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Too many thoughts swirl in my mind, forming a tornado that destroys everything in its path. I have to focus all my attention just to drive us back to Grace’s house.
Thankfully, Jack’s a good sleeper. His chest rises and falls regularly with his breathing as he lies in his crib with me and Grace looking down at him.
That’s my son. My chest tightens with emotions. God, look at him, all tiny and perfect. How did I not see the family resemblance? The little curve of his lips makes him look like my mom.
I can’t wait until my parents find out they’re grandparents now.
Glancing at Grace, I find her staring at me, watching me closely. “We need to talk,” I whisper.
Grace nods. She leads the way to the kitchen, asks me if I want anything to drink, and pours us two glasses of iced tea.
She leads the way to her living room. A thick, colorful rug in primary colors takes up half the space. A red truck is parked by a picture of a dinosaur.
“It’s, uh, the fire truck is rescuing the dinosaur,” Grace explains when she notices the line of my vision.
A smile plays on my lips as I follow her to the couch.
“Let me explain,” she says. “I was in a bind, Matteo. I was pregnant with a stranger’s baby, and I was supposed to be married off to a mobster. Doesn’t sound like the kind of reasonable guy who’d be okay with something like that. I had no choice.”
“That’s why you faked your own death?”
Grace nods. “If I wanted to raise the baby, I had to get away from my family, from your family. I had to shed my old identity. Because the old me had to live under very strict rules. There was no question in my mind that I would’ve been forced to . . . end the pregnancy if it was ever discovered.” Grace’s voice breaks, but she regains her composure. “I can’t imagine my life without Jack, Matteo.”
“I understand that.” I suck air into my lungs. “But that means you should understand my anger too. I’ve spent the last four years not even realizing I had a son.”
“I wanted to tell you thousands of times over these past four years. I swear,” she says, guilt flashing in her green eyes. “But I had to cut all ties with my past. I thought if anyone from the Guerriero family ever found me, they’d kill me and my baby without even asking any questions. I couldn’t risk that, even if the risk was miniscule.”
That does sound like something my family would do. “If you had called me—”
“I threw away my phone, along with all the numbers I had in it when I ‘died.’ I left everything I knew behind. I didn’t expect to see anything familiar ever again.” She gazes at me. “And then, you appeared. Matteo Guerriero. And I didn’t expect that name to belong to you.”
“You were only doing the best you could.” I take her hand in mine. It’s shaking. Looking up at her face, I marvel at what a good job she’s doing at hiding her anxiety. “I just can’t help thinking . . . If you had called me, and we had cleared up everything in the beginning, we could’ve skipped all this mess. You wouldn’t have had to fake your own death. Jack would’ve been able to spend his first years surrounded by family.”
Grace hesitates. “I don’t know, Matteo. That sounds too good to be true.”
“Sometimes things are just right. Like you and me. How can you still have doubts about us, after everything that we’ve been through?”
“But what if things go wrong? Aren’t you being a little naïve? How can you be so sure?”
I stare at her. How can I be so sure?
All the words in the world won’t make her see what I know to be true. It’s time to stop explaining and start showing her what I mean.
I grab her by the waist and pull her up onto my lap, letting her slide down until she’s sitting between my thighs.
“What are you doing?” Grace asks, struggling to get away.
“Stay,” I order. My men know I mean business when I speak like this, and my woman should learn to listen.
“Let go of me,” she says in an unconvincing tone.
Snaking my arm around her, I pull her back until she loses her balance and leans against my chest.
I bury my face in her soft hair, and the scent of wild jasmine fills my lungs. I remember that from the first time we met. The memory sends blood rushing to my cock.
“Is your neck still as sensitive as I remember, kitten?” I press my lips against her skin and taste her. Judging by the cute little gasp she makes, the answer is most probably yes.
