Page 90 of The Arrogant's Redemption

"I have a proposal. Something that’ll remove any doubt I have—and guarantee I’ll never be separated from my son again."

"What is it?"

"Marry me. I don’t just want to give Sedric my last name I want you to have it too. We’ll be a family, Alexis."

Alexis

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

"Good afternoon, Lazarus,"my mom says as I remain frozen in shock. "Hi, sweetheart," she continues, kissing the top of my head before turning to Sedric. "How’s Grandma’s handsome little guy doing?"

When LJ didn’t come back to the apartment for a few days after discovering he was a father—settling instead for formal phone calls asking how I was and, mainly, how Sedric was—I fooled myself into thinking I’d have more time to prepare for another confrontation. Even after I learned the reason for his absence: he’d had to urgently treat the Italian Prime Minister, who suffered a heart attack while visiting Manhattan.

The distance gave me the illusion that I still had some control over my life, even though I knew from the moment I saw the way LJ looked at Sedric that he would demand compensation for the time he’d lost with his heir.

Our son, now filthy from the mess he was making with his soup, starts clapping when he sees his grandmother—and ends up splattering food all over LJ’s immaculate suit.

More to occupy my overwhelmed mind than out of real concern for him, I get up and head to the sink to grab a cloth to clean him off, and behind me, I vaguely hear Mom say she's taking her grandson to get changed.

Suddenly, silence falls over the kitchen.

"Alexis."

I don’t turn around yet—and moments later, I feel strong arms wrap around me, trapping me against the sink.

Aside from the kiss at the hospital and the moments when he had to examine or help me—like when he carried me to the wheelchair—LJ has never gotten this physically close. The sensation of having him near is both intoxicating and terrifying.

I know the weakness I feel now has nothing to do with the surgery. I heard it from not just my son’s father but the rest of the medical team: my recovery has been nothing short of astounding.

To my horror, my knees buckle slightly—and LJ’s arm immediately supports my waist. I want to push him away, but my treacherous body relaxes instead, as if it instinctively feels safe with him.

"There’s no other solution," he whispers against my ear—but his voice isn’t aggressive, it’s persuasive.

I turn in his arms and try to hate him the way I did from a distance for almost two years, but I can’t. I tell myself it’s just guilt for keeping father and son apart, but deep down, I know I’m lying. Unexpectedly, without planning, I realize my feelings for Lazarus haven’t changed at all. I’m just as in love with him as I was during that weekend we spent together. No—since the second I first saw him on the beach, at the beginning of that morning.

I study his face, trying to stay cold and distant, but instead, I’m flooded with memories of our short time together, especially at his cousin’s house.

Passion. Physical attraction. Desire.

Those I can handle.

And then I remember what Mom said about emotions and love.

Love stays.

Love is dangerous. It takes root without permission.

"I don’t want this," I say, and honestly, I don’t know whether I’m protesting the idea of a marriage between two people who have nothing in common but a child, or the realization that despite all my efforts to hate him, I’ve failed and my feelings have only deepened.

Without responding, I watch as his mouth approaches mine in slow motion. I could push him away, stop him, but the intensity in LJ’s eyes, like I’m the oxygen he needs to survive, pins me in place. And I can't run from something I’ve been secretly craving since the moment he kissed me at the hospital.

Lazarus

This wasn’t why I came. I spent three days away, dealing with an emergency, and all I could think about, outside the operating room, was her and my son.

I also remembered the conversation I had with Athanasios and William. Both are good counselors in situations like this—having almost lost the women they love.

Love.

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