Page 40 of Daddy's Accidental Babies

Thea didn’t say anything or bring up my stress level, but when Finley jumped up on the couch next to her and curled up, she chased him off and stretched her legs out toward me.

She gave it another beat, then said, “You want to tell me what’s really going on?”

I stared at her, long enough for the silence to start pressing in. Her eyes didn’t waver. I reached for my wine and took a slow sip, trying to decide if I could deflect or whether she’d call me on it either way. “What do you mean?”

She closed the laptop and set it aside. “Don’t do that thing where you pretend you’re fine. You’ve been wound up since yesterday, and today you barely touched your dinner; Finley ate the scraps. That only happens when you’re spiraling. So, talk.”

I ran a hand through my hair and dropped my head back against the chair again. The words were there, crowding behind my ribs, but saying them out loud felt like handing over something fragile.

“It’s my dad. And Dominic. And…all of it.”

Thea waited. She always gave space instead of pushing, but she also never let me off the hook. Her silence wasn’t passive. Itwas intentional, and the longer I held out, the more inevitable it became that I’d have to say it all anyway.

“The blog ran a photo of me and Dominic. It was from the shoot, but they also used an old photo of me holding Leo. Everyone saw it. And I might’ve thought it was a mistake—some intern digging through my social media or a weird oversight—but I don’t know. Marla is being strange. She definitely messed with my PDF, which I showed you. And I think she is jealous about me getting this job…” I heaved out a sigh after venting and gulped the whole glass of wine down.

“Marla the PR vulture…” Thea grunted, and I chuckled with her for a second.

“Yeah, well I told Dominic, and he said they were going to deal with it wisely. But the worst part is, my dad cornered Dominic. Threatened him.”

Thea’s brows lifted. “What?” She sat forward and placed both feet on the ground as she picked up her own glass of wine and sipped while refilling mine.

“I don’t know the whole conversation, but he made it clear he’s not happy about me dating or fake dating him. I don’t get it.” Pressing two fingers to each of my temples, I massaged and willed the wine to kick in and help me relax.

Thea exhaled slowly, her expression shifting from surprise to skepticism. Her loyalty had always been sharp-edged when it came to my father, and this was just one more betrayal in a long line. She disappeared into the hallway and when she came back, she was holding a manila folder. Her expression was unreadable, but I knew her well enough to recognize the tension in her jaw.

“This showed up in our mailbox this afternoon. There was no return address and no note included—just the folder itself…I’m sorry. I opened it,” she said with an added grimace displaying that she felt bad.

She handed it to me and I took it, already bracing myself for whatever I was about to see. Inside was a single photo and a note. It was grainy and slightly tilted, as if it had been taken from behind a windshield and maybe across the street. But it was unmistakable. It was me, standing on the sidewalk outside the boy’s preschool, crouched between them as we waited for a cab. Cal had his backpack twisted around his chest, and Leo’s hand was in mine.

Taped to the back was a yellow sticky note. In thick black ink, someone had scrawled three words:

Who’s your daddy?

My grip on the photo tightened, the edges curling slightly in my grip as I stared at the image again, committing every detail to memory. I lowered the envelope slowly, heart pounding like a jackhammer.

Then my phone buzzed. I had to dig it out of my back pocket, my fingers still stiff from gripping the photo too tightly. I unlocked the screen and blinked at the message staring back at me.

Vanessa: 9:07 PM:Confirmed. You and Dominic are booked for a live interview tomorrow morning. Romantic angle. Outlets have been notified.

I kept my eyes on the screen, hoping the words would change or vanish if I waited long enough. But they didn’t. The message stayed there, and my future was completely unavoidable.

Thea leaned forward. “What now?”

I turned the phone so she could read it.

She let out a sharp breath. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I shook my head, the beginnings of a headache already curling behind my eyes.

“Live,” I said. “Tomorrow. With cameras and questions and absolutely no way to get out of it. What will my father say now?”

Thea watched me for a long moment, her jaw set and her wine glass resting motionless in her hand. She didn’t ask any more questions. She stared at me, watching me steadily, her brows faintly drawn, as if measuring whether I was still holding it together or about to come apart.

This wasn’t press. It was pressure.

20

DOMINIC

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