Fire flared in his eyes. His jaw tightened, but he relaxed it with obvious effort. Inclining his head in silent acknowledgment, he averted his face. She watched his chest rise and fall, wishing she could touch him, comfort him, remind him that he was a thousand times the man those boys would ever hope to be. But she couldn’t. Not now. Not if she wanted to hang on to any shred of her own sanity as well as preserve his.
“It’s possible you are the father,” she said at last.
“But I’m probably not,” he added hastily.
The seconds ticked silently between them, but she couldn’t not ask the question. “Does that make you happy or sad?”
“This whole mess makes me…mad.” But rather than ranting and raving, he threw himself back into his chair, propped his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t want any of this. I mean, I would have been happy to have a baby when I thought we were happy, but now?” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Why do I ever think I’m going to get to be happy?”
The despair in his voice cut her to the quick. Needing to do something, Millie flipped the lid on the pizza box and closed it. “Whoa. Pretty nihilistic attitude you’ve got, fella.” She rose, taking the box with her. “Should I bust out the tiny violin?”
“Christ, Millie, I get it. You’re tough as nails, but do you think you can stop busting my balls for five minutes?”
She whirled back to face him, the box clutched in her hand. “No, because the second I do, you’ll drop that fine ass of yours into your sulking chair and try to drown your sorrows in a bottle.” Yanking open the refrigerator, she smirked at the nearly empty shelves, then shoved the box inside. “I can’t let you. People like you and me, we suck at sulking. Pouting leads to nasty hangovers, extra housework, and”—she let the door swing shut as she searched for one more consequence for rampant self-indulgence—“pimples.”
Dark brows rose. “Pimples?”
“Maybe only those of us who use chocolate as a crutch.”
He rewarded her with a weak smile. “But we’re not the type to sulk, you and me.”
Drawing a deep breath, she steeled her spine and crossed the room to stand right in front of him. “No. We’re the type to barrel right on through to the finish.”
“I need to look into how paternity tests work.”
She nodded and reached for one of his hands. He gave it to her willingly. “I think a test would be the first logical step.”
Ty looked up at her, his eyes dark and searching. “And if the baby is mine?”
“Then we figure out what to do next.”
He blinked slowly, his jaw set. “Yeah. We figure it out.”
“But first things first.” She gave his hand a hard squeeze to command his full attention. “Admit nothing. Agree to nothing. Don’t even talk to Mari.” She crouched down until they were eye to eye. “Block her calls if you have to.”
He started to say something, but she cut him off with a sharp shake of her head. “No. Call your attorney, and request the paternity test. I didn’t say anything about this before because I wasn’t sure if it was true or relevant, but the rumor mill has been saying she and Dante have been on the outs. If so, pregnant or not, she may be looking for a soft place to fall.”
“And I’m a big, old softy,” he said with more than a hint of bitterness.
Laying her hand along his jaw, she stroked the sharp slope of his cheekbone. “No. You are a good and honorable man.” Giving him a wobbly smile, she leaned in and kissed him tenderly. “And if Jane Austen taught the world anything, it’s that good and honorable men get screwed around a lot before they get their happy ending.”
“And you think I’ll get a happy ending?”
She forced a smile, but she knew the result was weak. “I know you deserve one.”
“People don’t always get what they deserve.”
“Not if they leave everything up to destiny.” She kissed him again, this time with gusto, but pulled back before he could wrap her up and pull her against him. “People make their own luck.”
Catching his forearms, she stepped out of the circle of his reach. A slick side step brought her back to the seat across from him. Plunging her hand into her bag, she groped until she got hold of her tablet, then yanked the pad free. “Call your lawyer,” she instructed. “I’m going to do a little research.”
Ty shifted his weight to one hip and dug in his shorts pocket for his phone. “What are you doing?”
Not looking up, Millie tapped an icon on the screen. “Doing what I do best—managing facts.”
She smiled as she scanned her files, but it wasn’t a happy smile. She’d come here tonight hopped up on Dutch courage and expecting to be in his bed by now. Instead, they’d bickered, played true confessions, and continued the crazy tango she’d hoped to end by scattering all her cards out on the dance floor. Then she’d barfed, and his phone rang, and the world went wonky. But now she had a mission: Protect Ty. Get Ty everything he wanted.
Replaying the events in her head, she tried not to react to the growing urgency in Ty’s deep voice as he dumped all the evening’s revelations into his attorney’s lap. She had her own mission. A swipe, two taps, and a little scrolling later, she had new ammunition. Thanks to Mari’s addiction to hashtagging every occasion in her life, Millie captured
