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The woman was tall, model thin, and dressed to be seen, with a full face of makeup and long black hair. If it wasn’t for the sneer on her lips directed at Fiona, I might have used the word striking, but the look on her face was pure ugly. “Yeah, you should run along. Demon and I have things to discuss.”
I blinked. There was something vaguely familiar about her that I couldn’t put my finger on. Like one of thousands of fans who came through a meet and greet line, or—Holy fuck.
She had Skye’s eyes.
“You’re Skye’s mother?” My brow furrowed, my brain taking in the similarities of their features while everything in my soul rebelled at thought of acknowledging that this was the woman who had abandoned my daughter.
“I’m Justine Miller, but I go by my middle name, Tiffany.” She flashed me a predatory smile that sickened my stomach. “And yes, I’m Skye’s mother.” She tilted her head. “What? Don’t you remember me?”
I was stunned silent. There were no hazy memories. No sudden recall of that night. There was…nothing but this stranger standing in my doorway. Her legal name wasn’t Tiffany. No wonder we never found her.
“I’d use the term mother loosely, if I were you,” Fiona snapped, flat-out glaring at Tiffany. “Last time I checked, moms don’t just ditch their babies on doorsteps.”
Tiffany’s gaze narrowed on Fiona, her eyes turning glacial. “And the last time I checked, you’re just the nanny.”
Fiona’s chin jutted upward, but the words hit their intended mark. Her eyes flashed with hurt. Rage flooded my veins.
“Fiona isn’t just Skye’s nanny,” I seethed, stepping closer to Fiona. “She’s family.”
Fiona sucked in a strangled breath and her keys jangled as her fist tightened around them. “And on that note, I’m leaving.”
“Fiona—” I reached for her.
“Don’t,” Fiona jerked her arm out of my reach. “Just…” She looked between Tiffany and me, then back again. “If you let her walk out with Skye right now, I’ll never forgive you.” There was pure fear shining back at me in her eyes.
Tiffany scoffed.
“I would never,” I promised Fiona. They’d have to sedate me with horse tranquilizer and tie me to the support beams of the house before that woman walked out with my daughter.
Shit. Our daughter.
Fiona searched my eyes for a moment, then nodded, as if she’d gotten the answer she needed. Then she walked away without another glance, brushing by me, her head held high as she disappeared around the corner of the entryway and into the kitchen. A second later, I heard the garage door open. She was leaving.
And I couldn’t go after her.
“You have shit timing,” I growled at Tiffany.
She arched a black brow at me. “I could say the same for you, considering you knocked me up right as my modeling career was taking off.”
A model. Why wasn’t I surprised?
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Her entire expression shifted and she batted her lashes at me.
“I’m a stupid fuck if I really fell for that act the first time.” I folded my arms across my chest.
She shrugged. “You were drunk. I was drunk. I figured it couldn’t hurt to fuck a Reaper. The rest is history. Now do you want to have this conversation on the porch for the whole world to see?”
“The whole world around here consists of Reapers at every door, so I hardly doubt they’d be shocked considering they know exactly what you did to Skye.” My jaw clenched as hot anger churned in my stomach.
“What I did to Skye?” She scoffed again. “You mean, leaving her with her millionaire daddy for a little bonding time?” She leaned to the side, peering around me. “Where is the little cutie, anyway?”
“Asleep. And there’s zero chance that you’re seeing her.” Fuck, did I even have a choice? Long term, probably not, but here and now I did.
“You’d seriously keep her away from her mommy?” Her face fell in a practiced pout.
“Until you present me with a court order, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” The anger in my gut mixed with something acrid—panic. This was far worse than the shock of finding Skye on the porch, or the anxiety that I didn’t know what the hell I was doing when it came to fatherhood. There was a very real chance that Tiffany could fight to take my daughter, and for the first time in my life, I was fucking terrified.
“I could, you know,” Tiffany said softly. “I could show up with the lawyers and the media. I could force you into co-parenting for the next eighteen years.”
Bile rose in my throat.
“Just imagine it.” She flashed me a grin. “Giant birthday parties thrown with the thousands of dollars of child support you’ll be paying me. Sharing every holiday. Tagging you in every post about just how fast she’s growing up—”
