Twenty-nine
Matteo
T he social worker steps into my apartment, her eyes sweeping across the open floor plan.
My stomach knots. I’ve prepared for this moment for weeks, but it still feels like stepping into a courtroom I can’t control.
And I’ve asked Jessica and Todd to stay in out of sight because I don’t want to explain why I need security.
“Wow,” she murmurs. “This place is bigger than most houses in San Francisco.”
“Please, come in.” I gesture toward the living area. “Make yourself comfortable. Would you like to speak with me first, or should I ask the nanny to join us now?”
Her brows lift. “You have a nanny?” It lands more as judgment than curiosity.
“Yes. Trixie lives here. I usually handle breakfast with Amelia, and I’m home most nights for dinner, storytime, and bedtime.”
She jots something in her notebook, then glances up. “What’s her favorite book?”
“Where the Wild Things Are. We even used it as the theme for her first birthday.” I smile at the memory. “We’ve got an album if you’d like to see it. I flew Amelia’s mother in for the party.”
“I’d love to see it.”
I walk over to the shelves. “Trixie’s great about capturing everything. She sends me updates and photos throughout the day.”
“Do the interruptions bother you?”
“No!” I answer too quickly, then soften. “Not at all. Honestly, I’d rather be home with her.”
“Does Trixie help on weekends?”
“Not typically, but she’s available if something comes up.”
“When was the last time she did?”
“Amelia’s birthday, I believe.”
She flips through a folder. “You don’t have to work. Why not just stay home?”
The question throws me.
“You’re right, I could, financially. But I’m a better parent because I work. Work keeps me balanced. Focused. It gives Amelia a father who doesn’t lose himself in fear or overcompensation. My brothers and I are building something to honor our parents’ legacy which will one day be hers.”
“And where are your parents now?”
My stomach tightens. “Buried at Mission Dolores. They died in a car accident when I was eleven.”
Her face softens. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
I pause, then meet her gaze. “Can I ask you something? Would you ask a mother why she works if someone else watches her child during the day? The judge ruled Amelia’s mother can’t be her nanny and needs to get a job and her own apartment. But I get asked why I don’t just stay home?”
“I’m not judging your choices,” she replies, gently adjusting the papers in her lap. “I’m trying to understand them.”
“Then let me help you understand.” I draw a breath.
“Willow and I had a one-night stand. And really it was twenty minutes in a bathroom stall at a club. We didn’t exchange names or phone numbers.
She didn’t track me down but probably didn’t know how to.
Then my business did something that hit the papers and she saw me.
Rather than call me and tell me I’m a father, Willow abandoned Amelia with my doorman, our family attorney tracked her down.
She was struggling—postpartum depression, unstable housing, and living in Wisconsin.
I know what it’s like to grow up without parents.
I thought…maybe she couldn’t raise Amelia, but she could still be in her life.
So we invited her out for Amelia’s first birthday. ”
“But now that she wants custody, you’re opposed?”
“I’m not opposed to her having a role if it’s safe and stable. But we were never in a relationship. But now that my daughter is public knowledge because her mother set up a photo op with paparazzi, we’ve become targets. I have to protect her.”
I hand over a folder. “I flew Willow out for ten days. Put her up at the Fairmont. She showed up three times. Barely made it to the birthday party. Sold photos from the party to the tabloids. She charged over a hundred-and-eighty thousand to my account—beyond hotel and food—and trashed the suite. Another forty-grand in damages and loss-of-use fees from partying with her friends.”
The social worker quietly reads through the documents.
“Amelia is going to inherit everything I have,” I say softly. “She’s my entire world. I can’t let anyone treat her like a meal ticket.”
She looks up slowly. “I understand you have a girlfriend?”
I hesitate, then offer a wry smile. “Maybe.”
“Is that a maybe because I’m asking?” she presses.
I sit up a little straighter. “No. We were on what was supposed to be a business meeting-slash-first date when I got the call about Amelia. Since then, we’ve been trying to carve out time to see each other.”
“Her name?”
“Ellory Matisse.” I scroll through my phone and hand it over. “Her number and email are in there. I let her know you might reach out. The rest of my emergency contacts are in the file—my brothers, my sister, and my aunt and uncle, who raised us.”
“Thank you. Mind giving me a tour?”
“Not at all.”
We move through the apartment, ending in Amelia’s playroom. Trixie is sitting cross-legged on the rug, playing a matching game with her. The second Amelia sees me, her eyes light up.
“Papapapa!” she squeals, running straight into my arms.
She plants a sticky kiss on my cheek, then clings tighter when she spots the social worker.
“She still has a little stranger danger,” I explain gently.
“That’s perfectly normal at her age.”
“We tried to explain that to Willow, but she took it personally. She’s convinced we turned Amelia against her.”
The social worker’s expression flickers with something, confusion, maybe, but she quickly smooths it over.
She reaches into her satchel and pulls out a small rag doll. “Amelia, would you like to meet my friend, Suzie?”
Amelia eyes it warily, but doesn’t move.
“You can hold her while I talk with Daddy and Trixie. How does that sound?”
I lean in. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”
After a moment, Amelia reaches for the doll and then settles firmly in my lap.
The social worker shifts her attention to Trixie, running through a familiar list of questions.
“Do you read to Amelia,” she asks.
Trixie nods. “Multiple times a day.”
“What’s her favorite book?”
“It depends on who’s reading,” Trixie says. “With me, it’s Peppa Pig —I do the voices, especially the British one. But when Mr. Marino reads W here the Wild Things Are , she melts.”
The social worker chuckles. “Amelia, can you show me your favorite book?”
Amelia doesn’t move.
I whisper, “Can you get me and Trixie’s favorite?”
She hops down and grabs Peppa Pig, Where the Wild Things Are , and Curious George . She hands George to the social worker with a shy grin.
“Oh, is this for me?” she says, touched. “How did you know this one’s my favorites?”
Amelia beams and climbs into her lap, waiting expectantly.
The social worker laughs and begins to read.
By the end of our meeting, it’s clear we’ve passed.
She closes her folder. “Here’s the plan, I’ll contact the people on your list, and I’m meeting with Ms. Jackson tomorrow. I’d like to observe one of her visits soon.”
“She’s welcome anytime. We’ve made that clear by text and in person.”
“Can I see those?”
I unlock my phone and hand it over. “They’re also in the file. Feel free to take it with you.”
She flips through the binder. “This is thorough. May I borrow the photo album too?”
“Of course.”
When the elevator doors close, Amelia waves with her tiny hand.
Trixie turns to me. “That went well.”
I nod. “Let’s hope tomorrow goes just as smoothly for Amelia.” If Willow shows up sober and smiling, pretending she’s changed, I don’t know how the social worker will interpret that. I just hope she sees what I see.
“You were up late helping me last night. Why don’t you take the afternoon off? She’ll nap soon, and I’ve got everything covered.”
“You sure?”
“Go. I already told the office I’d be working from home today.”
I lift Amelia into her highchair and grab her lunch, then slap together a ham and cheese sandwich for myself. We eat quietly until my phone buzzes.
Ellory: Are you free for coffee this afternoon? Just had lunch with my father and his girlfriend. One of us left early…and her last name wasn’t Matisse.
I laugh out loud, and Amelia kicks her feet in delight.
“Would you mind if Ms. Ellory came to visit?”
She giggles and waves her spoon in the air. She probably doesn’t understand the question, but I take it as a yes. I need to tell Ellory about this morning, and I definitely want to hear about that lunch.
Me: I’m working from home this afternoon. Come over.
Trixie slings a bag over her shoulder. “I’m spending the night at a friend’s. Call if you need anything.”
“Have fun!” I call after her.
Amelia’s already fading fast in her highchair. I scoop her up, cradle her against my chest, and tuck her into bed just as the elevator dings.
My heart jumps.
Ellory.
She steps into the apartment, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. She doesn’t just take my breath away. She settles something in me. Like everything might actually be okay. She’s radiant. Effortlessly sexy. The kind of beautiful that scrambles your thoughts.
“Amelia just went down,” I say.
Her shoulders drop. “I was hoping to see her.”
“You’ll catch her after dinner if you’re staying.”
“Careful,” she says, lips curving into a smile. “You might get sick of me.”
I don’t answer. I just pull her close and kiss her like I’ve wanted to since Friday night. It’s hot and consuming, our mouths crashing, tongues tangling, all urgency and need.
I guide her backward toward my bedroom. “I’ve been dying to do this since the second you left.”
We fall into each other. My hands find the zipper of her dress, sliding it down with slow reverence.
“I want to worship you this afternoon.”
Her hand cups me through my jeans, and I groan. I’m already rock-hard.
Her dress hits the floor, revealing a black lace demi bra and matching boy shorts. Her nipples are tight beneath the sheer fabric, and her slit glistens through the lace.
“Jesus, Ellory.” I take a step back, drinking her in. “You’re unreal.”