Sixteen
Matteo
W hen we finish making love, we’re starved. Ellory changes into a soft, oversized T-shirt and boxer shorts. Sexy, sure—but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for less clothing. Still, I get it. Not everyone wants to eat naked.
She looks so natural here—barefoot, loose-haired, like she’s always belonged in my orbit. Like she belongs in my life.
“Let’s eat in bed,” I suggest.
She shrugs with a smile. “Okay.”
Truth is, I’d follow her anywhere if she asked.
We climb into bed, the comforter tugged around us like a secret. The sheets smell like her—lavender, rose, and something warmer I can’t name. It makes me want to bury my face in her neck and forget the rest of the world exists.
We eat in that cozy hush that only happens late at night, legs tangled, takeout containers balanced between us.
“I loved the Where the Wild Things Are theme,” she says. “My dad used to read it to me when I was little.”
“The party planner worked with Trixie. Amelia is obsessed with the book. She had a blast. Completely wiped by the end. Trixie actually encouraged me to come over tonight.”
Ellory smiles. “I’m glad she did.”
She winds her tongue around a bite of chow mein, completely unaware she’s wrecking me. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone like this—casual, quiet, intense.
My voice drops. “What did Willow say to you?”
Her expression shifts. “It wasn’t awful. She just…made it clear she doesn’t want me around. And honestly, I get it. She’s Amelia’s mom, and she’s upset. Amelia doesn’t remember and she’s scared of her. That can’t be easy.”
My jaw tightens. She has no right. Not after everything she’s ignored. Not when Ellory has been more present in Amelia’s life in one week than Willow has in a month.
I sigh. I don’t want to make Ellory my therapist, but I also don’t want to keep her in the dark. Especially now. Willow’s behavior today felt like a warning shot, and if she’s serious about the threats she’s made, Ellory’s going to be in the blast radius.
“Can you tell me exactly what she said?” I ask. “Don’t sugarcoat it. She’s hinted at some things—threatened to make me pay if I want to keep Amelia. I’ve got a legal team already involved.”
Ellory blinks. “She’s threatening to take Amelia from you?”
I nod, jaw tight. “Or at least make it ugly.”
She sits up a little straighter. “In what universe is that okay?”
I kiss her forehead. “None.”
She recounts the conversation word for word, and when she gets to the part where Willow said, “If you stay in his life, Amelia won’t,” I see red.
“She’s drowning in debt. I don’t know where she thinks her leverage is coming from.
It was a one-night stand, barely even that.
I never wanted more, and I’ve made that clear.
She’s hardly spent time with Amelia this week.
If she had, maybe we’d be talking joint custody.
But she’s more interested in VIP lounges and bottomless mimosas.
We have photos. There’s cocaine in the background in one of her social media posts. ”
Ellory’s eyes narrow. “Promise me you won’t let her take Amelia.”
“I’m fighting for full custody,” I say quietly. “I want her to give up her parental rights entirely.” It’s the scariest thing I’ve ever done because losing would have an impact on Amelia and that scares me most of all.
“If you have that kind of evidence, I think you’ll get it,” Ellory assures me.
“We’re pulling everything together now. Jim Adelson from Clear Security might reach out to you. Just a few questions.”
“Of course. I didn’t know many people at the party,” she says, “but everyone, except Willow, seemed lovely.”
“She’s got some growing up to do.”
“Your aunt and uncle were so proud of you and Amelia.”
“They’re great,” I say. “I’m glad you got to meet them.”
Later, we come together again, unhurried, intentional, like we’re memorizing each other in case it all disappears. No rush. No games. Just soft, slow connection. It’s the kind of night that makes you forget how broken the world is.
By the time dawn streaks across the sky, I don’t want to leave. Not because I don’t want to see my daughter, but because I don’t want to stop being here. With her.
“I should go,” I whisper.
“I know,” she says, resting her head on my chest.
“We’ll have other nights.”
She nods, but I see it. She doesn’t want to let go either.
Then it hits me.
“Come with me. Be part of this. Pancakes, morning chaos…the whole thing. I’m making chocolate chip pancakes.”
She blinks. “Seriously?”
I grin. “Come on.”
We shower together, fast but playful, and ten minutes later, Richard is driving us back to my condo.
As soon as we step off the elevator, Amelia lights up. Her face cracks into the biggest smile, arms flailing. Trixie’s already got her dressed, and judging by the look on her face, it’s been a good morning.
“How was last night?” I ask.
“She did great. Been up since five-thirty.”
Amelia crawls over to a chair, grips the seat, and—one step, two, three—topples onto her diapered butt.
“Did she just…take her first steps?” I blink, stunned. My daughter’s first steps. And I almost missed them. And somehow, Ellory was here. Of course she was.
Trixie beams. “She’s been so close. I thought it might happen yesterday, but Willow picked her up before she could try.”
I scoop her into my arms, heart bursting. “You’re my big girl!” I bounce her gently, and she giggles like music.
Trixie and Ellory fall into conversation— Where the Wild Things Ar e, favorite childhood books—and I can’t stop smiling.
“Who’s hungry for chocolate chip pancakes?” I call.
“Not me,” Trixie says. “I’ve got a walk around the Palace of Fine Arts with a new…friend.”
“A male friend?” Ellory teases.
Trixie shrugs, grinning. “Maybe.”
“Willow said she’d be by this morning,” she adds, grabbing her bag. “But you know her. ‘Morning’ probably means Hawaii time.”
I glance at Ellory, and she shrinks back a little, like she’s bracing for impact.
“Let her come,” I mutter. “She can see exactly what a good team we are.”
We say goodbye to Trixie, and I head into the kitchen to start a batch of chocolate chip pancakes. Behind me, Ellory drops to the floor with Amelia, tickling her belly until she squeals with laughter.
“We opened the gifts,” I say, pouring batter into the skillet. “She loved the doll and stroller. I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.”
While the pancakes cook, I glance over to see Ellory and Amelia pushing the little stroller around the living room. Amelia’s grin stretches from ear to ear.
“She’s getting really steady on her feet,” Ellory says, laughing as Amelia breaks into a fast, wobbly shuffle. “She’s practically running.”
“It’s amazing. That’s a sign of brilliance, isn’t it?” I flip a pancake. Ellory records a video of her walking and I send it to Willow. No response.
Ellory looks up. “Yesterday was hard for her. She’ll come around.”
I nod, though I’m not sure I believe it.
We sit at the table with Amelia’s highchair between us. She’s in full entertainment mode, dropping her bottle over and over and cracking up every time Ellory picks it up.
“She has us trained,” Ellory says, smirking.
“It’s shameful,” I admit, laughing.
Then the house phone rings.
“Mr. Marino,” the doorman says over the intercom. “Ms. Willow Jackson is here.”
Shit.
“Send her up,” I reply, my voice clipped.
The moment stretches. The pancakes cool. And just like that, the real world is back, with perfect timing to ruin everything.