Page 74 of Borrowed Bride

“This is Freya. Your daughter.”

She’s grown. Gianna holds an actual small person in her arms, not a baby. A real child who fusses at the strangers in the room and repeatedly hides her face in her mother’s neck.

A daughter.

My daughter.

I don’t know what to say. My mind is blank. Thankfully, Gianna seems to know what to do because a second later, she’staking my hand and leading me from the room. I follow, unable to take my eyes off the child.

Gianna leads me through to a different bedroom that’s filled with toys and stuffed animals. It’s definitely Freya’s room. She sits herself on the bed and settles Freya in her lap.

“It’s okay,” Gianna soothes softly, rocking Freya back and forth in her arms. “You’re okay. I’m right here sweetie. It’s okay. Don’t cry, it’s okay.”

Freya wails loudly for a few long minutes, then she begins to calm when Gianna presses a stuffed hippo into her small arms.

I can’t fathom how this is possible. We’ve been apart for so long, but this child is mine? I try to calculate back, estimating what age she could be based on when we last slept together but my memories from around the explosion are fuzzy because of the coma.

Does this mean poor Gianna had to go through pregnancy all by herself? She had to give birth by herself? Suddenly, the new scar I found on her abdomen becomes crystal clear in my mind and I bite back a soft noise of pain. She had a caesarean and she was all by herself?

That pain bleeds into the anger that beats in my heart. Dante had Gianna hidden for five years which meant he knew there was a child. Maybe he suspected the child belonged to Leo but given how my father seems to operate, I doubt that’s the case.

“Freya,” Gianna says with a warm smile. “I want you to meet someone, okay?”

Freya nods, clutching at her hippo.

“This man is your Daddy, Freya. This is your Daddy and he’s so excited to meet you!”

“Daddy?” she says, and my heartmeltsthe second I hear her voice. “Like—like in my story books?”

“Yes,” Gianna nods. “Exactly like the book we were reading last night! You would be Baby Bear.” Gianna pokes Freya’stummy. “I would be Mommy Bear and this is Daddy Bear. Do you want to say hi?”

I sit beside them on the bed and suddenly my palms break out in a nervous sweat as they rest against my leg. My heart races as I watch Freya peek through Gianna’s hair and stare at me with eyes almost as big as her mother’s.

This is a lot to take in so quickly and I try to arrange my face to be as pleasant as possible for a child. It’s difficult since I have exactly zero experience with children outside of hugs from the ones I’ve sent off to a new life. I have no idea how to talk to a child, how to care for one, or how to make sure I don’t scare them. Being a father was always a distant thought for the future, and now reality is here with a fully formed child.

“He’s not scary,” Gianna assures Freya. “He’s just big because he does a lot of work, like Santa!”

The comparison seems to work for Freya because her eyes widen and she leans forward to get a better look at me. “Daddy?”

That single word is like a punch straight to the heart and my lower lip quivers even as I smile. “That’s right,” I say hoarsely. “And you’re my…my Freya.”

Freya watches me for a few seconds, then she nods and begins to wiggle so much that she slides from Gianna’s lap to the floor. Then she moves off to one of the play mats set up on the floor and dives right in.

My heart pounds and I curl my hands into fists. Was that a good reaction? Did I do something wrong?

I look at Gianna, and she’s watching me with a slightly nervous smile on her lips.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Gianna says softly. “She’s little. The concept of another parent will be difficult for her for a while, but she didn’t cry like she did when she met Cherry for the first time so you’re doing good.”

I laugh softly, rubbing my palms along my thighs. “Okay. Okay.”

“Play with her.” Gianna tilts her head down to where Freya is playing.

“I don’t know how.”

“There’s no rule book,” she says, reaching for my hand. The warmth of her contact blooms across my knuckles. “Just do what she’s doing.”

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