Page 34 of Hidden Heir, Italian Wife

“She will be up soon, though.” And her whole life had to be rewritten to include him without losing herself. “I need a shower.”

She removed his arm and rose, then shrugged on the robe hanging on the back of her bedroom door before she faced him. There was no call for shyness. He’d seen and touched and tasted every inch of skin she possessed, but she was still deeply self-conscious.

“Can I trust you not to kidnap her while I’m in there?” She was only half joking.

He was on his elbow in the rumpled bedding, jaw shadowed with morning stubble, eyelids heavy. “How much more proof do you need that I want you both?”

She tied off the belt and hung on to the tails, wondering why she experienced such an atavistic thrill at his possessive language when she refused to believe he actually wantedher.

“My parents had passion in the early days, too.” She kept her voice low. Barely above a whisper. It added a note of despondency to what she was saying, but maybe that was her inner child still aching to be heard. “That’s how they wound up with me. Our situation reminds me too much of that. I don’t want Sofia to go through what I went through.”

“And what is that exactly?”

She twisted her mouth, unable to call it abuse or neglect. Her needs had been met, if grudgingly on her father’s side. Her mother had lied to her, but only to protect her. She hadn’t told the truth when Bree asked if her father loved her. Who could, when the answer was no?

“Sadness,” Bree replied.

“Because they divorced? We won’t.”

“You don’t know that.” At least her mother had loved her father. She had married him believing her feelings were reciprocated. “What if you fall for someone else? What if I do?”

“You won’t.” It was a quiet, implacable order that made her chuckle drily.

“It happens, Jax. Then you’re stuck in a marriage you accepted for a child you never wanted in the first place.”

“I want her.”

“So do I. But asking Sofia to carry the weight of a marriage isn’t fair to her.”

“I don’t expect her to. It’s on us to make it work.”

“Mama?” The knob on the door wiggled. “Who are you talking to?”

Jax had retrieved his bag from the driver last night. He rose and stepped into track pants, calling out, “It’s me,piccolina.”

“Papà?”

“Yes.”

As he tied the drawstring, Bree unlocked the door and opened it.

Sofia was in her wrinkled pajamas, a penguin stuffie hugged under her arm. She blinked at him. “Why are you here?”

“Because I’m part of your family now.”

He might be annoyingly domineering, but Bree liked the way he spoke to Sofia in ways she could understand. She also liked that he didn’t imply they hadn’t been a family before he entered the picture. He was joining what she and Sofia already had.

Sofia frowned. “ButIlike to cuddle with Mama in the morning.”

His mouth twitched before he schooled his face into patience. “You still can. We’ll have a big bed in Italy where we can all cuddle together.”

She looked up at Bree, brows pulled in confusion. “With the elevator?”

“Not where we went last night, no. Italy is a different place.”

“I’ll tell you about it while I make breakfast. What?” Jax caught Bree’s askance look as he finished pulling on his T-shirt. “You think my Italian grandmother didn’t teach me how to cook? Come,piccolina.” He came to the door and offered his hand. “You can help me.”

Bree’s chest constricted as she accepted that she had to give her daughter the kind of father she’d always longed for.

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