Page 23 of Hidden Heir, Italian Wife

They were both silent in the car. Bree was cold, stomach churning, fearful she was making a mistake, but she was in it now. She had to see it through.

She would have sworn Jax had forgotten she was here, he seemed so remote, but he abruptly leaned over and pressed a button. It was a seat warmer, not that it had time to work. Her shivers were more about anxiety anyway. She gave their daughter a very good life, but it wasn’t a Visconti level of good. He was bound to judge her modest apartment with its used furniture and Sofia’s thrift shop wardrobe. Kids grew fast. Did he realize that?

She would also be judging him, though. Which wasn’t entirely fair. He’d only been a father for a few hours. She couldn’t expect him to display an instant connection, but whenever she had toyed with the idea of telling him about Sofia, she’d feared he would dismiss both her and his daughter. Maybe in some dark corner of her soul, she had always wanted him to, so he would fit her skewed vision of what fathers were like. Then she could raise Sofia alone, well seated high on her horse, able to say she had tried.

And could tell her daughter someday in the future that she wasn’t at fault.Hewas. Exactly like her own father.

Which wasn’t a scenario she really wanted for Sofia. She was merely braced for it. She would rather know today that Jax would disappoint them than discover his inconstancy in the future, after they’d begun to believe in him.

Ominous as it was, this meeting had to happen.

She trembled as she let Jax into her apartment.

The building was an older one with tiny bedrooms and narrow windows, but it had been updated with a new kitchen and faux hardwood flooring right before she had moved in. Location was everything, so they made the small space work.

Her mother wasn’t here yet. Bree moved through the living room, flicking on the table lamps to chase away the November gloom, picking up toys and pajamas and a stray hair band as she went. Saturday was chore day and by Monday, it always looked like this. She refused to apologize. Parenting was messy. That was reality.

Jax removed his jacket and hung it on the back of a kitchen chair, then moved to the open door of Sofia’s room. He didn’t say anything about the mountain of stuffies or the low, narrow bed made by a preschooler. He moved to the refrigerator to study the scribbles stuck there with animal-shaped magnets, then perused the trio of photos on the wall over the sofa.

“Mom’s husband is a professional photographer. Mom took Sofia for her third birthday.”

He didn’t respond, only stroked his jaw thoughtfully as he studied the images.

Bree found herself taking in the way his shirt fit the breadth of his shoulders and the precise line where his black hair stopped against the back of his swarthy neck. There was unconscious elegance in the way he absently touched his chin. That hand had braced her tailbone while he had driven her over the edge. She had caressed that spot on the back of his neck, arching her throat to his ravenous lips while groaning in luxury.

Why, oh, why had she let that happen? It was so mortifying.

He turned his head, catching her staring.

She looked away, cheeks stinging.

The beep of her door lock pulled her heart into her throat. She hurried around the corner to greet her daughter.

“Mama!” Sofia rushed her.

Bree scooped her up, crossing her arms beneath her bottom to snuggle Sofia’s pixie-like body close and tight.

“How come Gigi got me before run and play?”

“Because I want you to meet someone.” She tried to keep her voice light, but her veins coursed with adrenaline. She couldn’t seem to catch a full breath.

Melissa met her gaze briefly, expression anxious, then she looked past them. Her expression smoothed into her beauty contestant smile.

“You must be Jackson. It’s lovely to meet you. I’m Bree’s mother, Melissa.”

Bree stepped into the kitchen area so her mother could reach past her and shake Jackson’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, but his gaze was already pulling back to his daughter.

Sofia studied him, arms still around Bree’s neck, but head up, eyes bright with curiosity.

“Do you want me to stay?” Melissa asked.

“I’ll call you in a little bit.” Right after she finished shedding her clammy skin and throwing up the lunch she hadn’t yet eaten.

Melissa left Sofia’s backpack on the hook over the shoe rack and slipped out.

“Let’s take off your things.” Bree removed Sofia’s boots, then slid her to the floor and took her jacket to hang it.

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