The Match - A Baby Daddy Donor Romance

by Winter Renshaw

  While it would bring me great pleasure to take things a step further, I’m pretty sure I’ve made my point.

  With that, I return to Rossi’s driveway and settle in for the long night in the driver’s seat of my rental. And when she wakes in the morning, I’ll be here.

  Waiting.

  I’ll wait for her forever if I have to.

  And eventually she’ll realize, I’m hers forever too.

  Chapter 35

  Rossi

  * * *

  Shuffling past the foyer the next morning in a half-asleep stupor, I nearly drop my coffee mug when I spot the black Range Rover in my driveway.

  It’s six AM …

  Did he sleep there all night?

  Moving closer to the window, I take a better look. Sure enough, my knight in shining armor is fast asleep behind the wheel, his seat reclined and his arms folded across his steel barrel chest.

  Trekking to my room, I grab my robe and throw it on before stepping into house slippers. And I make a pitstop in the kitchen to pour him a coffee before heading out.

  I knock on his window, three gentle taps, and wait for him to stir awake. Sitting up, he presses a button by the steering wheel before rolling down the driver’s side window.

  “Good morning, sunshine.” I pass him the coffee mug. “No vacancy at the Ritz-Carlton?”

  He takes a sip, his dark, dreamy eyes focused on me. “Something like that.”

  “Why’d you stay, Fabian?” I cut to the chase.

  “I have my reasons.” His eyes scan past my shoulders, landing on Dan’s house for a handful of seconds. “Wanted to make sure your creepy friend didn’t pull any more stunts, for starters.” Dragging his gaze back to me, he adds, “Was also hoping a good night’s rest would help you come to your senses.”

  I roll my eyes. “Wishful thinking. And I slept like shit, for the record.”

  “You should’ve called me. I would’ve come inside and we could’ve slept like shit together.”

  I fight a smile, hiding my amusement. “Honestly, I feel bad. If I’d have known you were going to be this pig-headed, I’d have caved and given you the guest room.”

  “Sweetheart, you haven’t seen pig-headed yet.” He sips his coffee, gifting me a glinting wink.

  “Seriously though, what’s your plan?” I ask. “You just going to camp out in my driveway every night until your next tournament?”

  “No,” he says. “Just until you admit you’re wrong about us.”

  Waving my head, I head toward the front walk and motion for him to follow. I’m sure he needs a shower and a decent breakfast, and since he’s here, he might as well spend some time with his daughter.

  “You can come in for a bit,” I say. “But you can’t stay long.”

  Chapter 36

  Fabian

  * * *

  I hit the shower, freshen up, and change into clean clothes before joining the girls in the kitchen. Taking a seat next to Lucia’s high chair, I hand her a chunk of mushy banana from her tray while stealing a glance at Rossi in her pink satin robe. With messy hair piled on her head, she hums some eighties melody while she keeps a watchful eye on the egg white omelets she’s making for the two of us.

  She told me I couldn’t stay long.

  But this is progress.

  And I’ll fucking take it.

  “You never told me how it went with Frankie yesterday,” she says, back toward me.

  I was going to, but the conversation took an abrupt left turn before I had the chance …

  “The number didn’t work, but the address was hers,” I say. “She was pretty … shocked … I’d say. We didn’t have much time to talk because she was on her way out the door, but I learned something new about her.”

  Rossi flips an omelet, twisting back to look at me. “What’s that?”

  “Frankie is actually my birth mother.” Those words on my lips for the first time makes the room tilt sideways for a moment.

  “What?” She sits the pan aside, turning back to face me, arms folded.

  “Turns out she had me when she was fifteen,” I say. “And my parents—who are actually my grandparents—raised me as their own.”

  “And you had no idea?” She wipes her hands on a dish towel.

  “Not a clue.”

  “No one ever told you? Not even a cousin or aunt or something?”

  I shake my head.

  Rossi makes her way to my side of the table, draping her arms around me. “That must have been a lot to take in yesterday—on top of everything else.”

  “To say the least.” I give my daughter another hunk of banana, which she promptly tosses on the floor.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks, standing back and examining me with sympathy in her serene blue gaze.

  “Little bit of everything.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Just trying to understand how two people could give me the world—and turn their back on their own daughter.” I chuff. “I think what hurts the most, is they both took that secret to the grave.”

  Rossi pulls up the chair beside me, placing her hand over mine. “I obviously didn’t know your parents, but I’m sure they had their reasons. Maybe they were trying to protect you?”

  I think of Frankie’s words yesterday, the story about showing up on my birthday, seeing me so content and thinking I’d be better off without her anyway.

  “The important thing is it’s not too late for the two of you to reconnect, to get to know each other …” she says. “You exchanged numbers, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, so there’s your silver lining in all of this.” She removes her soft palm from the top of my hand. “Did she say who your biological father was or anything else like that?”

  “We didn’t get to that part. She had to go to work.”

  Rossi heads to the other side of the kitchen, plating the omelets, grabbing forks, and carrying everything back before taking the chair across from me.

  “Rossi, I want to be in Lucia’s life,” I say. “Whatever happens—or doesn’t happen—between us, I want to be here for her. I know I’m her donor, but I want to be her father too.”

  She swallows a bite, gaze averted.

  “So you want custody? Is that what you’re saying?” Her tone is icy, but that’s just the fear talking.

  “I promised you I’d never ask for that,” I say. “But what I am asking is for the two of you to move west.”

  She coughs, eyes widening.

  “After talking to Frankie yesterday, realizing everything we’ve missed out on by not knowing each other, feeling like half of me is suddenly this riddle to be solved … I don’t want Lucia to ever have to go through any of that.”

  “Plenty of donor children turn out fine,” she says. “And plenty of single parents do an amazing job …”

  “I’m not discrediting any of that.”

  “You’re saying she needs a father figure in her life to feel complete.”

  “I’m saying she needs me,” I say. “Maybe not now. But she’ll need me eventually. And I don’t want her to ever look back and wonder why I wasn’t there. And damn it, Rossi. I know you don’t need me, but you want me. Even if you refuse to admit it out loud.”

  She pushes her omelet aside, silent.

  “Hear me out,” I say. “Because I spent all night figuring how this is going to work. I have to be on the West Coast. You can work anywhere in the world—”

  She lifts a palm. “Okay, I know where you’re going with this, and before you continue, I have family here. Our entire life is here—our doctors and our play groups and our friends. My parents. I can’t just up and leave.”

  “Which is why I was about to propose that you bring your sister and your parents with you … they’re retired, yes?”

  She nods.

  “I’ve got a three bedroom casita on my property that they can use until they find a place of their own—which I’d be happy to assist with since the cost of liv
ing is a little higher out there,” I say. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work, Rossi. I can’t leave this state and not take the two of you with me. All I’m asking is that you give this a chance, that you meet me halfway.”

  Rossi gathers a lungful of breakfast-scented air and her pretty eyes snap onto mine from across the table, showcasing a glimmer of something. Consideration, perhaps?

  “I told you I was falling for you last night, Rossi,” I say. “But I lied.” With my heart galloping in my chest, I say the words I’ve said a hundred times before but never actually meant until now. “I love you.”

  Chapter 37

  Rossi

  * * *

  “I’m sorry, what?” I swear I misheard him.

  “I love you,” he utters those three little words again, the ones I was certain I hallucinated a second ago. Only this time he says them louder, enunciating each syllable.

  But before I have a chance to process it a second time, Lucia grabs a fistful of banana, smears it into a handful of strawberry yogurt, and proceeds to run her goopy fingers through her already-messy bed head hair.

  “I need to clean her up.” Without missing a beat, I swoop her out of her high chair and carry her to the bathroom. Snapping her out of her bib and onesie, I adjust the water and place her in the tub, gently scrubbing the food from her tiny body and silky onyx hair.

  When I was younger, I had an idea of what my dream life would be. Mostly it involved my first love (before I knew he’d grow up to cheat on me when we were barely out of the newlywed stage). But fate had other plans for me—better plans. I would marry a hundred cheating Bretts if it meant they would all lead me here … to this sweet, simple life with my beautiful little girl.

  For the past nine—almost ten—months, our life has been perfect.

  No drama. No complications.

  Netflix and baby bottles.

  Stuffed elephants and gummy grins.

  No broken hearts—only overflowing ones.

  The idea of uprooting all of this just to take a chance on a man I barely know makes my stomach tangle into seven hundred sailor’s knots, but what if this is nothing more than fate wrecking my plans once again because there’s something better in store for us?

  There’s a chance that maybe this new life could be better than any life I’ve ever dreamed of.

  I rinse the baby shampoo from Lucia’s hair, inhaling the sharp, sweet, powdery scent.

  Maybe we didn’t meet and fall in love and start a family the old-fashioned way, but it doesn’t make us any less of a family.

  Draining the water, I lift my baby out of the tub and wrap her in a downy soft towel.

  “Come on,” I say as a tickle of butterflies floods my center. “Let’s tell your daddy the good news.”

  Chapter 38

  Fabian

  * * *

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Phoebe says over the phone while Rossi and Lucia are down the hall.

  “What?” I clear the table.

  “So one of my interns was zooming in on Tatum’s ultrasound pic—the one she posted on Insta last week. Don’t ask me why, but hear me out. She noticed that the gestational date and the date on the ultrasound didn’t match up with the due date Tatum’s posted. They were off by a little over three weeks.”

  Phoebe speaks so fast, I can hardly keep up, but I’m all ears.

  “Anyway,” she continues, “so my intern plugged the gestational age and date from the ultrasound into this due date calculator online, which also gave an estimated conception date.”

  “Where are you going with all of this?”

  “Fabian, the baby was conceived when you were in Melbourne back in January!”

  The plate in my hand crashes into the sink. “Are you sure?”

  The last time I slept with Tatum was in December. The Melbourne tournament was the second half of January.

  “She’s lying about how far along she is so you’ll think you’re the father,” Phoebe says. “God, I cannot stand that weasel. You have no idea how much fun we’re going to have with this—”

  “Is everything okay?” Rossi appears by the fridge, bouncing a freshly bathed Lucia on her hip. “I heard a crash …”

  “Phoebe, I’ll have to call you back.” I end the call and turn toward my girls. “I … I’m pretty sure I’m not the father of Tatum’s baby …”

  Rossi’s expression softens and she fights the twitch of a relieved smile. “Oh my god. Are you sure? Do you know for sure? How do you know?”

  “I’m being told she lied about her due date. I was out of the country when she conceived. And before that, we hadn’t been intimate in weeks.”

  Rossi steps toward me, a hand clamped over her beautiful mouth. “This is a good thing, right? You’re happy about this?”

  “I feel terrible for the kid,” I say, “but yeah. This is good news for me, not having to be tied to that psychopath for the next eighteen years.”

  As the space between us closes, my daughter reaches for me. Scooping her up, I kiss her chubby cheek and inhale her warm, damp, baby-fresh hair.

  “That offer,” Rossi says. “About moving all of us to California … did you mean that?”

  “If it means having my best girls with me year round, I’ll do anything,” I say. “I know I’m asking a lot from you, but I know this can work. I’ve been around the world more times than I can count, Rossi, and I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel half the things you do.”

  Despite knowing I could give her the entire world if she asked, the stubborn, independent woman standing before me has no need for me—a fact that only makes her that much hotter in my eyes.

  Leaning closer, she presses her body against mine, tipping her chin up and staring so deeply into my eyes I feel it in my fucking soul.

  “You’re crazy,” Rossi says as Lucia grabs a fistful of her hair.

  “Crazy for you.” I claim her rosy lips before turning my attention to my daughter. “And you, too.”

  With my entire world in my arms, everything I need—and everything I’ll ever need—are finally mine.

  Chapter 39

  Rossi

  * * *

  “Put your phone down …” I drag a naked thigh across Fabian’s equally naked torso and moan against his bare chest. Ever since I gave him the green light yesterday, he’s been making phone calls, sending texts, and coordinating arrangements with various staff out west. “You’ve been on that thing all day.”

  “Just trying to make this as easy for you as possible.” He places it on the nightstand, rolling back toward me and slipping a hand between my thighs. His finger slides along my seam before plunging inside of me. “I’ve got an entire team of people whose sole purposes are to make my life easier—no reason why you shouldn’t reap the benefits of that.”

  I’m wet—and deliciously sore—but it still sends a shiver down my back and a buck to my hips. A few more minutes of this, and I should be fully recharged …

  “We haven’t even told my sister yet,” I remind him as our lips crash. “Or my parents. It’s okay to go slow with this …”

  “More than happy to slow down once we get to California.” He nibbles my ear.

  “Just seems like it’s all happening so fast.” I trace a finger down his undulating abs. “Question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Am I going to be the only person without an eight-pack in Malibu?” I ask. “Not that it matters. And not that it’s a deal breaker. I just want to know what I’m getting into … and are they going to make fun of me if I order ranch dressing? I heard they make fun of Midwesterners who order ranch. Do I need to get highlights? Isn’t everyone blonde out there?”

  I’m half kidding, but also very much curious.

  I’ve lived in Illinois my entire life—born, raised, educated, and established.

  Sliding his fingers from my sex, he rolls me off of him, turns me onto my stomach, and smacks my ass with a playful swat before following up with a nip.<
br />
  “Promise me something, Rossi,” he says. I careen back toward him, studying his face in the dim lamplight of my humble bedroom.

  “What?”

  “Never change,” he says. “Stay exactly the way you are.” Tracing his fingertips along my hips until my nerve-ending spark electric, he adds, “This. This woman with the curves and the hard-hitting questions and the wild dark hair. This is the woman I love.”

  My heart swells, and I swear it grows larger with every beat as I stare into the eyes of a man so crazy about us he’s rearranging his entire life to fit us in. From the moment I told him “yes” yesterday, my emotions have teetered between excitement and fear to everything in between.

  But a wise, very handsome tennis player once told me, decisions rooted in fear are almost always the wrong ones.

  “I love you.” A month ago, I never dreamed I’d be saying these words to my daughter’s donor—nor did I dream I’d be agreeing to pack up everything I own in the back of my Subaru so I could move out west to be a family with him.

  He runs his lips against mine, his fingers lacing through my hair. “I love you, too.”

  Once again, fate ripped up the plans I had—and offered me something better instead.

  Chapter 40

  Two Weeks Later …

  * * *

  Fabian

  * * *

  “Okay, you should be good to go.” Taylor rocks on her Converse-covered heels, hands deep in the back pockets of her cut-off shorts as she plants herself in my kitchen. “The baby-proofer just left, and I cleared out that section of your closet and those drawers in your dresser like you asked. Dinner’s being delivered at seven.” Her lips press together as she stares at the ceiling. “That should be it.”