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“I definitely don’t need a husband,” Lola said, her cheeks burning.
“She thinks I abandoned you?” Rodrigo said, looking irritated.
She shrugged. “I?
??ve never spoken of you to anyone. Even my best friends don’t know who Jett’s father is.” Her lips quirked at the corners. “I think they’re under the impression that you’re either married, abusive or a total alcoholic.”
He glowered at her silently, his jaw tight.
Lola cleared her throat. “But you wanted to see Jett.”
Hanging up her coat, she walked into the small apartment’s only bedroom, motioning for him to follow.
A beam of moonlight pooled from the bedroom window to a spot between the bed and the crib wedged against the wall. Going to the crib, Lola looked down at her precious son. The four-month-old was sleeping peacefully, his chubby arms flung up over his head. A swell of love went through her.
“This is Jett,” she whispered.
Rodrigo came up beside her, resting his powerful hands on the edge of the crib. He looked down at their sleeping baby. Lola’s heart lifted to her throat as she looked between them.
Jett looked exactly like his father. She’d never realized it before, because she hadn’t wanted to see it. But they had the same slight curl in their dark hair, the same black Spanish eyes. The baby yawned, showing a single dimple just like his father’s. His dark lashes blinked sleepily.
The powerful media tycoon said in wonder, “He’s so tiny.”
“For now.” A smile lifted her lips as she looked at him. “Someday he’ll be as big as you.”
For a long moment, they stood together, looking down at their son. She was aware of Rodrigo’s hand just inches from hers. She could almost feel the warmth from his skin.
Suddenly, she yearned to tell him everything. To share things she’d never told even Hallie and Tess. Her friends thought Lola was so tough, but the truth was, she’d been scared, coming to New York alone after their breakup. She’d chosen it as her new home in a desperate, hopeless yearning to be closer to her little sisters, the only family she had left. Then she’d been too scared to contact them.
She’d thought of Rodrigo so many times during her pregnancy. When she’d gotten her first ultrasound. When she’d learned she was having a boy. When she’d gone into labor. And every day before, and since.
But she hadn’t contacted him. Because she’d known the man she wanted—the man she’d loved—didn’t exist. And in his place, with the same gorgeous, devastating body and heartbreaking dark eyes, was a man who could destroy her.
Now, Rodrigo lifted his gaze to hers. For a moment, she held her breath. Then his expression shuttered, his face turning cold.
“You should have told me.”
“I couldn’t,” she whispered.
“I’m his father.”
The baby stirred at Rodrigo’s low, harsh voice. Alarmed, she put her finger to her lips and drew him out of the bedroom. Closing the bedroom door softly behind her, she whirled, glaring at him.
“You want to be a father? Then you should know the first rule of parenting is Don’t wake the baby!”
He looked around the modest apartment. “I thought you said you got him a nice apartment.”
“It’s a wonderful place, you jerk!”
“You could have asked to stay at my loft in SoHo. I’m hardly ever there.”
It was so pointlessly cruel, Lola sucked in her breath.
“You tossed me out of your house. You said I disgusted you and you never wanted to see me again! You think I would ever ask you for help after that? I’d die first!”
Her eyes were stinging. She blinked hard and fast. She wouldn’t let herself cry. Only weak people, or children, cried in public and she hadn’t been either for a long time.
Rodrigo’s expression changed. He took a step toward her in the small apartment, his face half hidden by shadow.
