Dante Claiming His Secret Love-Child

Chasms and currents, all right. And, sure, sometimes you didn’t make it, but sometimes you did.

And when you did…Dante smiled, turned on the water, cupped it in his hand and rinsed away the last dollops of shaving cream.

When you did, man, life was terrific.

He reached for a towel, dried off as he looked around his bathroom. A day ago it had been an austere male kingdom. Nothing on top of the long marble counter except his shaving brush, an electric razor he hardly ever used, a plain comb and brush. Everything else was in the deep drawers of the vanity. Now, little glass vials and jars, a perfume bottle, a mother-of-pearl-backed hairbrush and half a dozen other things stood on the countertops.

He ran a fingertip lightly over the hairbrush where a few strands of gold glittered among the soft bristles.

It was Gabriella’s stuff. He loved seeing it here and wasn’t that a hell of thing coming from a guy who had to count to ten if some woman left a tube of lipstick behind?

But Gaby was not “some woman.” She was…she was special. Beautiful. Bright. Sexy. It had rained yesterday and they’d ended up spending most of it before the fireplace, reading the Times, tackling the crossword puzzle together. The baby, Daniel, lay on the antique Rya rug between them, cooing and smiling, kicking his arms and legs, suddenly sobbing as if his small heart would break.

“What?” Dante had said, panicked.

“He’s hungry,” Gabriella had replied, smiling, and she’d nursed him right there, sitting in the curve of Dante’s arm, and what he’d felt, watching the baby at the breast of his woman, had almost overwhelmed him.

It had been her turn to look at him, raise her eyebrows and say, “What?”

“Nothing,” he’d told her, because what happened to him when he saw her nurse the baby was too much to put into words.

Their baby.

Daniel was his.

He knew it, had known it from the start. There was no question about it. That path, the one that led through life, was, for once, straight as an arrow. He and Gabriella had been lovers, he’d made her pregnant and absolutely the road was straight…

Straight as the road that ended at a house surrounded by a white picket fence, a station wagon, a dog and a cat and…

“Dante?”

A light tap at the door startled him.

“Yes,” he said. His voice sounded strange, even to him, and he cleared his throat and tried again.

“Yes. Okay. Just give me a couple of minutes.”

“I have a quick question.”

“Yeah, well, like I said, can you wait a minute?”

Merda. He winced as the impatient words left his lips.

“Never mind. I didn’t mean to disturb you—”

Ah, God, he was worse than an idiot, he thought, yanking the door open, reaching for Gabriella and drawing her into his arms even as she turned away.

“How could you ever disturb me?” he said gruffly.

“No, really, it is all right.”

The hell it was. He’d hurt her; he could see it in her eyes.

“Confession time,” he said, cupping her face, tilting it to his. “I am not a morning kind of guy.”

The faintest of smiles tugged at the corners of her lips. “You were always a morning kind of guy,” she said softly. “And you just proved it again a little while ago.”

He grinned at the compliment. “Being that kind of morning guy is easy.”

Her smile dimmed just a little. “I’m sure.”

“Hey.” Gently he threaded his fingers through her hair. “Maybe you need to know I’ve never asked a woman to move in with me until now.”

Her eyes searched his. “Is that what you’ve done? Asked me to move in?”

That straight path, leading to that white picket fence, that house…

Dante blanked the picture from his mind. “Yes,” he said, and kissed her.

Long moments later she sighed. “I know I had a reason for coming in here.”

“Mmm,” he said, slipping his hand down the back of her jeans.

“I know what it—Dante. How can I think if you…if you—”

“You have,” he said solemnly, stilling the motion of his hand, “one minute for thinking.”

“I’d like to tell Mrs. Janiseck to add baby cereal to her shopping list. The doctor in Bonito said I could add it to Daniel’s diet when he seemed ready, and—”

“So tell her.”

“Well, I was going to but she’s your housekeeper and—”

“You don’t have to clear things with me, honey. Just tell Mrs. Janiseck whatever you want to tell her. Come to think of it…” He took his wallet from the back pocket of his trousers, slid out a credit card and pressed it into her hand. “I should have thought of this sooner.”