Page 103 of Heated Takeover

“Listen, Marcus. I’m sorry.” I make myself hold his gaze. “I knew from the moment I found out I was pregnant that you were Jamie’s father. Five years ago, I was afraid of a powerful stranger. But after you came back, after I watched you with him, I kept choosing fear. Then you asked me directly, and I invented Matteo and lied to your face.”

He says nothing, so I keep going even though every word hurts.

“You missed his birth. His first word. His first steps. His first day of school. I took those things from you, and being scared does not make that fair. I am sorry. I do not expect you to forgive me tonight.”

Marcus looks down at our joined hands, then slowly lets mine go. “I understand why you were afraid after one night with a man you barely knew. What I cannot understand is every day after I came back.”

I nod because he deserves the truth without an argument.

“I met my son as a stranger,” he says. His voice stays low, but grief roughens every word. “I watched him run toward a Ferris wheel and heard his middle name, and I still had to wonder. I asked you if the poet was his father. You looked at me and lied. Do you understand what that did to me?”

“Yes.” Tears spill down my face. “Or I’m beginning to.”

“I suspected the truth and waited for you to say it because I was proud and angry. I should have confronted you once I knew. But that does not make my silence equal to five years of yours.”

“I know.”

He leans back and scrubs both hands over his face. For a while, the only sound in the condo is the hum of the air conditioner and Jamie breathing down the hall.

“I love him,” Marcus says at last. “That part is not complicated. I want legal paternity established, and I want to be his father every day. But I will not tear him away from you or start a custody war.”

Relief hits so hard I have to press a hand to my mouth.

“We do this through a family lawyer and a child specialist,” he continues. “We tell him together. We protect his routine. We make decisions together, and neither of us uses him to punish the other.”

“Yes. To all of it.”

“As for us…” He looks at me, and the hurt in his eyes is almost harder to bear than anger. “I love you, Natalie. I have for longer than I wanted to admit. But loving you does not mean this is fixed.”

“I love you too,” I whisper. “And I know. I will earn back your trust for as long as it takes.”

He reaches for my hand again. It is not absolution. It is not a proposal or a perfect ending. It is a beginning.

“Tonight, we sleep,” he says. “Tomorrow, we call the lawyers. After that, we keep telling the truth.”

I squeeze his hand. “No more secrets.”

He bends and presses a kiss to my forehead. Then he takes my hands in his again. “If we can rebuild this, I still want you, Natalie. I want a future with you. I can see very clearly how it would look.”

“And how is that?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper because I feel like I am dreaming. And if I talk too loudly or blink too many times or make any sudden movements, it might all go away.

“With me and you and Jamie. All in the same house. Waking up together, having breakfast together. Coming home and making mac and cheese with the crunchy stuff on top. Birthdays and vacations. And Brittany too,” he says.

“I’m glad you added the last part because she is a very important part of Jamie’s life,” I say.

“I know. And I don’t want to change any part of his life right now. I just want to be invited in,” he says.

“You mean that? You want all of that?” I ask, my voice strangled in my throat.

“All of that and more, Natalie Blythe,” he says. “I want all of it, every day, because I love you.”

My heart explodes in my chest, and I laugh in response. He smiles before leaning in to cover my mouth with his.

We kiss for a while, taking back and indulging in everything we’ve wanted but were hesitant about. It’s soft and deep and warm and reassuring and so very real.

When we finally come up for air, he smiles while playing with the end of my signature braid.

“So I am curious,” I say after a while. “How does this work…logistically?”