Chapter 9
AVA
Dad seems younger since Theo came along. He’s sixty-two, but he seems half that, his face breaking into a young man’s smile every time he sees his grandson. Now, he bounces Theo up and down on his knee lightly, face filled with joy.
Mom hands me a cup of coffee as we sit on the back porch. It’s been a day since the – stand-off, electricity, the something – in the café, and Rafe has given me time to think about everything. Not that it’s helped too much.
“Do you believe him?” Mom asks, running a hand through her unruly hair.
Okay, so here’s the situation…
I’ve lied to my parents on behalf of my son’s mob-boss father. I told them that Rafe said he hired a PI who, to shortcut the work, lied to Rafe and said I was dead. I’ve told them he’s an art collector. There’s so much already to wrestle with, without heaping the total mess onto their heads.
“I think I do,” I murmur.
That’s the truth, at least as much as I can say.
Yesterday, in the café – my body still tingled long after he patted me down – I felt certain he was being honest with me. Pulling a hidden truth from deep in his soul and sharing something he’s never shared before.
“A child needs his father,” Dad mutters.
Theo croons and reaches up. Dad chuckles and lowers his head, letting Theo run his hand over his bald head.
“Make a wish, kiddo,” Dad says.
“I don’t want him to think he can pick us up and drop us anytime he wants,” I say.
“Absolutely not,” Mom agrees.
“Maybe I should see if he’d be willing to meet with you two here,” I murmur.
“If he’s not, then he’s not worth the trouble,” Mom says bitingly.
I pull out my phone, biting my lip. I’ve got a text from Adrian about one of the pieces we’ve purchased. Ever since the auction, Adrian has seemed… off. Nothing specific, but his energy is different, as though he’s annoyed at the father of my child being back in my life.
Or maybe that’s projection. It’s not like my personal drama is the center of his universe.
“I’ll call him,” I say, after replying to Adrian’s text.
I step into the kitchen to make the call. Rafe answers after one ring. “Ava, angel,” he says, sounding relieved. “I was beginning to get worried.”
“I’ve talked it through with my parents,” I say. “And we’re willing to let you see Theo, but they have to be there.”
“I can be over in an hour.”
A smile breaks across my face, lighting me up. I didn’t expect him to agree so quickly.
I try to keep the giddiness out of my voice, try to play it cool. “You need to know something else. I lied to my parents about you, Rafe. I’m not happy about it, but I told them you’re an art collector. As for the fake-death thing, I said you got conned by a private investigator.”
“Clever,” he says, sounding proud.
“It’s not a good thing,” I remind him. “But until I figure out what to do with… this mess, I think it’s better to keep them out of it.”
“Again – clever.”
“Are you seriously willing to come over tonight?”
“More than willing,” he says vehemently. “I want to see my son.”
“Okay, then. I’ll text you the address. But be warned, my parents are protective. Over Theo and me.”
“I’m glad to hear that. To know you haven’t been on your own all this time.”
“Rafe,” I say, before he hangs up.
“Yeah?”
“Was it all true? What you told me yesterday?”
“All of it. But be careful what you say on the phone.”
“You only left me because… you had to?”
“If it hadn’t been a question of keeping you safe,” he says carefully, “I would’ve stayed with you until you were sick of me, angel.”
The word angel warms me all over, reminding me of that night. I remember how he smoothed his hand over the small of my back, sending hungry signals through me, leaning in and whispering angel like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I’ll text you,” I tell him, hanging up.
I send the address, then walk toward the porch. Halfway, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. Hair messy, makeup smeared from a long day, clothes rumpled. I lift my hand toward my hair, then stop.
No.
If he wants me, he can have me how I am.
When the doorbell rings, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. It’s suddenly very real when Mom leaps to her feet, tugging on my hand. Dad sits in a chair with Theo in his arms, smiling down at his grandson. Mom is a mixture of excited and combative as we head to the front door together.
Rafe stands in a sleek black suit, dark hair catching the porch light, his amber-gold eyes glimmering as he takes me in with a smirk that has my body responding in ways it shouldn’t. “Ava,” he says, then turns to my mother. “And you must be Mrs. Ward.”
He offers his hand… the one not wrapped around a wrapped gift box.
“Hello,” Mom says. “Rafael Bellini, yes?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Despite mom’s desire to hold the line, I can see she enjoys his manners.
“Please, come in,” Mom says, waving him inside.
We walk into the living room. Rafe stops mid-stride when he sees Theo in Dad’s arms. I try not to let my heart flutter at the reaction, but it’s difficult. Rafe’s face couldn’t be more dedicated, his eyes swimming with the same love from the auction.
“Hello, sir,” he says, addressing Dad.
Dad stands, gently handing Theo to Mom. He offers Rafe his hand. “Hello, Mr. Bellini.”
“Rafe, please.” Rafe shakes his hand. “Thank you for inviting me into your home. I know it’s… complicated. But it means a lot.”
“You’re right, it’s complicated,” Dad says. “The longer I live, the more I realize that most things are complicated. Whatever your reasons, whatever you’ve said, you’re here now. I won’t say that smooths over everything, but it’s a start.”
Rafe nods, humbled, his gaze returning to Theo repeatedly.
Mom gives me a look, eyebrow raised, and I offer a subtle nod.
“Would you like to say hello?” Mom says.
Rafe clears his throat, voice husky. “May I?”
“Sure.”
He sets down the gift box on the table, then approaches slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid Theo will reject him.
He takes Theo gently, cradling him to his chest. Rafe is so big that he makes Theo look even smaller in his arms. Despite everything, no one could deny the love emanating from Rafe as he leans down and softly kisses our child.
Theo makes a bubbling, laughing noise, and Rafe smiles and looks up at me. I try to tame the glow emanating from me and the smile spreading widely across my face, but I can’t.
“Will you open his gift?” Rafe says softly.
“Sure,” I say, taking the box and unwrapping it. Inside, there’s a small stuffed lion.
“My mother used to say I had lion eyes,” Rafe says. “He has the same ones. Theo, the little lion.”
A tear rises to my eye, clinging to my eyelash. I quickly wipe it away, then approach, gently lowering the toy to Theo. “Look what Rafe…” I swallow. “What Daddy got for you, Theo.”
He gurgles, his small hand curling around the tail.
Rafe looks up and stares at me, into me. For a second, I’m convinced he must’ve been lying about the mob-boss thing. There’s no way a mob boss’s face could be filled with so much unequivocal love.
Affection swells in me, gratitude…
And beneath it, something else, something hungrier. I had lots of advice when I was pregnant, preparing to be a mother, but no one ever told me how fiery hot it would be to see Theo’s dad being a father. No one ever told me how it could make my lust do backflips.
Rafe sits with Theo in his arms.
“Would anybody like some sweet tea?” Mom asks.
“Sure, Mom,” I murmur.
“That would be great, ma’am,” Rafe says.
Dad sits, looking at me with a conflicted expression. I can tell he wants to approve of Rafe – his manners, his clear instant bond with Theo – but his paternal instincts are holding him back.
I sit next to Rafe, my leg touching his. Theo stares at me with his father’s eyes. Maybe I’m going cuckoo, but I swear he looks grateful for us allowing his father into his life.