Page 204 of SINS & Riley
Pom is my entire world, and I’m so close to pulling her back into my arms I can taste it. I can’t lose her now.
But what good is having her if I can’t keep her safe? She’s already lived life in a gilded cage. And, she hated it. To force her into that again—with our baby—day by day, it would kill her. And me right along with her.
Seamus rises slow, like he’s got all the time in the world, and extends his hand. “So—your girl and your baby stay safe, and you get answers about your father’s disappearance. Once Fiona says ‘I do.’” His smile ticks up. “So what do you say, son? Do we have a deal?”
72
RILEY
Nesting, they call it.
More like manic scrubbing. I’ve cleaned the same toilet three times—like I’m auditioning for a crime scene cleanup crew.
Or, a wet team.
Every towel, bleached within an inch of its life. Every drawer, gutted, reorganized—folded, refolded, folded again.
I’ve Marie Kondo’ed the shit out of this place.
Is there even dust in a drawer? Probably not. But my brain doesn’t care.
Baby inbound.
Must. Clean.
I scan the room, eyes locking on the one place I haven’t touched. Under the bed.
Am I crazy? Absolutely. Can crazy people help themselves? Not a chance.
I drop to my knees, Swiffer in hand, praying there aren’t any creepy-crawly spiders lurking.
Instead of dust bunnies, a blue folder slides out.
I flip it open, half-expecting receipts, contracts… hell, maybe even a color-coded hit list.
Instead, my heart cracks open.
It’s a paternity test.
I stare at it too long because part of me can’t believe he did this. And yet—after months of lies, after pretending to be someone else—maybe I can.
Dante doesn’t trust me?
Wow. Pot, meet kettle. Could he scream hypocrisy any louder?
And it’s still absolutely fucking insane, because he knows how I lost my virginity.
To him.
He was there.
Tears sting, blurring everything. He lied. Again. Right to my face. Or rather, he ducked and avoided.
Which is totally the same fucking thing.
That’s it.
I drag out a suitcase, cramming in whatever I can grab. Clothes. Shoes. Enough emotional baggage I have to sit on it just to force the zipper shut.
