Page 133 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

Because by successfully rehabilitating his image, by convincing the world (and maybe even himself) that he’s stable and in control… have I inadvertently paved the way for him to return to the very behavior that almost destroyed him?

Have I, in my professional competence, handed him the justification he needs to go dance with death again?

Oh god, please no.

The irony is almost to much, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from bursting into tears.

I step back, and take several moments to compose myself, and then finally approach him again. I try to pad louder, but he still doesn’t notice me.

“Leo?” I say softly.

He starts, turning abruptly, his eyes wide for a second before the usual guarded mask slams back into place.

He quickly turns off the TV and the screen goes black.

“Sabrina.” His voice is carefully neutral. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Mia’s napping,” I say, trying to keep my tone equally casual, though my heart is hammering against my ribs. “Just… checking on you.”

Liar. I’m checking to see if you’ve completely lost your goddamn mind.

“I’m fine,” he says curtly, standing. He busies himself re-racking some weights that weren’t even being used. Avoiding eye contact.

Classic Leo deflection.

I decide to just rip off the Band-Aid.

“Vivian Wong emailed me this morning,” I tell him. “About the Red Bull Chamonix invitation.”

He stiffens, his back still to me. “Yeah?”

“And Luca’s… helpful… PR strategy proposal.” I can’t keep the sarcasm entirely out of my voice.

He finally turns around, leaning against the weight bench. He’s been moving with more fluidity lately, ever since giving up his cane.

Progress.

Dangerous progress, maybe.

“Luca’s enthusiastic,” he says dryly. “Always looking for the next big angle.”

“And you?” I press gently, trying to gauge his reaction. “Are you… enthusiastic, too?”

He shrugs noncommittally. “It’s an invitation, Sabrina. I get them all the time. Doesn’t mean anything. Luca wants to put a PR spin on everything. I wouldn’t read too much into it.”

Bullshit.

This isn’t justanyinvitation. This is Chamonix.

The sceneof the crime.

The place that almost took him before he even knew Mia existed.

“Are you sure?” I ask quietly, firmly meeting his gaze. “It looked like more than ‘nothing’ when you were watching those videos.”

His jaw tightens. “Nostalgia. Muscle memory. Nothing more.”

“Leo,” I say, pleading now despite myself. “Please tell me you’re not actually considering this.”

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