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As a souvenir, Raffi and I got to keep our overalls.
Raffi is proud to leave them on. On the other hand, I’m still in them because Clayton insists—although I have to zip it down a bit. What’s with him? He’s prying me in these overalls, and it’s not just my cleavage.
We then have dinner at an Argentine steak restaurant, which reminds me so much of my mother’s cooking. That man sure knows how to entertain a lady—and the boys. Raffi and Matty dig into their dinner with gusto while they keep boasting about their records on the simulator. Apparently, Wyatt set the difficulty level high, but the boys were up to the challenge.
Almost immediately after we leave the restaurant, the boys fall asleep in the back seat. My phone buzzes inside my handbag. I know who the text messages are from, but I ignore them.
“Hey, how about you and Raffi spend the night at my place?”
“For real?”
“Of course. Catch a glimpse of how I live and all that.”
“Okay,” I respond in a seductive sigh to his virulent smile rather than his explanation.
“Next time, I’ll take you to Hartley HQ,” he proposes. “Just you and me. Get to know my world a little bit more. And you’ll see that I don’t kiss people’s asses.”
“I’m looking forward to it!”
Arriving at his Beverly Hills mansion, I can’t help looking around like I’ve just entered wonderland. So this is how a billionaire lives. Nando was well off, and we had a nice house. Don is filthy rich too, and his mansion is pretty impressive. But this? With a driveway that goes on forever, surrounded by well-manicured lawns, exotic gardens, and exquisite lighting, I can’t believe a bachelor lives here.
We arrive at the front porch—I mean, a grand entrance with white marble pillars, impeccable tiles, and two elegantly etched-glass doors. The doorway is wide enough for two Victorian ladies in their hoop skirts to enter side by side without touching each other.
“I’ll take Raffi,” Clayton offers as soon as we get out of the car. The light is dim out here, and the inside is no different. I don’t think anyone is in—perhaps not even live-in maids or butlers.
A bachelor he may be, but Clayton Hartley is not an ordinary one. Look at him, carrying my boy as if he did it every day.
I scoop Matty up in my arms, holding him gently so I don’t wake him up. He is only a year younger than Raffi, but with my son being taller than most ten-year-olds, the youngest Hartley looks like the perfect little brother. His drool drips to my shoulder, and I know my life is going in the right direction.
19
CLAYTON
Still asleep, Raffi clings to me as we head upstairs. For the first time, stepping into my house feels like coming home. I’m with my tribe, sharing the day—sharing the night.
“You okay?” I check on Isabelle, who’s padding a few paces behind me.
“Yeah,” she replies in a murmur, my baby brother firmly in her hug.
I nudge Matty’s room door open, letting her in. “Here.”
Isabelle tucks him in. She blinks at me when she notices Bjork.
I nod at her, whispering, “Yeah, that’s the infamous teddy.”
“So cute!” She kisses it, then tucks Bjork in, too, right next to Matty. My brother curves a smile, although he’s still out with the fairies.
“Good job, Mama,” I murmur as we head into the guest room. Damn, it feels good to call her that.
Raffi is still asleep on my shoulder. I catch her stealing a glance at me. Exactly the reaction I was hoping for: that I’m worthy of being her son’s dad.
“What?” I tease her.
“Uh… um… He wouldn’t have let me do that. Carry him,” she replies, gazing at his son’s arms around my neck. He is clinging to me tight.
“Well, if he was awake, he probably wouldn’t have let me either,” I concede.
She shrugs.
