She could handle the sippy-cup herself and he knew it, but he liked holding her, liked the warm weight of the baby, her sweet smell, the little noises of delight she made as she fed.
He liked caring for Samantha in general. Well, maybe not the poopy-diapers part, which he’d done when he heard her babbling softly to herself early this morning. Why wake Tally when he could change the diaper himself, even if it had been a rather interesting learning experience?
The truth was, he’d never imagined himself with a baby in his arms. Oh, he’d figured on having children someday. A man wanted children to carry on his genes, his life’s work, but his thoughts had been of faceless miniature adults and a faceless perfect wife. Now, of course, he knew better.
He wanted a little girl exactly like Sam.
A wife exactly like Tally.
Dante caught his breath.
And, just that easily, came face-to-face with the truth.
He loved Tally. He loved her daughter. He had his family already, right here, the baby in his arms, the woman he adored in his bed.
He rose to his feet, ready to rush to the bedroom, wake Tally with a kiss, tell her what was in his heart—
No. He wanted this to be just right. All the romantic touches he’d always scoffed at. Candlelight. Flowers. Champagne.
The travel agent had given him the name of a respected island family that lived nearby. He waited until Sam finished her milk. Then he kept her safely in the curve of his arm while he made some phone calls. When he was done, he’d arranged for a babysitter, reserved a secluded table at a five-star restaurant on the beach, and ordered a ten-carat canary-yellow diamond in a platinum setting from the delighted owner of the island’s most exclusive jewelry shop, with instructions to have a messenger bring the ring to the restaurant promptly at nin
e that night.
He was about to order flowers when Sam giggled and said, “Mama!”
Dante looked up and saw Tally.
“Hey,” she said, smiling.
“Hey,” he said softly, smiling back at her.
“You should have woken me.”
“Your hear that, kid? Your mother doesn’t think we can handle the tough stuff on our own.” He paused. “Tally?”
“Hmm?”
I love you. I adore you. I want to marry you and adopt Sam, raise her as our very own daughter…
“What on earth are you thinking” she said, with a little laugh. “You have the strangest look on your face!”
“Do I?” He cleared his throat. “Maybe it’s because—because what I was thinking was that I want to celebrate Christmas this evening.”
Tally laughed. “Christmas is two days away!”
“You don’t think I’m going to permit a little detail like that to stop me, do you?” Smiling, he came toward her. Sam held out her arms and he handed her to her mother. “In fact, I’ve already made plans for us tonight.”
“What plans?” Tally said, hugging her daughter, putting her face up for Dante’s kiss, thinking how right all this was, being here together, the man she loved, the child they’d created together. “What plans?” she said again and knew that tonight, no matter what happened, she would tell him everything.
His smile tilted. “It’s a surprise. A good one,” he added softly, “one I hope will make you happy.” He put his arms around them both, the woman he loved and the child he would make his.
The child that should have been his, if he hadn’t been so stupid and self-involved.
He felt the dull pain of regret settle over him.
If only Sam really were his. He loved her but sometimes—sometimes it hurt to know that Tally had lain with another man. That someone else had joined with her to create this beautiful little life.
“Dante,” Tally said softly, “what’s wrong?”