Page 13 of Cinderella's Secret Baby

“We have a lot to discuss. We’re losing our chance to control the narrative. Come.” He led her into the lounge. “Do you want anything? Coffee? Something stronger?”

“I’m breastfeeding,” she reminded. “I try to stay sober when I’m in charge of another life.”

“Is that a dig?” Because as appealing as getting blackout drunk sounded, he didn’t usually have more than two or three himself. He was charged with the lives and livelihoods of thousands of workers. Also, his stepmother had covered the ground of public drunkenness pretty thoroughly. He didn’t need to contribute anything to that cause.

“It’s a fact,” she murmured, wandering the open plan, taking in the Italian marble and twenty-foot ceiling and floating stairs to the upper floor. She paused to study the Casson and the Carmichael before moving to the wall of windows that stretched to the upper floor. Beyond was the spacious terrace, the city skyline and the horizon where the blurred line of Lake Ontario met cloudless sky.

“You play?” She nodded at the grand piano.

“Vienna does.”

“She lives here, too?”

“She and Neal have a place on the waterfront that they use when they’re in town.”

“You bought this for you and Eden,” she said in a tone of realization, tilting the engagement photo on the end table.

He had an urge to take it from her and throw it in a drawer. He would do that. Later.

“No, we’re—” He swore as he remembered something and brought out his phone, texting his real estate agent to put a hold on the house in Bridle Path. “This is mine. It’s a good location and convenient for entertaining.” The kitchen noise was tucked behind closed doors, the big screen was a button-touch from descending from the ceiling, and the building was in the city center.

Amelia gave him a befuddled look. “You don’t strike me as a partier.”

“This doesn’t scream raves and orgies?” He waved at himself, still in his tailored but very traditional morning suit. “I hold charity events and host those who expect it.”

“Like?”

“Celebrities.” He shrugged. “Athletes in town for a game. VIPs from overseas.”

She tucked her chin. “That’s the kind of people you invite for supper?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugged it off, never starstruck. They were people. Some pleasant, others vapid. Either way, he didn’t want to talk about them right now. “I’ll start the coffee and get changed. I have decaf and soft drinks.” He led her into the kitchen. “I usually have a housekeeper, but most of my regular staff were given the next two weeks off since I expected to be on my honeymoon.”

She made a noise halfway between a choke and a cough, pausing at the autographed photo that hung inside the door to the kitchen. “I’ve seen him on the celebrity chef Bake-Off thing. He cooks for you?”

“He does the annual benefit for our foundation.” He poured beans into the grinder and pushed the button, nearly missing what she said because of the noise.

“Of course he does,” she snorted.

“Why is that funny?” he asked when the grinder silenced.

“It’s not. Is that filter real gold?”

He turned from setting it and filled the carafe from the tap. “You’re judging me.”

“No.”

She was, and it annoyed him. Was that why she hadn’t told him he had a kid? Because she was a snob who disdained wealth? In case she hadn’t noticed, she wasn’t his first choice to share parenting, either.

“I’ll make a call, find out when the nurse is supposed to get here.” He glanced at the clock. “The paternity test will inform a lot of our decisions.” He finished filling the coffee maker, swiveled the filter into place and pressed the button. “Here.” He opened the refrigerator and waved at the door. “See if there’s something you might like.”

She turned the labels on the soda bottles. “Lime and jasmine, rhubarb and cardamom, fennel...” She gave her head a shake. “I didn’t even know these flavors exist.”

“Try the cola with pear. It’s good. Actually, it probably has caffeine. There are organic juices, too.”

“Can I, um, use the washroom?”

“Sure. It’s through there.” He pointed.

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