“Yes. I suppose I have.” Her expression tightened as grim lines settled around her mouth. “Thank goodness I didn’t expect that. I guess I just wanted to admit that I was wrong. And to apologize and—”
“And you expect me to forgive you?” A note of bitterness crept into his voice. As much as he hated how weak it made him sound, he kept talking. “You expect me to offer you absolution? Or assuage your guilt?”
“No. Trust me. I’d never expect that. You’re not a very forgiving man, Dex. You still haven’t forgiven your parents for dragging you around the world when you were kid. Or your brother for not being there when you needed him. I certainly don’t expect you to forgive me for this.
“What I want is to make sure Isabella isn’t going to pay the price for my mistake.” She paused as if waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t respond, she sent him a searching look and seemed to find him lacking. She just shook her head. “I bet you haven’t even seen Isabella since you found out she’s not yours. I bet you can’t even look at her.”
“Mrs. Hill is with her. If you’re implying she isn’t getting competent care—”
“Mrs. Hill is more than competent. But Isabella needs people near her who love her. If I can’t be there, then she needs her uncle.”
He planted his hands on the desk in front of him. “So this is really just another bid to get custody of her?”
If he expected a burst of anger, he was disappointed. She merely shook her head as if disillusioned with him. “You should know me better than that. This isn’t about what I want. It’s about what’s best for Isabella. I don’t know your brother. He knows how to run a company, but is he going to be a good father?”
She rounded his desk, got right in his face and stared up at him, her expression pleading.
“I’m not willing to leave it up to chance. I’m going to fight for her.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she put her hand on his face, shushing him with her gentle touch. “This can’t be a surprise to you. You had to know I’d do this. I’m going to see my lawyer this afternoon. I’m not asking for full custody. I don’t think there’s a court in the country that would give me that. Just partial custody. But if I don’t get it, then it’s going to be up to you to make sure your brother has what it takes to be the kind of dad she needs.
“Derek may be a great CEO,” she continued. “But he’ll probably need help from you to become a great dad. You can’t let your past differences get in the way.”
“Trust me, Lucy. You’re the worst person to be giving me advice about how to live my life.”
“No. I’m the best person. I know better than anyone else that you’re hardest on the people closest to you. The more you care about them, the less likely you are to forgive them for making mistakes. For being human. But Dex, if you can’t forgive other people’s mistakes, how are you ever going to forgive your own mistakes? And trust me, this mistake you’re about to make—of pushing Isabella out of your life—It’s a real doozy. If you don’t make the effort to work things out with your brother and then Isabella ends up paying the price, you’ll never forgive yourself. I don’t want you to have to go through that. I love you too much.”
He scoffed. “A bit melodramatic, don’t you think?”
She smiled a wry, sad little smile. “You know me, I’m the romantic one.” She turned to leave, but stopped just before she reached the door. “Just out of curiosity, Tom Sawyer?”
His blank expression was all the answer she needed.
She nodded. “That’s what I thought. Just a ruse, huh?”
“You wanted a big romantic gesture.”
“Where did you get the copy of the book?”
“I had a couple of boxes in storage. Just stuff from when I was a kid.”
“I bet you’ve never even read it, have you?”
“If I did, I don’t remember. How did you guess?”
“Just a hunch.” She was hurt but not surprised by his admission. Their whole relationship had been built on lies. Maybe she should be reassured that she wasn’t the only one telling them.
Just before closing the door behind her, she looked over her shoulder and said, “You should try reading it sometime. It’s a good book. You might find it brings back more of your childhood than you think it will.”
He appraised her coolly. “I’m hardly the type to try to reclaim my childhood innocence.”
“No. But maybe you should be.”
He didn’t go looking for Tom Sawyer. In fact, if he ever happened upon the damn thing, he’d resolved to toss it in the trash. Burning it held a certain appeal but seemed to give the book more significance than it warranted.It was pure bad luck then that the same day Lucy had come to his office happened to be the same day Mavis cleaned the guesthouse, top to bottom, during which she must have found the tattered old copy of Tom Sawyer, so that when Dex arrived home at just after nine, the first thing he saw was the book, sitting in the middle of the kitchen counter.
The sight of the book stopped him in his tracks, just inside the door. He stared at it as emotions rushed through him. Finally, he swooped across the room, snatched the book from where it sat on the counter and carried it straight to the trash can. He stomped on the trash can’s foot pedal and the lid sprang up. He stood there for a long moment, holding the book poised over the fresh white trash bag.
“Damn it,” he cursed softly, dropping the book into the otherwise empty trash can. He moved his foot, letting the lid snap closed with a clang of finality.
Then, with forced calm, he grabbed a Shiner out of the fridge, twisted the cap off and didn’t even look at the book when he dropped the bottle cap in the trash can. Taking a gulp of beer, he loosened his tie and pulled it off. In the bedroom, he avoided looking at the bed, as he had ever since the night he’d shared it with Lucy.
If Mavis—who came by the guesthouse every day to make the bed and pick up—had noticed that he’d spent the past three nights sleeping on the sofa in front of the TV, she wisely hadn’t said anything.
Dex changed into jeans, leaving on his dress shirt but not bothering to tuck it in. Then, with pointed determination, he sat himself down in front of the TV, as he had the past three nights, and grabbed the remote. He scanned through all three-hundred-and-sixty-four channels. Twice.
Before he could make a third round, he happened to glance out the window toward the main house. Lights were on in both the kitchen and the living room. Through the un-curtained window, he caught a glimpse of a form pacing back and forth. Mrs. Hill, he realized, walking with Izzie.
“Isabella, damn it.” He sat up, thumped his beer bottle on the table before him and dropped his head into his hands.
She wasn’t his. Izzie was the cute nickname a doting father bestowed on his daughter. But he wasn’t a father.
Three days he’d known it, and the loss and resentment still burned in his gut. Still kept him up at nights. Which was ridiculous. He’d never wanted to be a father. Hadn’t ever wanted a tiny baby girl with copper curls and his father’s eyes. Hadn’t ever dreamed there’d be a woman he desired so strongly he couldn’t even sleep in the bed in which he’d made love to her.
He sure as hell hadn’t known that losing them both would be like having his heart ripped out. But they weren’t his to keep. They weren’t his family.
But—he straightened slowly as the realization hit him—Isabella didn’t know that. She didn’t know the difference between a mother and an aunt. Between a father and an uncle.
All she knew was that the two people who’d cared for her most were suddenly gone.
No matter how competent Mrs. Hill was, she couldn’t make up for the lost love of an aunt or an uncle.
Only a few minutes had passed by the time he made it down the guesthouse stairs and across the yard to the kitchen door.
Mrs. Hill—who had been pacing around the kitchen island, Isabella clutched in her arms—looked up when he entered, a harried expression on her face. Isabella wailed in indignation.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Messina,” she blurted out. “I didn’t realize you could hear her crying from over in the guesthouse. I can take her back up—”
“No.” He interrupted her. “She didn’t bother me. How long has she been crying?”
“A couple of hours. It’s nothing to worry about,” she hastily reassured him. “Babies just need to cry it out sometimes. It’s just colic, nothing serious.”
Mrs. Hill’s words barely registered. His attention was so completely focused on Isabella, he hardly knew Mrs. Hill was there.
It had been days since he’d seen her. Since the morning he’d found out she wasn’t his. The morning he’d hired Mrs. Hill to watch her twenty-four hours a day until Derek got back. And then, he’d barely let himself look at her.
Tonight, her tiny face was flushed red from exertion. Tears and snot ran down her cheeks and chin. She’d never looked more beautiful to him.
He crossed to Mrs. Hill and held out his hands. “You could probably use a break.”
Mrs. Hill hesitated. “You’re not paying me to take breaks. I can handle her.”
“I know you can. But it’s been pointed out to me lately that I haven’t been a very good uncle.”
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Hill protested, but she let Dex slip his hands under Isabella’s tiny arms and take her into his arms.
Isabella protested by ratcheting her cries up a notch.
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Hill reached for her, but Dex stepped out of her reach.
“We’ll be okay. You said yourself there wasn’t anything wrong with her. Why don’t you go get some rest? I’ll come get you if we need anything.”
Mrs. Hill twisted her hands together. “Well, if you’re sure…” She stood in the doorway a long time before slowly backing away. “She ate about an hour ago so…”