Page 86 of Shiver

“Keep telling yourself that.” I chuckle, lying back with my arms tucked under my head. “And for the record, I have no interest in Cici. I’m thankful to have her support and want nothing more than for us to effectively co-parent for our daughter, but that’s all there is to it.”

Our eyes lock in the mirror, but neither of us speaks another word. I can tell she’s fighting herself right now. Hell, probably biting her tongue so she doesn’t have to deny how she feels about me and subsequently lying all in the same breath.

What she may not realize is that everything about tonight showed me how she really feels, and there’s no going back now. Not for me, at least.

***

Samara’s lying beside me, reading her book. I keep stressing about Gia, and my thoughts are racing as I worry about all the things I could’ve donealreadythat might’ve messed her up for the future.

It’s annoying how tired we’d both been, but sometimes when I reach that point of sheer exhaustion and don’t go to sleep right away, it messes with me. I have trouble falling asleep, and my mind doesn’t seem to want to shut off.

I roll over to face Samara, and she immediately rests her book on her stomach. She rolls over to me, and her eyes are glancing at me like I’m about to start talking when she doesn’t want me to. It’s an expression I’ve become incredibly familiar with.

“What is it?” she grumbles.

“When you agreed to work with me, I know that was only as a favor to Rome. But with your other clients…” I trail off, unsure of how to phrase this.

“With my other clients, what, Luca?” She sounds wary.

“How do you know if they’ll be good enough?”

She narrows her eyes at me, closing her book and setting it on the nightstand before propping herself up on an elbow to face me. “Good enough for what?” she asks, tilting her head.

“To be a parent, I guess. I’m wondering how you decide the parent is worth your time, and if they’re actually going to be worthy of that child.”

Her expression softens a fraction as she considers my words. “Luca, I’m not God,” she says, her voice soft. “I don’t know, hell, I don’t thinkanyoneknows who’s fit to be a parent or even what that constitutes. I do the best I can to make an informed decision about who I want to work with, but that’s the best Icando.”

“Do you research your clients before you work with them?”

“Of course I do. I research all of my clients because, unfortunately, I can’t trust them to tell me every bit of the truth. That doesn’t make them a bad person either. We all have things we’re embarrassed by and wouldn’t want to openly admit to someone, including things we’d done so long ago we may not even remember doing them. That’s part of my job. To make sure that if it can be found by someone else, I find it first, so I know how to handle it when in court,” she explains, lying on her side, facing me in the dimly lit room.

Something about the way she says this doesn’t sit right with me. There’s something missing. “Samara,” I tread lightly.

“Mhmm?” she mumbles, yawning.

“Is that the reason you had such a problem with me when we first met?” She quirks a brow, so I elaborate. “When you looked into me, did you find something you didn’t like? Is that why you hated me?”

Her expression is inscrutable as she shifts uncomfortably. “I did,” is all she says.

“And what was it?” I ask, prying the information out of her because there are about a million things she could’ve found that would have left her with a bad taste in her mouth, and I wouldn’t even fault her for it.

She stares at me for an uncomfortable amount of time, chewing on her bottom lip as she decides what to say, if anything. By the time she finally answers, I’m nearly convinced she was going to just roll over and ignore me, but what she says next knocks the fucking wind out of my lungs.

“I came across an article that showed a picture of you heading into a non-profit reproductive care clinic with an unidentified woman.” The moment the words are spoken, I feel my stomach plummet. I know exactly which article she’s referring to, and not a single thing in it is true.

“Samara, I know the article. And I can assure you that not only is none of it true, but that I’d never do any of the things I was accused of,” I tell her, keeping my voice firm.

Her eyes look sad as she meets mine. “Explain it to me then, please.” Her voice breaks on the last word.

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

Her brows pinch together in confusion. “Why not?”

I take a chance, moving to the center of the bed to pull her against me. And to my immense surprise, she doesn’t pull away or give me shit for it. “Because, sweetheart,” I whisper into her hair, “It isn’t my story to tell.”

Chapter sixty-seven

Samara

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