Shoulders arched, he exhales. “The man’s a creep, Rossi. And watching him with Lucia …” His voice trails. “It made me feel something I’ve never felt before.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know … like I wanted to dive across the table like a goddamned tiger and rip his face off?”
My jaw falls. “Really? That intense?”
Fabian comes around the island, placing his arms around my waist and steering me into his arms. I press my cheek against his chest, sensing the steady, swift thrum of his heart.
“Promise me something,” he says.
“What?”
“Promise you’ll never date that freak.”
Laughing, I wrap my arms around his lower back and breathe him in. “I promise. But only if you promise to stop calling him names. We’re not in middle school.”
“Fair enough.” He cups my face, angling my chin until our mouths align. “But if he ever looks at you like that—like he wants to eat you alive—it’s game over.”
“Glad to know you’re watching out for us.”
Pressing his wine-flavored mouth against mine, I accept his kiss—and his fingers in my hair and the butterfly frenzy in my chest and the lightness under my feet. They’re here to stay. Unlike Fabian. His time here is limited; sand through the hourglass.
“I should put the baby to bed.” I slink away, and his hands trail down my arms until his fingers intertwine with mine. Our eyes hold and matching smiles paint our lips. He wears the look of a man who wants to eat me alive—in a different way.
Whatever’s happening between us is as terrifying as it is magical.
And I’m here for it.
But only for the next three weeks.
After that, it’s back to reality.
Chapter 20
Fabian
* * *
I’m changing in my room Thursday, hair damp from the shower, when I hear a set of unfamiliar voices coming from down the hall.
A man and a woman.
Peeking my head out, I’m met with Rossi flouncing down the hall, hands waving. “My parents are here.”
“O .. okay.”
“They were in the area and just decided to stop by.” She bites her lip.
“Do they know … about me?”
“They do now. I had to give them the bridged version so my Dad doesn’t have a heart attack, but I think they handled it okay. Carina’s keeping them entertained right now, but they want to meet you.” She takes my hand in hers. “I’m so sorry to put this on you. They’re really nice though, I promise.”
“You said the same thing about Dan …” Leaning in, I steal a kiss before flashing a smile. “But no worries. I’ve got this.”
Following the sound of laughter and conversation, I find the three of them—plus Lucia—seated at the kitchen table.
The instant I step into the light, the room goes silent, as if someone pressed a ‘mute’ button.
“Mr. Bianco,” I say, giving him a nod before turning my attention to his lovely wife—an older carbon copy of Rossi. “Mrs. Bianco.”
“Mom, Dad, this is Fabian.” Rossi places her hand on the small of my back.
Her father rises, coming at me with an extended hand but a face that means business. “Fabian, good to meet you. Our daughter just, uh, filled us in. It’s quite the, uh, story.”
With a hand clasped over her décolletage, Rossi’s mother’s eyes glisten as she makes her way to me.
“Can I give you a hug?” she asks. “You’re practically family. I mean, you’re Lucia’s …” Her voice trails, as if she can’t decide on a word.
Daddy?
Donor?
Opening my arms, I accept Mrs. Bianco’s hug, breathing in her lilac shampoo and the motherly warmth she exudes.
“This is just crazy,” she says, her blue eyes sparkling when she pulls away.
“Remember,” Rossi says. “This needs to stay strictly between all of us.”
“Yeah,” Carina chimes in from the table, bouncing Lucia on her lap. “So don’t go telling Aunt Peg or the entire family will know by Sunday.”
Their mother swats. “My daughters think I’m a gossip or something, but I promise, my lips are sealed.”
Her father studies me, jaw jutted forward ever so, laying the scrutinizing stare on thick as honey but hardly as sweet.
“So what are your plans with my grandchild?” he asks. “Going forward?”
“We’re still figuring things out, but that would be up to your daughter,” I say. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Fabian lives here,” Carina says, shooting me a wink. “Until the end of the month.”
Her mother’s expression fades. “Oh? So you just … moved in?”
“I’m staying in the guest room,” I say, enunciating every syllable. “But yes. We thought it’d be easier to get to know each other if we … immersed ourselves in this situation.”
“And what would you like to see come from this?” Her father asks. “Do you want to be a father or do you want to remain an anonymous fixture in our granddaughter’s life?”
“Don’t mind my father, he tends to go straight for the jugular,” Carina says.
“Dad.” Rossi clears her throat. “Fabian and I are still figuring things out. Can we save the hardball questions for another time?”
“That’s an excellent idea, Rossi.” Her mother slides her hand into her father’s elbow and leads him back to the table. “We were just out running errands and wanted to stop by for a quick visit and to see our little doll baby.” Shuffling to the other side of the table, she takes Lucia from Carina, smothering her chubby cheeks with kisses, leaving smudges of red lipstick. “Though I will say, Rossi, I thought it was strange we hadn’t heard from you in the past week …”
“As you can see, things have been a little crazy …” Rossi says. “Was waiting for a good time to share all of this with you, but anyway.”
“You’re hogging her, Suze.” Mr. Bianco reaches toward Lucia, who reaches back at him with a drooly grin the size of Neptune. “There’s my favorite baby girl.”
“Hey,” Carina says.
“Oh, stop.” Suze paws at the air, chuckling. “You’re all his favorite.”
“Your mom made some of those Madeleines,” Mr. Bianco points to a white plate wrapped in clear plastic. “I told her she’s got to stop making those. I’m supposed to be on a keto diet or whatever.”
“His A1C is up.” Suze rolls her eyes.
“They told me I’m supposed to eat seventy-five percent fats or something,” Mr. Bianco says, “But I can’t eat cake or ice cream. How the hell does a guy do that?”
“Fabian’s actually really good with nutrition,” Rossi nudges my arm. “I bet he could put together some lists for you?”
Her father’s bushy gray-black brows knit. “You think you could do that?”
“I’m certainly no nutritionist, but I know a thing or two about macros.”
“See, what the hell is a macro? They gave me all these pamphlets at the doctor’s office, but it’s like reading Latin.”
Chuckling, I nod, “I’d be happy to break it down for you sometime, sir.”
“Sir.” He points across the table. “I like that. You hear that, Suze? Biggest athlete in the world and he calls me ‘sir.’”
Suze glances up from playing with Lucia and offers a warm, sweet smile.
Rossi’s dad checks his watch before tossing his hands in the air. “Just got a text from our accountant. Wants to know if we can meet a half hour earlier to sign our taxes, otherwise we’ll have to reschedule for next week.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Suze says with a pout as Lucia tugs on her necklace. “I was looking forward to getting to know a little more about Rossi’s new friend.”
New friend.
That’s one way to put it.
I fight a smirk.
“I need to get back to work anyway,” Rossi says. “And Fabian probably has some phone calls to
make …”
Carina takes the baby and Mr. Bianco helps his wife up, not that she needs it. But he strikes me as the old-fashioned type. Reminds me a lot of my father, actually.
“I’ll walk you out.” Rossi disappears with her parents outside for a few minutes, and when she returns, I catch her by the office.
“Everything good?”
“Yeah …” She squints. “They kind of … really like you.”
“And you’re surprised?”
“No. I mean, yeah. It’s a lot for them to take in at one time. And you couldn’t tell, but I know my dad was freaking out on the inside. He’s not an avid tennis fan, but he knows who you are in a way that non-golfers know who Tiger Woods is. I bet he low-key wanted to fangirl a bit.”
“Really? Because he came with those questions like …”
She laughs through her nose. “He was trying to play it cool, and I think he overcompensated by being ice cold.”
Pulling her against me, I kiss her smiling face. “Oh, yeah? Is that was he was doing?”
“Seriously though, they think you’re pretty great. And they think what you’re doing is great,” she says. “Even though I don’t think you even know what you’re doing …”
“Psh.” I scoff. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“And what’s that?”
“Falling for my baby mama …”
Chapter 21
Rossi
* * *
“What are you thinking about right now?” Fabian asks late Thursday night. We’re snuggled under a blanket on the couch, watching some newly released documentary on some basketball player he knows and I’m trying to pay attention out of politeness, but sports have never held my attention before. Doubt they’re magically going to start now.
“I’m thinking that my dad is probably sitting in his leather recliner—his thinking chair, as he calls it—staring at the fireplace and analyzing everything from earlier today,” I say, fighting a laugh. “And my mom is probably nagging at him to come to bed because she can never sleep alone. She says the bed gets too cold, but who knows. While she waits for him, she’ll probably put on an extra layer of Oil of Olay and mentally go over all the questions she’s going to ask me the next time we’re alone.”
“Your parents are definitely … interesting.”
“They’re a handful sometimes, but it’s a wholesome handful, so it’s all right.”
“You’re lucky to have them around,” he says. “I never really had the quintessential grandparent experience. Mine were all gone by the time I was barely out of diapers. I’m glad Lucia has them.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “They’re pretty great. Still crazy in love after forty years of marriage. You know, they almost didn’t happen. She was engaged to another guy when they met. But my dad was relentless.”
“Imagine that.”
“He worked at my grandfather’s electronics store on the weekends, sweet-talked him into letting him do a few things around the house. Mowing and cleaning the gutters. But he just wanted to see my mom. Anyway, long story short, she left her fiancé and married my dad. Thank goodness for cold feet.”
“And persistent Italians,” he adds.
“She almost didn’t though. She was scared she was going to choose the wrong guy.”
“My dad once told me any time you make a decision from a place of fear, ninety-nine percent of the time it’s the wrong one,” he says.
“Ooh. That’s a good little nugget. I’ll remember that. Got any other ones?”
He pauses the documentary. “Yeah. Actually. There’s a rule in tennis, that if you hold the racket too tight, you lose control. I think relationships are that way too, so I’ve always made a point to hold people closely, but not too tight.”
“Damnnnn. I had no idea you went this deep.” I rest my elbow on the back of the couch, angle my body toward him, and rest my cheek against my hand. “You should write a book or something.”
“I’m working on one actually,” he says. “Or I should say a ghostwriter is. This publisher wants me to do an autobiography … never mind that I haven’t even lived half of my life yet …”
“Yeah, but you’ve done more living in thirty-seven years than most people do in eighty,” I say. “I bet you have all kinds of good stories. And think of all the aspiring tennis players who want to be you when they grow up.”
A wave of exhaustion washes over me, sinking into my marrow. I could stare at this beautiful creature all night, if only my eyes would let me.
Thank goodness for pictures.
In an unexpected yet endearing moment earlier tonight, Fabian told me to snap a few pictures of him and Lucia with my phone. And he made me swear up, down, sideways, and to Heaven and back not to share them with anyone. He said they were only for her and only so she had something to remember him by, come what may. I wasted no time grabbing my phone, and I snapped no less than fifteen images—images I’ll treasure and keep safe the rest of my days. He also told me not to send them off to get printed, that he’d buy me a photo printer to use. I teased him, telling him he was being paranoid, but he told me it wasn’t about him … it was about Lucia.
Her privacy, her safety, her future.
“I’m going to head to bed,” I say, yawning.
“Here.” Fabian pulls me into him, situating me into the cozy bend of his shoulder and readjusting the blanket over our laps. “I’ll carry you to bed when this is over.”
He presses play on the remote and settles back, arms wrapped around me tight.
With my ear pressed against his warm chest, I fall asleep to the steady drum of his heartbeat.
A girl could get used to this.
Even if she shouldn’t.
Chapter 22
Fabian
* * *
“What are you thinking about?” I ask Rossi after dinner Friday night. The warm flicker of candlelight makes her eyes shimmer in the dark.
I haven’t taken my eyes off of her since the moment she emerged from her room earlier tonight. She teetered, unsteady, in sky high black stilettos as she tugged at a little black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places and left nothing to the imagination. Speechless, I bit my fist as I visually devoured her from head to toe, and she muttered something about not having worn any of this since before the pregnancy.
I immediately silenced that fucking nonsense with a punishing kiss and a squeeze of her perfect, peach-shaped ass.
“If I tell you I’m thinking about the baby, you’re going to lecture me …” she says.
“Damn right I will.”
She rolls her eyes. “This is the first night I’ve spent away from her since she was born.”
The city skyline twinkles outside our private dining room.
“And I promise, I’ll make it worth every second.” I toss my napkin over my plate, retrieve my wallet, and place a few large bills to cover the tab since our server went MIA.
Dabbing her mouth, she folds her napkin, places it aside, and rises from her chair, her breasts all but spilling out of her skintight ensemble. My cock strains against the inside of my slacks.
With my hand on the small of her back, I press my lips against the side of her neck and whisper, “I don’t know if I can wait another second. I have to fucking have you.”
“Unless you want a quickie in the stairwell, you don’t have a choice.”
That’s what she thinks …
Slipping my hand into hers, I lead her out the private exit, to a reserved parking space behind the building. Pressing her against the passenger door, I slide my hand against her soft cheek and claim her Aperol-tasting mouth before working my way down the side of her neck and stopping above her ample cleavage. Dragging my fingertips down her outer thigh, I tug at the hem of her dress, inching it higher and higher until I find the lace trim of her panties.
“Are you crazy?” she whispers, breathless. Her eyes are bright in the dark. “Right here? Right now?”
“It’s goin
g to take at forty minutes to get home. Another twenty until Carina gets out the door. By my count, it’s at least another hour before you’re screaming my name, and honestly, I don’t know if I can wait that long.”
I graze my lips against hers, which arch up at the sides.
“For the record, I’m not a name screamer,” she says. “And you’re going to have to wait because I’m not trying to get arrested for public indecency.”
Reaching for the rear passenger door, the locks click open.
“Get in,” I say.
“What?”
Sliding across the buttery leather, I pull her into my lap and slam the door shut. “The windows are tinted dark enough no one will see us, and as long as the car isn’t bouncing like a seventies van, we should be fine.”
“Here?” Her eyes widen as I tease my finger along the inside of her leg, stopping to shove her panties aside. Rossi bites her lip, tossing her head back as she grinds against me.
“You’re so fucking wet …”
With her hands on my shoulders, she steadies herself, rocking against me until we settle into a playful rhythm.
“Slow down,” I whisper against her warm skin.
“But it feels so damn good.” She winces, exhaling hard.
Guiding her lips to mine, I claim her mouth before tasting her tongue. A second later, her fingers are working my zipper and her palm is wrapped around my shaft. Moaning, I sink back into the leather as she pumps my length.
“Did you bring a condom?” she whispers. “I’m not on anything …”
Fortunately, I’m nothing if not prepared for these things.
This thing, in particular.
I’d actually stopped at a pharmacy earlier today in preparation.
A second later, I’m ripping a gold foil packet between my teeth before unrolling it over my throbbing cock. Rossi straddles me, impaling herself with my hardness one torturing inch at a time.
“Oh my god,” she exhales when I’m all in. “I forgot how good this feels …”
“After this, you’ll never forget again.” Gripping her ass, I pull her taut against me as I thrust into her.
The Match: A Baby Daddy Donor Romance Page 15