Page 20 of Worth the Heat
“Hello,” she says. “What’s your name?”
“My name is Isabella,” I tell her carefully. “What’s yours?”
“Camila. Why are you in my Daddy’s closet?”
There’s a ringing in my ears as I process that information. Sebastian has a daughter? How have I never known about her? Where was she last night? And more importantly, where is her mother?
“I got lost,” I lie. “I was staying in the other bedroom and couldn’t find the bathroom.”
“That room has its own bathroom,” Camila says,her expression so similar to her dad’s that I’d have known she was his even if she hadn’t announced it.
“Oh. You’re right. I forgot about that,” I tell her sheepishly, suddenly aware I’m wearing a tank top and tiny sleep shorts. “Can you show me back to that room? I need to get dressed. I should have already gotten to work by now.”
“Why are you staying here?” Camila asks. She doesn’t move from the doorway, crossing her arms exactly like Sebastian does. Two dark chestnut braids hang down her back, and she chews on her bottom lip. Spectacular blue eyes peer up at me as she waits for my response.
“I needed a place to stay, and your dad offered me one,” I tell her simply. Stepping toward her, I motion for her to move, and she reluctantly does. I know where I’m going, but allow Camila to guide me back to the guest room. She immediately jumps on the bed.
“You didn’t sleep in here last night,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Yes I did,” I answer defensively.
“Did you get scared? Sometimes when I get scared, Daddy lets me sleep in his bed too. It’s okay if you did. I promise I won’t tell anyone,” she whispers. “Why did you need a place to stay?”
“My apartment needs some work done, so your Dad said I could stay here while that happens,” I answer finally. I’m not telling this kid anything. I’m still shell-shocked that I’m getting grilled by a preschooler at seven o’clock in the morning.
“Are you staying more nights?” she asks.
“I believe so, yes.”
She immediately claps her hands in excitement. “Daddy never has girls here! Well, other thanAbuelitaandAbuela. And myTíascome stay here. But they’re all family. You’re new. Can we have a sleepover?”
Before I can answer, Sebastian bellows from downstairs. “Camila!”
“Uh-oh,” she whispers. “He told me I was only allowed to go to my room. I’m gonna get in trouble. I always wanted a cat. Is that cat yours? He’s never gonna let me get a cat now.”
“Camila Isabelle! Downstairs, right now!”
Oh for fuck’s sake.
Stomping to the door, I hit the top of the stairs and glare down at Sebastian. That can’t be coincidental, can it?
“Seriously? Isabelle? What the hell, Sebastian?”
Camila gasps before whispering, “I can’t say that word.”
Crap. I look down at Sebastian, and he raises an eyebrow at me. “Um. I’m sorry. You’re correct. I should have said something different.”
Camila nods, giving me a pleased grin, then looks down at her father.
Sebastian has the most breathtaking smile I’ve ever seen as he shrugs. “You probably don’t want to know what’s on her birth certificate.”
SEBASTIAN
Iwas only slightly teasing. Camila’s middle name is actually Isabelle, but it’s twofold. My grandmother’s middle name is also Isabelle. And, yeah: it’s for Isabella as well.
My sisters both had a field day with that. They know how I’ve felt about Isabella for years. My parents are either in denial, or blissfully ignorant.
Abuelajust wants me to have more babies, she doesn’t care who the mother is. She’d prefer I be married in a proper Catholic ceremony before my wife pops out her great-grandchildren, but she’s even willing to compromise on that if I deliver a chubby newborn wrapped in muslin.
