Page 131 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

Part of me, the part I thought died forever on that mountainside, wants it.Needsit.

This is a chance to prove… what? That I’m still that guy? That I can still conquer the fear? That I haven’t gone completely soft?

But then I think of Mia’s trusting green eyes. Sabrina’s hesitant smile. The weight of a sleeping baby against my chest.

I close the email, tossing the phone back onto the table.

Wingsuiting isn’t gone. I’d be lying to myself if I said it was. It’s part of who I am.

But… I can’t...

Or maybe....

Maybe I can keep it in my life. There might be a way.

Smaller jumps.

Safer routes.

Yes. Calculated risks, not reckless abandon.

I walk over to the closet in my study, the one where my old gear is stored.

I pull out the sleek, aerodynamic suit, the carbon fiber helmet. Run my hand over the smooth, familiar fabric.

As I do so, I’m fucking torn between the man I was, the man I’m trying to become, and the man Mia needs me to be.

Fuck.

35

Sabrina

Okay, new rule for cohabitating with a billionaire baby daddy whose penthouse you’ve reluctantly moved into.

Never check your work email before coffee.

Especially when said email is from Vivian Wong, executive assistant and direct proxy for Luca Briggs.

Subject: Fwd: Chamonix Invitational. Early Bird Entry.

My stomach clenches before I even open it.

Chamonix.

The name alone sends a shiver of pure dread down my spine.

The place where Leo almost… where Mia almost…

Nope. Don’t go there. Not today.

Utterly oblivious, Mia is babbling happily in her highchair beside me, currently conducting a vigorous smear campaign against her chin with a spoonful of organic sweet potato.

The email is from Red Bull’s official event coordination team. A glossy, adrenaline-soaked invitationfor Leonardo Maxwell to compete in the upcoming Chamonix Wingsuit Championship.

The same one that nearly killed him.

There, I said it.

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