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“It would mess with her head, wouldn’t it?”
The dread tightened its grip around my heart. “Most likely.”
I started to move away, but his hands slipped up my back, holding me in place.
“Not—not just yet,” he said into my hair. “Just a bit longer. Please.”
I relaxed back into him, and neither of us said anything more about it. We both knew what had to happen. That before the sky turned light, Xavier would have to get dressed and leave. I’d retreat to my corner at the top of the stairs, and we would both pretend like all that had passed between us was a friendly goodbye. Once again, we had to be nothing to each other but secret parents standing on opposite sides of our daughter.
But for now, we just stayed there, skin to skin in the dark while the minutes ticked by, a silent countdown until morning came. Meditating in the silence.
And in each other.
Xavier
“Wait, wait, wait. You’re saying that it’s been four months of back and forth from here to New York, and that little girl still doesn’t know you’re her dad?”
Jagger Harrington sat in front of me with another drink in his hand, but this time at my broad marble-topped bar in London while I fixed him up with a new dish I’d been working on. Jagger was no food critic, but he was a good example of the type of person I wanted to draw at my restaurants: young, stylish, and moneyed.
“I’m giving her time,” I said as I blanched needle-thin noodles in an ice bath. “I don’t want to get too attached if it doesn’t work out.”
I pulled the noodles out to drain, then hand-tossed them with infused sesame oil.
“Mate,” Jagger said evenly. “You’re attached. You just named a restaurant after her. Think you might want to get around to acknowledging her too?”
I scowled. I was starting to wish I’d never told him why I’d landed on Chie as the name of my New York restaurant, due to open imminently. Chie meant wisdom in Japanese. As did Sofia, in its original Greek form.
Jagger made it sound like I was, well, my own father struggling with his illegitimate offspring, but it couldn’t be further from the truth.
“She’s mine,” I practically growled at him. “There’s never been a doubt about that. For one, she looks just like me.”
I grabbed my phone and tossed it to Jagger, who took one look at the lock screen—a picture of Sofia shrieking on a swing set—and smiled.
“I think you made that same face whenever you scored at football,” he said as he handed the phone back to me.
I nodded, looking at the picture once more before tucking the phone into my pocket. “I just wanted to give us time to get to know each other without all the bullshit. You know how crazy my life can be. The last thing I need is the papers getting wind of anything.”
Jagger just blinked. He didn’t need me to elaborate on that.
“Anyway, she and Francesca are both coming to the opening next week.” I coiled the noodles onto a pair of square plates and started working on the garnishes.
“Are they really?” Jagger grinned. “Maybe I should make a trip for the big day. I wouldn’t mind meeting this pearl of wisdom. And her hot mum too. Francesca, right? Sounds like a treat.”
“Francesca is not a treat, and I’ll thank you to keep her name out of your fucking mouth.”
Most men would have run a mile at my tone, but Jagger just took a long sip of his brandy while I chopped some mizuna to cool myself down. Knife work always had a meditative effect on me.
“Calm down,” he said once it was clear I was under control. “It’s just banter.”
“I know.” I was going for light, but the words fell out of my mouth like anvils. Honestly, I was surprised they didn’t crack the marble in half.
“Still hung up on her, then?”
“Absolutely not,” I snapped as I swung around to the fridge and started rooting around for something else. I honestly wasn’t sure what, though.
“That why you turned down an offer last night from two Victoria’s Secret models? At the same time?” Behind me, my best friend whistled. “Shame, that.”
“It has nothing to do with it. They were both idiots.”
