Page 28 of Unruly

Cross blinked, his shoulders slightly lighter but his heart still racing. “It’s a girl.”

Zeke smiled once more. “Congrats, Cross.”

“Mr. Donati,” the woman at the check-in desk said with a smile, “here is the room key for you.”

He plucked up the keycard the lady slid across the desk. “Grazie.”

“Should you need anything, please let us know.”

“I will. And thank you for helping us along in this little surprise.”

She smiled impossibly wider. “Anything for our guests.”

Cross turned on his heel, and waved at the man holding his suitcase. “I’ll let you lead the way.”

“Sì, Mr. Donati.”

An elevator ride later, and Cross unlocked the hotel room door. He allowed the man to step inside and drop his bags next to the king-size bed before he slid a fifty into the man’s hand. With a nod, Cross closed the door to the room, and locked it back up.

He checked his watch, and the window. The sun was already setting, and he had at least another half an hour to wait yet.

It was just enough time to grab a shower, and change into a new suit.

By the time Cross was slipping his Rolex watch back onto his wrist, he heard the digital lock on the door beep like it did when a keycard was slid through the slot. He hadn’t even gotten a new suit on yet. He looked up just in time to see a beautiful, yet angry, sight blow into the room.

It had been too long.

It had only been a week.

He didn’t care.

Anything for the love of his life.

Anything at all.

“Oh, you are perfect, my girl.”

Swaddled tight in soft pink, his daughter slept through his whispers. Cecelia “Cece” Catherine Donati came into the world just after twelve in the afternoon on September second, and she didn’t let a single soul in the whole wing forget she was there.

His child cried loud enough to wake the Devil.

She was perfect.

Catherine slept just a few feet away in her hospital bed, exhausted but unbothered. After the nurses kept coming in, trying to get the baby to latch, taking blood from Catherine, and interrupting their private moments … Cross said enough was enough. His wife needed to sleep. They needed time with their child.

Their nonsense could and would wait.

Nothing else mattered at the moment.

“Daddy’s pretty, pretty girl,” he told her.

Her face matched her mother’s. Her hair was soft tufts of brown. Ten perfect fingers, and ten tiny little toes. Cece’s little lips puckered, and her small nose twitched. He traced the line of her cheekbones with the tip of his finger.

Cross’s entire world had come to a standstill with one push, one cry, and one breath.

One baby girl with his last name, and her mother’s face.

Beauty and life was his child.