Chapter 6 Enter Margot
Enter Margot
Enrick
“Enrick—”
“Go back upstairs first,” I say, forcing myself to release her even though every instinct screams to keep touching her. “I’ll grab the wine and follow in a few minutes.”
“Anyone with eyes will know what we’ve been doing.” She’s still breathless, her lips swollen from my kisses, and faint red mark blooms on her collarbone where I sucked too hard.
“Then fix your braids and blame the flush on the wine cellar temperature.” I pick up her sweater from the floor and hand it to her. My hands aren’t quite steady either. “Besides, it’s Christmas Eve. Everyone’s too focused on getting ready for tomorrow.”
She pulls it on, fumbling with the fabric. “Did you put Gina up to sending me down here?”
I could lie. Should lie, probably. But I’m done with the version of myself who took the coward’s way out.
“Yes.” I watch her eyes widen. “I asked her to create opportunities for us to be alone. Nothing creepy—just... chances.”
“You—” She stops, processing. “Oh, thank God.”
“That’s not the reaction I expected.”
“I thought the house might be bugged,” she admits, and despite everything, I laugh.
“Bugged? Desiree—”
“I told Cassidy last night there was no wine here, and then suddenly Gina’s sending me to a wine cellar? It seemed suspicious!” But she’s smiling now, a real smile that reaches her eyes and causes an immediate, sweet constriction in my ribs. “You’re just a schemer, not Big Brother.”
“A schemer who wants you,” I correct.
Her smile falters. “You had six years. Why now?”
I search for the right words, the ones that might make her understand.
“Because you’re here. Because you came here.
” I pause, trying to articulate what’s been churning inside me since I saw her in the driveway.
“Before this weekend, I didn’t know how to change what we’d become.
We had one night together—one perfect night—and then spent the next nine months as adversaries. ”
“You’re the one who made us adversaries.”
“I know.” The admission tastes bitter. “You were the first woman I’d been with. The only one.” Her eyes widen. “I didn’t handle things as I should’ve and by the time the DNA test came back positive, I thought it was too late to be anything other than co-parents.”
“What do you mean by ‘the only woman’?”
Heat crawls up my neck. This isn’t how I imagined having this conversation. “Exactly what it sounds like. You were my first sexual experience.”
“That’s—” She stops, starts again. “Enrick, that can’t be true.” Her voice wavers. She reaches out, gripping the wine rack beside her. “You were too confident. Too... skilled. The way you touched me, the way you—”
“Read a lot of books,” I say, attempting levity that falls completely flat. “Watched... educational materials. Wanted to make sure I knew what I was doing when the time came.”
“But you were twenty-four.” She’s still processing. “How is that even possible?”
“Focused on work, too picky, too scared of ending up with someone like Maverick’s ex.
Take your pick.” I shrug, though there’s nothing casual about this admission.
“The point is, when you called, my first thought wasn’t ‘I’m going to be a father.
’ It was ‘this is medically impossible. I’d read somewhere that getting pregnant the first time was rare.
That it took couples months, sometimes years. ”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “You haven’t been with anyone since?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want anyone else. What we had—even for one night—felt like something I shouldn’t settle for less than.”
“That’s...” She trails off, something shifting in her expression. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on your one experience.”
“We had sex three times that night, if you recall,” I correct, and watch as she swallows hard.
“I remember,” she says softly.
“It was special,” I say. “At least to me.” My voice drops. “I have been on a few dates, but I end up comparing them to you.”
She looks away, fingers worrying at the hem of her sweater. “I haven’t been celibate.” The words come out rushed. “After Bella was born... once I felt ready... there have been other people. Not many, but—”
“I don’t care.” The interruption is immediate.
“You should care. You just told me I’m the only—”
“And you had every right to move on.” I step closer, keeping my voice low. “I abandoned you while you were carrying our child. I gave you no reason to wait for me. Whatever you did, whoever you were with—that’s not something you need to apologize for.”
“You’re really okay with it?”
“Okay is the wrong word.” Honesty. I promised her honesty.
“Am I jealous as hell thinking about someone else touching you? Yes. Do I wish I’d been the only man you’d ever been with?
Absolutely.” I move closer still. “But do I have any right to judge you for living your life when I wasn’t part of it? No, not even a little.”
“Enrick—”
“I want to be your last. I’m going to be your last.” The words come out confidently. “Whatever it takes, however long, I’m going to prove I’m worth another chance.”
Desiree lets out a shaky breath. She turns away from me, arms wrapped around herself.
“Something happened that day,” she says quietly, “the day I called you.”
I go still. “What day?”
“The day I found out I was pregnant.” She’s not looking at me, her gaze fixed on the stone wall.
“I was doing a home visit to a family. Single mother and three kids under seven.” Her voice is flat.
“Standard procedure. I’d been there twice before, building rapport, trying to get the mother to accept help. ”
She shifts, wrapping her arms tighter around herself.
“The father didn’t want me there. Said I was trying to break up his family. I explained I was there to help, that services were available if they needed support. He—” Her voice cracks. “He pulled out a gun.”
My blood turns to ice. “Jesus Christ.”
“He didn’t mean to shoot. He was just... trying to scare me. But it went off and—” Her hand moves to her side without thinking, fingers pressing against her ribs through the sweater. “The bullet grazed me. I barely even bled.”
My breathing has changed. I can’t seem to get enough air into my lungs. The image of Desiree facing down a gun, of her bleeding, of her alone and terrified—
“They took me to the hospital. Cleaned the wound, bandaged me up.” She finally turns to look at me, and the pain in her eyes guts me. “And that’s when the nurse told me I was pregnant.”
“Desiree—” Her name comes out broken.
“I called you because I was terrified, and I thought—” Her voice cracks. “I don’t know what I thought. That maybe you’d make it less scary. We’d been talking every day at that point. I thought we were…”
She trails off, but I know what she can’t say. That we were together. That I was hers.
The silence stretches between us, heavy with the weight of what I did. What I said to her when she was already broken.
“Instead, I made it worse,” I say quietly.
“Yeah.” The word comes out small. “You did.”
Holy hell. She’d been shot at. Hours before she called me, someone had pointed a gun at her and pulled the trigger. She could have died. Our daughter almost never existed because some asshole nearly killed her mother.
And when Desiree called me, traumatized and pregnant and terrified, I called her a whore.
“I don’t—” I have to stop, swallow hard. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry doesn’t even begin to cover—”
“I know you’re sorry.” She wipes at her eyes. “But it doesn’t change what happened.”
“Is that why you left social work?” The pieces click into place. “Why you changed careers?”
She nods. “I couldn’t go back. Couldn’t walk into another home not knowing if there’d be a weapon. I tried—spent three months on leave thinking maybe I could do it. But every time I even thought about going back...” She shakes her head. “The fear never left.”
I did this to her. Not just the cruel words on the phone, but everything that came after. She faced trauma alone, carried our child alone, and rebuilt her entire life alone.
“I don’t know how you ever let me near Bella,” I say roughly. “How you trusted me with her after everything.”
“Because she deserved a father.” Desiree straightens, wiping the last traces of tears from her face. “And I knew—despite everything—you’d love her. That you’d be good to her even if you weren’t good to me.”
The distinction cuts deep. Good to Bella. Not good, period.
“I want to be good to both of you,” I say. “If you’ll let me try.”
She looks at me for a long moment, and I can see her weighing it. Measuring my words against my history. Against the man who failed her when she needed him most.
“We live in different states, Enrick. How does this even work? You’re in Winter Bay. My life and Bella’s are in Atlanta.”
“I don’t have all the answers yet, but I know I’m willing to be uncomfortable and inconvenienced if it means having you in my life.
” I reach for her hand, relieved when she doesn’t pull away.
“But I know we can’t solve our problems if you leave on Christmas morning.
” I squeeze her hand. “Stay through Christmas. Bella’s with me until January, anyway.
You don’t have to rush back to an empty apartment. ”
“Christmas,” she repeats softly, like she’s testing the word.
“It’s Bella’s first Christmas where we’re both in the same place. Where we both get to enjoy her presence. “She’s happy you’re here and wants us to help her put out cookies for Santa.”
Desiree’s eyes shimmer. “I haven’t spent Christmas with family except Bella. My parents don’t celebrate...” She trails off.
“Then spend it with us,” I say quietly. “Let this be the first of many.”
She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, and I can practically see her running through every scenario, every risk, every possible disaster. “Okay,” she finally says. “I’ll stay.”
I step forward, ready to pull her close again, but footsteps creak overhead. We both freeze.