“You promised me things would be casual if I let you stay here,” I say. “And maybe I’m just as guilty as you for getting caught up, but this is where it ends. I’ve got a child to raise and you’ve got a mountain of responsibility waiting for you two thousand miles away.”
“I knew from the first time we kissed things were never going to be casual between us,” he says. “And watching you with Lucia, my daughter, spending time with the two of you in this home you’ve created—it put a lot of things into perspective for me. Made me realize I had my priorities all wrong.”
“Fabian …” My voice trails into nothing. Half of me hurts for him. The other half of me aches for myself and the whirlwind rollercoaster of the past several days. The text message. The pregnancy bombshell. The accusations. “I love my simple life. I don’t want to give up what I’ve worked so hard for because some gorgeous, rich guy—who happens to be my daughter’s sperm donor—has stars in his eyes every time he looks at me. I don’t want to be just another name on a list. And I don’t want to worry about what you’re up to every time you fly home. You should’ve told me you were seeing your ex before, not after.”
His lips flatten. “I’m terrible at communication. The worst. But I’ll work on that … for you. We’ll get it right. And in the meantime, it may not be perfect, but we’ll get there.”
Once again, he says all the perfect things at just the right moments.
“Rossi, please.” He presses his lips against mine, his fingers laced in the hair at the back of my neck. “I don’t want to leave here and always wonder if we could’ve been something more.” He swallows, releasing his tender hold on me. “I’m falling for you.”
Tears sting my vision in the dark foyer, but I blink them away before he notices.
“Don’t make this harder than it already is.” I step back, keeping my attention trained on the rug by the door because if I lose myself in his capturing gaze one more time, I might lose my nerve and change my mind.
It’d be so easy to get caught up with him again.
But it’d also be reckless.
I have a child to support, a business to run, a family who needs me, and a heart that can only break so many times before it shatters completely.
He might be the athlete, but I have more skin in this game.
Chapter 34
Fabian
* * *
I punch the steering wheel of my rental SUV, staring at the front of Rossi’s garage.
Meeting her was like finding something I never knew was lost. It was like drawing a line and forgetting everything that ever existed before her.
Before them.
I can’t go back.
Not now.
For thirty-seven years, I’ve been addicted to the thrill of the next big thing. The attentions. The glory. The accolades. I’ve spent so much time building myself into a household name, a fucking empire.
And for what?
So I can go home to my empty mansion, to an empty bed, staring at a lifeless ceiling in a house so quiet you can hear a pin drop?
I think of Rossi inside, warm in her bed, the way her dark hair splays across her silk pillowcase when she sleeps. The way her lips would twist into a bashful half-smile in the mornings. The sound of Lucia’s giggles. The sweet scent of the fabric softener Rossi used on Lucia’s blankets. Hell, even the taste of Gerber apricots.
I didn’t sign up for this, but good God, I’ve never wanted anything more than I want this.
I’ll trade the Maybach for lazy Sundays, the mansion in Malibu for cartoons and pancakes, and every last tournament trophy for stuffed bunnies and jogging strollers if it means forever with these two.
I need this brown-eyed baby girl who looks at me like I hung the moon—and the baby mama who checks me out when she thinks I’m not watching and has never been afraid to put me in my place.
I didn’t sign up for this, but give me a contract and I’ll sign the rest of my life to them.
My perfect little family.
Rossi’s porch light goes dark, but I’m not leaving. I’ll sleep here all night if I have to. I can promise that woman the world, but at the end of the day, words are just words. She needs to see I’m not going anywhere. And when she wakes tomorrow morning, she’ll see just that.
My phone buzzes from the cupholder, sending a start to my chest.
“Phoebe,” I answer.
“Good news,” she says. “Radar Online bought the photos—however, I have an in over there and I was able to make a phone call and explain the situation and the impending legal entanglements they’ll face if they publish, and they were willing to call off the hounds.”