Page 143 of The Perfect Mistake

“Your dad’s attitude isn’t your fault,” she says.

“Maybe not. But exposing you to him is.” I take a deep breath. She smells perfect, like home and warmth.

“I would’ve met him eventually. Well… maybe,” she says. Her hand threads through the hair at my nape, her slim fingers playing with the strands. “Happy birthday, Alec.”

I rest my forehead against hers. “Thanks. May it be over soon.”

“You don’t like being celebrated?” she asks. “I guess I’ll skip the blowjob I had planned on giving you in bed later.”

Damn. “If you’ve already gone through all the trouble of planning that…”

“Yeah, it took so much effort.”

“Mm-hmm. I will accept it, then.”

“You’re very generous,” she teases.

“That’s my middle name.”

Her fingers twist beneath the collar of my starched shirt. “But only if it won’t interfere with your bedtime, old man.”

I groan. “Don’t start.”

“Hmm. Because you won’t be able to keep up?”

I tighten my grip around her waist in sudden warning. “I’ll keep up,” I say. “Doesn’t matter how old I get, I’ll still want you.”

But you might not want me.

She rests her cheek against mine and takes a deep breath. I feel her body soften beneath my hands, melting against me. It’s the best sensation.

I run my hand over her hair. “But sweetheart, I am old, all jokes aside.”

She pulls back. “Forty-one isn’t old.”

“No. But it is compared to you.”

Isabel frowns. “Fifteen years isn’t a lot.”

“Not compared to twenty, perhaps, but that’s the only direction that’s favorable.” My voice sounds bitter. “Look, nothing about this is fair to you. I know that. You’re twenty-five. You have years ahead of you, years of exploration, and adventure, and figuring out who you are and what you want. My limited time and two kids don’t fit into that.”

There’s a defiant spark in her eyes. “What are you saying? That I’m too young?”

I shake my head. “No, that I’m too old.”

She’s shaking her head before the words finish leaving my mouth and scoots back on the countertop. “So I’m not too young to fuck, but I’m too young to properly date?”

The crassness of her words makes my jaw tense. “No, but think about it, sweetheart. Really think about it. How would you introduce me to your family? How would you handle endless questions and comments and little remarks? And do you want to be a stepmother? Because I’m a package deal. I know you like the kids, and you’re the best damn nanny they’ve ever had, and I could watch you with them forever… but a nanny can quit. A stepmother can’t, not like that, and you’re twenty-five.”

She frowns. “Don’t make this about me and what’s best for me.”

“But it is,” I say. “It always has been. You’re the one who will be sacrificing here. I can’t leave New York, can’t leave Contron, can’t leave my kids.”

“Why is that a problem?” she asks. Her body is strung taut, a wire ready to snap. “Tell me why. Explain it to me.”

How can she not see it? It’s been clear to me from the very beginning. Isabel is mine… but not to keep. No matter how painfully it hurts to imagine her walking away.

“You want kids. You told me that, and of course you do. You’ll be an amazing mother. Let’s say you want them in five years. Earliest. You’ll be thirty… and I’ll be forty-six. Fifty-six when they’re ten, and sixty-six when they’re twenty.”

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