Page 1 of Absinthe Minded

1

Gabe

“This has to be a mistake.”

I reread the results of the paternity test and glanced from the newborn to the apparent mother of my child. Sure, I’d gone with her to do a cheek swab a few weeks back, but I never thought anything would come of it.

In the time it took me to open my front door and scan the page, my swanky French Quarter townhouse had become the set of the Maury Povich Show—Gabe Marchionni. You are the father.

I’d always wanted kids, but not like this, not now, and not with… Let’s just say, I'd always imagined I'd have them with Maggie, the one who got away.

“Everything you need is in the bag.” Chantal tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Bye, Gabe. Have a nice life.”

“That’s it? You’re leaving?” I motioned to the sleeping infant. “She’s too young. She needs a mom. I have no idea what to do with an infant.”

“Take her to your parents. They’ll be thrilled.” The woman I’d dated a few times, almost a year ago, turned on her stilettos. “I have to be at the cruise terminal in fifteen minutes.”

“Chantal, wait. You can’t be serious.” I stalked after her but remembered the baby on my doorstep. Unlike myex-whatever-the-hell-she-was, I wouldn’t leave a child alone. “At least stay long enough to tell me how to take care of her.”

“I wrote instructions.” She waved without bothering to turn her head.

My every instinct screamed for me to go after her. Chantal had abandoned her child, our child,my child. What the hell was I going to do with an infant?

I sank to the top step and sat beside the sleeping baby. Head in my hands, I ran through my options and came up empty. One thing was clear. I needed help and I’d need more than books with titles likeDiaper Changing 101andInfant Care for Morons.

“God help you. Looks like you’re stuck with me.” She was a cute little thing all bundled up in pink blankets. Hints of dark hair peeked out from beneath her baby-beanie, and the cool, New Orleans winter, air had turned her cheeks and button nose rosy. “What’s your name?”

The baby didn’t reply.

I pulled an envelope from the diaper bag. Chantal had, in fact, left instructions.Feed and change her when she cries. That’s all she’d written. I resisted the urge to shout obscenities and scanned the birth certificate. My throat tightened. “She named you after me?”

Looking back, I never should have dated Chantal. She was mixed up in a business deal gone wrong with my father. Ourrelationshiphad much more to do with physical attraction and my need to rebel than real feelings.

I’d ended things when she’d tripped mycrazy-girl-warning-system, but nothing could prepare me for this. Not only had she hidden her pregnancy, she’d named our daughter after me. Gabriella Antoinette DuBois.

“How about we call you Ella?” I brushed my fingertips over her head, and my heart rate increased to an allegro.I’m a father.Mother Mary, give me strength.

My thoughts drifted to a woman I hadn’t seen in over a year and hadn’t kissed in four. A woman whose heart I’d broken. Sure, I’d had my reasons, and yes, I’d behaved like a jackass, but I’d always believed we’d end up together.

What would Maggie think about Ella?

I ran my finger over the baby’s cheek. She turned her head and opened her mouth as if to nurse. “I bet she’d love you. Does she love me? Not so much.”

Five minutes later, I put an end to my wallowing and got my ass in gear. I knew what I had to do, even if it cost me more than my pride. I grabbed my keys and my kid and strapped the car seat into the back of my Porsche. “Ready to meet your grandparents?”

Ella stared at me with a stoic expression that reminded me of my father. If she grew up to be half as much of a pain in the ass as my old man, I was in serious trouble.

“You have nothing to worry about. They’ll love you. It’s me they’re going to kill.” I tugged at her seatbelt to make sure it’d locked and slid into the driver’s seat.

I could only guess how my parents would react, though I doubted they’d throw me a party. My father had given me and my brother the same lecture a hundred times.We’re Catholic. No sex before marriage, but boys will be boys. You screw up and make a kid, you man up and get married.

Hell, my mother hated my brother Joe’s girlfriend, an Irish girl from the wrong side of town. But she’d planned the wedding after he’d knocked Rebecca up.

Good thing Chantal left town. I shuddered at the thought of spending the rest of my life with a woman like her.

I drummed a beat on the steering wheel and considered the best way to approach my folks with the news. They’d never turn away their own flesh and blood, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t make my life a living hell—and they had the means to do it.

Despite the fact I’d recently celebrated my thirtieth birthday, my parents had me by the short and curlies. They were old-school Sicilian, which meant they controlled nearly every aspect of mine and my brothers’ lives, either by guilt or their tight hold on the purse strings. It also meant that the family business went the way of the Capones and Gambinos.

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