Page 23 of Second Chance Daddy
Cars line the circular driveway, and I can already hear music and laughter spilling out from the house.
My heart realizes it functions better as a jackhammer.
What if he realizes Aria’s his?
What if he hates me?
What if he drags me to fucking court? Can’t see another courtroom again without hurling.
What if he’s still as gorgeous as he was the last time I saw him in my rearview mirror as I drove away?
That last one scares me most of all.
I park between a Mercedes and a Jeep before helping Aria out of her car seat.
“Big house,” she says, eyes wide.
“Very big,” I agree, taking her hand. “Stay close to Mommy, okay?”
We walk up the stone path, and I can see through the wall of windows into the great room.
It’s packed. At least three dozen people are milling around, drinks in hand. Waiters passing trays of food so small I might need a microscope. Everything gleams like we’re one step from aForbesphotoshoot.
It’s a different world in here. One I don’t belong to, but Tina insists is mine.
Wretched best friends.
I smooth my shirt, breathe through the knot in my chest, and march us up to the door with Aria’s hand firmly in mine.
My heart’s going a mile a minute. Blood rushing in my ears. I haven’t been this nervous since the day I signed the divorce papers.
It’s a big party. Maybe Dante won’t notice I’m here.
Yeah… right.
Aria tugs my hand. “Ring the bell, Mommy.”
I do. Before I can change my mind or grab my daughter and run back to our little rental.
The door swings open.
And there he is.
Holy fuck.
I wasn’t ready for this. He’s illegally hot on every level.
Three years gone, and he’s audaciously sweltering.
His jaw’s sharper now. That faint stubble? Criminal. The lines carved into his forehead and around those storm-blue eyes? That’s what does me in. Proof he’s lived. Fought.
Black t-shirt stretched tight across shoulders, broad enough to give me an idea of what lies beneath. Tattoos creep down his neck, snaking under his collar like sin wrapped in ink.
I’m staring. Drooling,probably. My brain short-circuits.
I rip my gaze away, anywhere but his chest, and land straight on those eyes again.
Bad choice. Fatal.
