Page 53 of Irreplaceable

“Thank you, but you can have them. Well…” She pursed her lips. “You kind of already do.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, wishing I could go back in time. “If you won’t let me pay you what they’re worth, then I’ll return them.”

“Enzo! Would you forget about the pictures for a moment? We have bigger things to discuss.”

I jerked my head back, surprised by her sudden outburst. “Okay. What is it?” I inched closer.

She smoothed her hands down her thighs, and I noticed they were shaking. She took a deep breath, then said, “I’m pregnant, and you’re the father.”

“Scusami?” Surely I hadn’t heard her correctly. She nodded, but I shook my head, nearly stumbling backward. “Non è possibile. Che cazzo?”

“Yes fucking way,” she blurted.

“Just…hold on. Wait a second.” My chest was rising and falling, and I was doing my best to remain calm. To count slowly back from ten, but it wasn’t easy. “We used condoms. Every time.” Despite the temptation not to.

“I know,” she sighed. “I mean, I didn’t even think I could get pregnant.” She peered up at me, her eyes pleading. “I had three failed IUIs—sorry, a type of artificial insemination—before we met.”

I jerked my head back. “Wait.” The room spun. “You wanted to get pregnant.”

“You knew that!” she cried.

“Yeah. I mean—” I raked my fingers through my hair. This didn’t… Nothing made sense. “In the hypothetical sense, I knew you wanted to get married, have children. But I didn’t realize you were actively trying to get pregnant.” My expression darkened, matching my mood as something sinister slithered over my skin. “Did you…plan this?”

She let out a deep breath and glanced toward the ceiling. “Yeah. I conveniently scheduled a trip where you just happened to be vacationing. And I totally schemed to spy on an Italian soccer player I’d never even heard of. Oh…oh.” She held up a finger, her voice rising with every word. “Then I seduced you and poked little tiny holes in every condom we used so they’d fail.”

Okay, well. When she put it like that, it did sound pretty ridiculous. But given my position, could she blame me for asking?

She shook her head and took a breath, something slamming down in her eyes as if she were shutting me out. Yeah, I guess she could blame me.

Fair enough. The condoms had been mine, and I’d always opened and put them on myself. If anything, I was to blame.

“You know what?” she asked. “You don’t have to believe me that this baby is yours. And you don’t have to be involved at all. In fact, maybe it’s better if you aren’t.”

“Not involved?”

“Yes, asshole,” she spat, fists clenched. “I’m not sure I want you around my child.”

I gnashed my teeth, tempted to remind her that it was our child. But I didn’t. I was still trying to process everything.

It wasn’t every day I found out I was going to be a father.

A father—me.

Most of my life, I’d convinced myself I didn’t want kids. Though I always loved connecting with young players, I just hadn’t ever imagined myself as a dad. My life was devoted to the sport.

She held my gaze a moment and then removed a folder from her purse. “I didn’t come here to argue. I came to talk about the baby. I’ve laid out a few options.”

“What kinds of options?” I hedged as she placed a document on the table. At the top was a header for a law office in Fall River—Audrey Monroe. I frowned.

“Options for your involvement in his or her life going forward. As you can see here,” she continued on, “I’ve had my attorney detail a few possibilities.”

I jerked my head back. Attorney. What the hell? I struggled to reconcile my uccellina with this cold, no-nonsense woman.

“Option one. You don’t wish to be involved. Your name will not be listed on the birth certificate, and no one will know you are the father.”

Was she fucking serious?

Anger flooded me at the suggestion that I shirk responsibility. That I ignore my own flesh and blood. There was no way I was disowning my child.

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