Page 109 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

Fair enough. Vulnerability is a two-way street. Or maybe just a collision course.

“My father,” I admit, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “He wasn’t an alcoholic, not like yours. He was just… gone. Walked out when I was nine. Promised he’d be back. Never was.”

I hinted at this before, the day Leo and I first met post Vegas. During out argument. But I never told him the full story. Not like this.

I hug my arms around myself, the familiar chill of that long-ago abandonment settling over me. “So, yeah. I get the fear. Of relying on someone who might disappear. Of history repeating itself. That’s why I didn’t tell you about Mia initially. Not just because of the playboy reputation or the cliff-jumping. Because deep down, you reminded me ofhim.”

His eyes darken, but not with anger this time. Recognition? Empathy?

He crosses to me and reaches out, his fingers gently brushing my arm, sending an unexpected jolt through me.

The contact is brief, hesitant, but it feels… significant.

“I’m not him, Sabrina,” he says, his voice low. “Not your father. Not mine either.” He pauses, then adds, almost under his breath, “Trying like hell not to be, anyway.”

The raw honesty of that admission cracks something openinside me.

That fragile trust, the one I keep trying to deny, takes root a little deeper.

We’re both damaged goods, products of fractured families, carrying baggage that could fill a cargo plane.

Both terrified of repeating the mistakes that shaped us.

Maybe that shared fear, that shared history of abandonment and disappointment, isn’t just a barrier?

Maybe it’s a bridge?

Later that evening,the penthouse is quiet again. The remnants of our working dinner sit cleared away... some gourmet takeout ordered by Thomas, because apparently Leo didn’t want his personal chef intruding on our privacy tonight. Beyond the vast windows, the city lights twinkle like scattered diamonds.

It Mia’s bath time.

Another first. Because Leo insisted on being involved, and he hovered awkwardly near the sleek, modern tub in the nursery bathroom while I expertly navigated suds and rubber ducks.

Now, she’s swaddled in a fluffy towel that’s bigger than she is, sitting propped up on Leo’s lap on the bathroom floor while I kneel in front of them, carefully applying lotion to her chubby legs. She smells like lavender and clean baby. If that’s even a smell...

Leo is watching my hands with a small, focused frown on his face, like he’s memorizing the technique. He hasn’t said much since our conversation by the photograph in his office, but the atmosphere betweenus feels different. Less charged with sexual tension or professional obligation, and more… quiet. Thoughtful even. Almost peaceful.

“Okay, little peanut,” I murmur, rubbing lotion onto Mia’s belly. She giggles, kicking her legs. “Almost ready for sleepy time.”

“She likes this part,” Leo observes quietly, his hand resting gently on Mia’s back, steadying her. His fingers brush against mine as I reach for the diaper. Another jolt, smaller this time, but definitely there. I steadfastly ignore it.

Boundaries, Sabrina. Remember the boundaries.

Even if they feel increasingly blurred.

I get her diapered and pull a soft sleeper pajama set over her head. She yawns widely, showing off her few tiny teeth, her green eyes drooping.

“Someone’s tired,” Leo says softly, his voice lacking its usual sharp edge. He sounds almost paternal.

Stop it.

He stands up carefully, lifting Mia with him, supporting her head like a pro now. He cradles her against his chest, rocking her slightly. Mia snuggles in, her eyes drifting closed.

Watching them together like this... the powerful billionaire, still marked by his recent brush with death, holding our tiny daughter with such unexpected tenderness... it sends a rush of conflicting emotions through me.

Fear is among those emotions, admittedly. The fear that this is temporary, that he’ll revert, that he’ll leave.

But also… hope.

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