Page 45 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
"Like a guy about to be a father," he said. "An actual father. Not some cold-blooded family man who needs an heir. A real one. The kind that goes soft over baby fingers."
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't know what to say.
Was he right?
In that exam room, I definitely—
I definitely felt something strange.
Watching that screen, watching that small outline, hearing that fast heartbeat, I suddenly realized that wasn't just a Visconti heir.
That was a real life.
A life with fingers and a heartbeat and a kick and a yawn.
And half of that life came from me.
"This is good," Sebastian said, voice softer now. "You got a beautiful wife, a healthy kid. You should be happy."
"She's not..." I paused. "This is just a transaction."
"A transaction?" Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Man, you talked my ear off about that ultrasound. Baby's hands, fetal movement, and how fast the heartbeat was. Your eyes were glowing the whole time."
"I just—"
"You're just caring about your kid," he cut me off. "Nothing wrong with that. Being a father is a good thing."
"I know," I said. "I'm not saying it's bad."
"So what are you twisted up about?" he asked, leaning forward. "She's carrying your baby. You married her. You went to the checkup together and watched the ultrasound together. That's normal, right?"
"But it's not a real—" I stopped. "It's not a real marriage."
"Oh," he drew it out, smirk spreading. "So you're telling me you feel nothing for her?"
"No. The right woman for me should be like Bianca, someone from a strong family."
"Come on, man. You're lying to yourself."
I stared at him. Had nothing to say.
He laughed, and there was pity in it, and mockery too.
"Ezio, you haven't mentioned Bianca once," he said. "Not once in the last half hour."
I picked up my glass. Stayed quiet.
Silence stretched between us, heavy.
Outside the window, Manhattan glowed against the night—lights bleeding into lights, the skyline burning in the distance. Sebastian shifted the conversation, talked about family business, recent moves, and money. I gave the right answers and kept it smooth.
But part of my brain was still somewhere else.
Still in that small exam room. In that fast heartbeat. In that butterfly kick against my palm. In the minute she buried her face in my chest, and my hand found her back.
I tried to pull up Bianca's name in my head. Her face. The reasons why she was supposed to be the right choice. Elegant. Calculated. Fluent in this world. Could handle the old men. That's who should be standing next to me.
