud that I’ll pass up the opportunity.”

“No need.” I curl a lock of her hair around my finger and enjoy the silky soft sensation on my skin. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

“You promise?” He lazily digs his hand around inside his pocket, frowning and searching, then switching sides, he snags his phone and draws it out again. He taps the screen, swiping past a dozen notifications I don’t truly see, then he lifts the device and points it at us. “You mind?”

“M-mind wh⁠—”

“I like looking at you both like that.”

“You wanna take a photo? Right now?” My heart gives a heavy one-two thump as nerves, far too many to count, rear up and have me smoothing my hair. Swiping my face. Sucking in my belly. “I probably look like a total mess.”

“No.” He lays his hand over my forearm and gently shakes his head. “You look beautiful, I promise. I won’t take it if you don’t want me to. I won’t get mad or anything.”

“No, it’s…” I frown and look down at Mia’s peaceful expression. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” I gently tug my hand out from beneath his, all so I can fix my grip around the baby girl who wants so badly for everyone to love her as much as she loves them. “Don’t make me look like a troll. I have low self-esteem.”

“You shouldn’t. You’ve only ever been stunning in my eyes.” He takes a quick picture—one, two, three—then lowering the phone, he locks the screen and curls my hair around his finger. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.” He shakes his head. “And that’s not a line or me trying to get laid.”

“I have something I want to tell you.” God, just say it, Sera. Rip the Band-Aid off. “Something kinda big that you deserve to know before we get too far into…” I chew on the inside of my lip. “Into this.”

“Ah…” Shifting in place, he turns to face me front on. “O-okay. I’m listening.”

“But even though it’s a pretty big thing, I also want you not to make it into a big thing.” I swallow the bubbling rasp attaching itself to each of my words. “Because I don’t really want to talk about it.”

He sits taller, straightening his back and bringing his knee up until it brushes my thigh.

He’s already making it into a big thing.

“I’m ready.” His eyes flicker down to his daughter. Then back up to me. He’s probably wondering if he needs to snatch her up and whisk her away. “I won’t make it into a big thing, I promise.”

“I was pregnant with Anderson’s baby.”

And just like that, with one single sentence made up of only six words, his jaw grinds tight.

“Years ago. I was twenty-five weeks. So, like⁠—”

“Six months,” he rasps. “You were six months pregnant.”