Page 38 of Cinderella's Fling with the Off-Limits Billionaire

His lips tugged downwards. She waited for him to demur, to put her off with some line about not wanting to talk about it, but instead, he said, “No. I have dated some women for longer than others, but none in a way that ever really mattered.”

The hollowness in her chest was back, but bigger now. Was she the same as them? Was it his gift in life to make a woman feel as though she were the most special thing in the world and then disappear? Because none of this mattered?

“I’d better go check on Harps,” she said, taking a step away from him, unable to completely erase the frown from her face. “Thanks again for this,” she gestured to the necklace, and the tickets. “It was very thoughtful of you.”

But you’re different. This is different.

The words had burst through him like rays of sunshine from behind the clouds. The assurance to her that this wasn’t meaningless felt so imperative, so important. Only he hadn’t said that. He couldn’t. Because in essence, she was the same as anyone else he’d dated. There was no future for them. Nothing beyond this week.

He liked her.

He loved spending time with her.

He loved sleeping with her.

He loved the way she was with her daughter.

But there was no way he was going to get involved with anyone right now. Her life was in a state of upheaval, and the best thing he could do was support her through that. His own life was a complete mess and working his way through that had to be a priority. There were a million reasons why this wouldn’t work long term, so telling her she was different would only confuse matters.

He hated it though. Hated to think of her believing that she was just like any of the women in his past. Hated to think she couldn’t see that this was rare. Their connection wasn’t like anything he’d ever experienced.

Was that because of what he’d been through though? Was he in such free-fall because of his adoption discovery that he was latching onto someone—something—in the hopes it would anchor him back?

Perhaps.

It made sense.

It made more sense than…he ignored the alternative. There was no future here. They had a clear-cut agreement about that, the perfect arrangement, and he wasn’t about to mess it up. He’d promised Skye he wouldn’t hurt her, and he’d meant it. There’d be no mixed messages from him—they were this. A perfect, sublime, sensual week, and nothing more. He was in no headspace to offer more, and he knew he’d regret it if he did. Better to leave things as they were and move on with his life when the time came.

When Skye had told Harper she was going to see a show, Harper had wanted to dress up like mummy, so they’d gotten ready together. Harper had chosen her best tutu dress and had wanted her hair pulled up in a bun, like mummy’s. Skye loved every moment. At two, Harper had already grown so much, Skye could see how fast time was going. She wanted to hold onto every moment she possibly could. When Skye put on a minimal amount of makeup, Harper said, “Me too!” so Skye chose a gloss and carefully applied it to her daughter’s lips, laughing at the way Harper posed in the mirror.

“You are too much, missy moo.”

“Too much!” Harper repeated gleefully.

Skye took the briefest of moments to check her own appearance. She wore the second dress Leandro had given her, as well as the necklace and the heels, and the only bag she owned that wasn’t an oversized tote. It was a small leather clutch, and she’d had it for years, but that didn’t matter. Wearing diamonds like this, no one would be looking at the bag. Her blonde hair was in a ballet style bun, with some tendrils loose around her face, and when she stepped into the living room, she was holding Harper’s hand in her own.

Leandro was on the phone on the terrace when they emerged, but he still saw the moment Skye lifted her hand for Harper to do a little twirl underneath it, as though she were a ballerina in a show. He also saw the way Skye laughed then scooped down and lifted the little girl into a hug, spinning her around in the air before replacing her on the tiled floor.

“I have to go.”

“Please don’t hang up, Leo, my love,” his mother pleaded. “You know we have to talk about this.”

“Yes,” he grunted in response. “We do. But I’m not ready yet.”

His mother was quiet, processing this. “We love you, darling boy. We loved you the first moment we saw you. I didn’t give birth to you, but in every way that matters you are my son.”

“I’m not questioning that,” he said. “But I cannot fathom why this was kept secret from me. Why was I raised to believe one thing, only to discover another is true?”

His mother was silent and at that moment, Harper saw him through the glass and waved one of those adorable little arms, her smile wide and spontaneous, dimples forming in both cheeks, just like Skye.

“We will talk,” he said after a beat. “But not yet. I can’t.”

He disconnected the call and focused on the night ahead, on the uncomplicated happiness he felt when he was with Skye, and even Harper. He knew he couldn’t ignore his situation much longer. He knew he was escaping reality here, with them, but he didn’t care. Right now, they were just the balm his soul needed, and he wouldn’t change a damned thing.

Aware that time was all too precious, he stepped inside and let Harper do a ballet twirl beneath his arm, just as Skye had, receiving rapturous giggles from the toddler—a sound of such unadulterated happiness that he knew he’d always remember it.

“You’re very good with her,” Skye said, as Alec drove them in the direction of Broadway.

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