Chapter Twenty-One
Gabriel
“And then the princess realized she didn’t need rescuing at all,” I read, my voice deliberately calm and measured. “She rescued herself.”
Megan’s eyes were already half-closed, her small body relaxed against her pillows. The glitter volcano sat proudly on her dresser—I’d helped her move it there after dinner, despite the trail of sparkles it left in its wake.
“Daddy?” she murmured.
“Hmm?”
“Is Cate going to stay?”
My hand stilled on the page. “What do you mean, baby?”
“Like... forever. Is she going to stay forever?”
The question hit harder than it should have. Megan had asked about nannies before—usually within the first week, usually with a tone of resignation that broke something in me every time.
This was different.
This wasn’t resignation. This was hope.
“Cate’s not going anywhere,” I said carefully. “She’s your nanny.”
“But what if she wants to leave? What if she gets tired of us?”
Us.
Not me. Not just her nanny duties.
Us.
I set the book down and looked at my daughter. Really looked at her. She was watching me with those eyes—the ones that saw too much, understood too much for a five-year-old.
“Cate’s not going to get tired of you,” I said firmly. “You’re the best part of her day. She told me so.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
It was true. I’d heard Cate say it to her friend on the phone last week. Overheard, technically, when I’d come home early and found them in the backyard making what appeared to be a fairy house out of sticks and leaves.
“Megan’s amazing. Like, genuinely the coolest kid I’ve ever met. I’m not just saying that. She’s funny and smart and so creative it’s actually insane.”
The memory made something warm settle in my chest.
“What about you?” Megan asked, her voice getting quieter, sleepier. “Do you like Cate?”
Loaded question.
Dangerous question.
“I think Cate is very good at her job,” I said diplomatically.
“That’s not what I asked.”
When did my daughter get so perceptive?
“Yes,” I said finally. “I like Cate.”
Megan smiled, her eyes drifting closed. “Good. I think she likes you too.”
If only you knew, baby.
I stayed there for a few more minutes, watching her breathing even out, making sure she was fully asleep before I moved.
The knock came just as I was closing her door.
Three sharp raps on the front door—confident, demanding.
I frowned, checking my watch. 8:47 PM. Late for a neighbor. Wrong time for a delivery. Probably someone selling something. Or a lost driver needing directions.
I’d deal with it quickly and get back to Cate.
Cate.
She was downstairs right now, probably finishing the dishes, maybe making herself tea the way she did every night. Maybe thinking about tonight. About coming to my room.
About us.
This past week had been... intense. Stolen moments and midnight texts and the kind of sex that made it hard to think about anything else.
But we hadn’t talked. Not really. Not about what this was. What it meant. Tonight, I was going to fix that.
Tonight, I was going to tell her that this wasn’t just convenient. That she wasn’t just—Another knock.
Louder this time.
Persistent.
I headed downstairs, already planning how to politely but firmly dismiss whoever was at my door.
I could hear Cate in the kitchen—the soft clink of dishes, the running water. She was humming something under her breath. Off-key but endearing.
Everything about her was endearing.
Focus, Gabriel.
I reached the front door and pulled it open, already forming the words to send whoever it was away, but the words died in my throat. Because standing on my doorstep, dressed in a designer coat that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent, was my ex-wife.
Tonya.
She looked exactly the same. Perfectly styled blonde hair. Flawless makeup. The kind of polished, expensive beauty that had first attracted me years ago and had meant absolutely nothing by the end.
“Gabriel,” she said, her voice smooth and practiced. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
My mind was racing, trying to process what the hell she was doing here.
Tonya had never been here. How did she know where I lived? Hadn’t seen Megan since she was two years old. Hadn’t called, hadn’t texted, hadn’t sent so much as a birthday card.
She’d left when Megan was a baby. Walked out with barely a backward glance, citing that motherhood “wasn’t what she’d expected” and that she “needed to find herself.” After a lengthy court case, I got full custody, and Tonya vanished.
Last I’d heard, she’d found herself in Manhattan with a hedge fund manager.
“It’s late,” I said finally, my voice flat. “Megan’s asleep.”
“I’m not here to see Megan.” She stepped forward, and I had no choice but to step back or physically block her.
I stepped back as she walked into my house as if she owned it, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.
And behind her, a man followed. Tall. Mid-forties.
Expensive suit that screamed money and power.
He had the kind of face that belonged in boardrooms and country clubs—sharp features, calculating eyes, a smile that didn’t reach past his teeth.
“Gabriel,” Tonya said, turning to gesture at her companion. “This is Richard Castellano. My husband and attorney.”
Husband? Attorney?
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
“Your attorney,” I repeated slowly.
“Yes.” She settled onto my couch—my couch—like she was posing for a photoshoot. Richard sat beside her, pulling a leather portfolio from his briefcase.
That was when I heard it.
The water in the kitchen had stopped running.
Cate had heard voices.
Fuck.
“What are you doing here, Tonya?” I kept my voice leveled and controlled, even though every instinct was screaming at me to throw them both out. “I have sole custody. You forfeited visitations when you never showed up.”
She smiled. The same smile she’d used when she wanted something. When she was about to make my life complicated.
“I’m here about my daughter,” she said simply. “I want custody.”
The world tilted. Everything—the past week with Cate, the happiness I’d been feeling, the future I’d been starting to imagine—all of it crashed into this single moment.
“Custody,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet.
“Joint custody, to start.” Richard, the husband and attorney, opened his portfolio, pulling out papers. “My wife has realized she made a mistake. She wants to be part of her daughter’s life again.”
“Over my dead body.” My hands clenched into fists at my sides. “You abandoned her.”
“I didn’t abandon her,” Tonya said, and had the audacity to look hurt. “I was going through something. I needed time to—”
“You left.” Each word came out sharp and precise. “You walked out on my daughter and didn’t look back.”
“Gabriel.”
“No,” I took a step forward. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to show up after all this time with a lawyer and act like you have a right to my daughter.”
“But I do have every right.” Her voice hardened. “I’m her mother.”
“She doesn’t know you!”
Movement in my peripheral vision.
Cate stood in the kitchen doorway, a dish towel in her hands, her eyes wide. She looked between me and Tonya and Richard, and I saw the exact moment she understood what was happening. Saw the exact moment everything got infinitely more complicated.
Tonya’s gaze followed mine, landing on Cate. Her expression shifted—that calculating look I remembered too well. The one that meant she’d found a weakness to exploit. “Oh,” she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “Is this the nanny?”
Cate didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
“How... quaint.” Tonya’s eyes raked over Cate, slow and deliberate. “Though I have to say, Gabriel, I’m surprised. I didn’t think you’d go for the... full-figured type. Especially after—”
“Don’t.” My word came out like a gunshot.
But Tonya wasn’t done. She never was.
“I mean, she’s clearly been enjoying the kitchen a bit too much. What do you feed Megan, dear? Deep-fried everything?” She laughed. That high, cruel sound that used to make my skin crawl. “I’m sure Child Services might have something to say about—”
“Don’t talk to my wife like that.”
The words were out before I could stop them. Before I could think. Before I could process what the hell I was saying.
The room went silent.
Tonya’s mouth fell open. Richard’s pen stopped mid-note. And Cate, well, Cate looked like I’d just told her the Earth was flat. Her face went white. Then red. Then white again.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I’d just called her my wife.
My wife.
We hadn’t even talked about what we were. Hadn’t defined anything beyond stolen moments and midnight texts and the kind of sex that made it impossible to think straight. And I’d just told my ex-wife and her attorney that Cate was my wife.
“Your wife?” Tonya’s voice was sharp, disbelieving. “You remarried?”
I should have taken it back. Explained that it was a slip of the tongue. A mistake. But when I looked at Cate—at the shock on her face, at the way she was still holding that dish towel like it was the only thing keeping her upright—I couldn’t.
Because Tonya had insulted her. Had looked at this woman who made my daughter laugh, who’d turned my house into a home, who’d somehow become the best part of my day, and had tried to tear her down. And I’d be damned if I let that stand.
“Yes,” I said, my voice steady. Final. “My wife.”
Richard cleared his throat. “Mr. Lyon, if you’ve remarried, that’s... relevant information. It affects the custody evaluation. We’ll need documentation. Marriage certificate, date of marriage.”
“Of course,” I said, not breaking eye contact with Tonya.
Her face had gone hard. Calculating.
“How convenient,” she snarked. “You remarry right before I file for custody. Almost like you knew I was coming.”
“I didn’t know shit because I haven’t seen or heard from you since you left.”
“Still.” She stood, smoothing her coat. “Richard, make a note. We’ll need to investigate the timeline of this... marriage. Make sure it’s legitimate.”
“Noted,” Richard said, scribbling.
Tonya’s smile was cold. “I’ll be in touch, Gabriel. We have a lot to discuss. Custody arrangements. Visitation schedules.” Her eyes flicked to Cate. “Making sure Megan is in a... suitable environment.”
She walked toward the door, Richard following.
At the threshold, she paused. “Oh, and Gabriel? Congratulations on your marriage.” The words poison. “I’m sure it will hold up beautifully in court.”
The door closed behind them, and I was left standing in my living room, having just claimed Cate as my wife, with absolutely no idea how to explain what the hell I’d just done.
I turned to face her.
She was still frozen in the doorway, dish towel clutched in white-knuckled hands, her eyes wide and unblinking.
“Cate.”
“Your wife?” Her voice came out strangled. “You just told your ex-wife I’m your wife?”
“I can explain.”
“We’ve never even talked about dating! We’ve been having sex for a week! And you just—you just—”
She couldn’t seem to finish the sentence.
Neither could I.
Because I’d just told the biggest lie of my life.
And the terrifying part?
It hadn’t felt like a lie at all.