Page 87 of When Love And Destiny Collide

I feel a tear escape, rolling down my cheek. "Whatever it is," he whispers, his voice gentle, "you can tell me."

"I don't even know where to begin, Noah," I murmur, looking away, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

I pull my hands away from his and nervously twist the ring around my finger. "Do you remember when you told me Marian had an affair while you were in Florida, taking care of your mom?"

He nods, but confusion clouds his eyes, a subtle frown forming as he tries to understand where this is going.

"While you were here," I begin, my heart somersaulting in my chest. "Marian saw my father again in Mérida. She was there for at least three weeks. Maybe four."

His reaction is instant. He steps away so fast that it sends a jolt through me, leaving me frozen in shock. His fingers rake through his hair as he paces, his eyes darting everywhere but to mine. The distance between us feels like an abyss, and I can’t find the words to close it.

I wait in silence, afraid that anything I say could shatter what’s left of his composure. I can't even begin to understand what he's going through as he tries to process everything. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, filled with a pain I can feel in my bones. "Where was Davey?"

I know he doesn’t expect an answer, but I offer a weak defense for my father anyway. "I don’t think Dad ever knew she had a baby."

"Davey was six weeks old when Mom took a turn for the worse, and I flew to Florida," he murmurs, almost as if he’s speaking to himself, the disbelief thick in his voice. "Where did Marian leave our newborn son for a month?"

I try to respond, but all I can do is shake my head, the words caught in my throat, refusing to surface.

I thought this would all be about Marian’s betrayal, with my father’s role at the center of it. But it’s Davey that weighs most on Noah’s mind. The fear of what might have happened while Marian was gone—his safety, his wellbeing.

The tension in the room thickens as I glance at Noah. He moves around the room like a panther, sleek and dangerous, his anger barely restrained. He’s always had a formidable presence, but now it’s different—charged, simmering, like he’s one wrong move away from losing control.

“Noah,” I finally whisper. His head snaps toward me, eyes locking onto mine as if he’s just now realizing I’m still in the room. For a brief moment, his anger falters, replaced by something raw, something unguarded. He drags his fingers through his hair again and walks over, sitting beside me, leaning forward as he clasps his hands together.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice low and strained. “I don't think I’ve ever been this angry.”

“Is there anything I can do?” I ask, hating how small and useless the words sound. What could I possibly offer other than the risk of making it worse?

“You’re already doing something, Sweetheart,” he says, forcing a slight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re here.”

I reach for his hand, and he immediately threads his fingers through mine. The warmth of his touch floods me with relief. He might be angry—furious even—but not with me.

“Are we okay, Noah?” I ask, my voice betraying the fear I can’t quite hide. The possibility that what we have might be too fragile to survive this blow teeters on the edge of my thoughts.

"We're more than okay," he says, his voice steady. "Remember, we're in love and getting married."

"I love you, Noah," I whisper, my heart tightening. "I don't want anything to come between us. Not even my father."

His brown eyes lock onto mine, filled with a tenderness that steals my breath. "You know what I’m thinking?" he murmurs. When I shake my head slightly, he adds, "Two months might not be long enough for most, but for me, it's been more than enough to know you'rethe one, Lily. My dream come true. I want to spend the rest of my life loving you."

I smile as my pulse races. "I honestly can’t decide what I love more—your handsome face or how you have a way with words because they both leave me speechless."

He leans in and kisses me softly, sweetly, reminding me of yet another reason he leaves me speechless, breathless. When he pulls back, his expression sobers. "I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around all this," he confesses.

"I'm sorry about my father being involved with Marian," I whisper.

"It's not your fault," he says, gently squeezing my hand. "None of this is."

"She was pregnant with his child," I whisper, the overwhelming sense of loss gripping me. "She was pregnant with my sibling."

His eyes soften with sympathy. "You and Davey would’ve had a brother or sister in common."

"Can someone mourn a baby that never was?" I ask, though I already know the answer—because I mourn the children I’ll never have.

"I believe so, yes," he says, his hand sliding comfortingly up and down my arm. "Does your dad know about the pregnancy?"

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I stormed out of the restaurant. I didn’t give him much of a chance to explain after—"

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