“Making house calls?” I ask.
Duncan shrugs and holds up a large paper sack. “If house calls include Chinese food from the Golden Palace, then yes.”
I cock my head and look at him. “I love that place,” I say. “How did you know that?”
“I'm a good listener.”
“I don't recall ever telling you that.”
He laughs softly. “You did, actually,” he tells me. “The night of the gala.”
I study him closely for a moment, not sure what he's up to or what this is about. For him to just drop by unannounced like this is – odd. To say the least. I can't deny that my heart is fluttering in my chest a little bit seeing him standing there, but I'm also on guard. With everything going on and him not yet knowing Aurora is his daughter – I can't afford to take any chances.
The fact that he remembered such an innocuous bit of trivia like my favorite Chinese food place – what must have been a random comment more than nine months ago – throws me for a bit of a loop. I can't believe he would remember something like that. It's actually kind of – sweet. And flattering.
Duncan is staring at me with those soulful brown eyes and a faint smile flickering on his lips. It's then that I realize we're still standing at the door and feel like an absolute moron.
“I'm sorry, please, come in,” I say.
He laughs as he steps inside and closes the door behind him. I lead him down the hallway and point to the kitchen. Duncan sets the bag down on the table and looks over at me.
“May I?” he asks, motioning to Aurora.
The thought of him holding my baby – our baby – makes me nervous. A flash of paranoia, as blinding as lightning, shoots through me, as I picture him taking my baby, turning, and bolting out the front door, stealing her away like a thief in the night.
It's irrational and paranoid as hell, I know. Guys like Duncan don't steal babies from their mothers – they have their lawyers do it for them. Plus, he's giving no indication that he knows the truth, so I just bite my tongue and give him a smile as I hand Aurora over to him.
Duncan cradles her gently and the juxtaposition of such a large man holding such a tiny, delicate child is as striking as it is sweet. The look on his face is one of near rapture and the smile touching his lips is wide and warm. At that moment, he looks the part of a father doting on his newborn child and it absolutely melts my heart.
If only he knew the truth.
I open my mouth, part of me wanting to tell him that he's holding his daughter, but I bite it back. There's no way in hell I can tell him right now. Not until I have all of my legal ducks in a row. Some might think it's cold. They might think it's cruel. But I simply prefer to think of it as being prudent. Smart. I want to plan for every possible contingency because even though I can tolerate a lot of garbage, there's one thing I will not do – I will never let my baby be taken from me.
“How is she doing, Alexis?” he asks.
“She's good. Great,” I reply.
“No signs of illness or –”
I shake my head. “No, nothing. She seems perfectly healthy to me.”
He nods. “Good. That's really good,” he smiles. “Though, I do advise you to come in within the next couple of weeks just for a healthy baby checkup. I think it's a good idea just to follow up and make sure everything inside is okay too.”
“I'll do that,” I say.
Duncan rocks her back and forth in his big, strong arms as he stares at her. Aurora coos and gurgles, giving him what looks like a smile in return. He turns to me and hands her back, placing her gently in my arms.
“I'll go get some plates and all,” he says.
“I was just about to put her down to sleep,” I tell him.
“Perfect,” he replies, then turns and heads off toward the kitchen.
I carry Aurora into the bedroom and lay her down in the crib. I turn the mobile over her crib on and stand there, staring down at my little pink bundle of perfect. My heart swells just looking at her and with every passing moment, my love for her only grows and deepens. Which is exactly why, if Duncan plans on taking her from me, he's going to pay a heavy price. He's going to regret it because I will not lose her without the most epic fight in history.
After turning on the baby monitor, I carry the receiver with me back out to the living room. Duncan is already seated on the couch, with plates, forks, and napkins on the coffee table, and all the cartons of food spread out before him. He's got the TV remote in hand and is flipping through some of the channels.
“Made yourself at home, I see,” I laugh.
He shrugs. “I wasn't sure how long you'd be in there, so I thought I'd amuse myself,” he replies. “I can turn it off though.”
“No, no, it's fine,” I say. “I usually watch something while I'm eating.”
As I round the couch, I'm struck by how – domestic – the scene is. I sit down on the floor with my back pressed up against the sofa and slide my legs under the coffee table. My heart is still beating fast, but this time, it's not out of fear – it's simply because I'm near him. Duncan turns those eyes to me and smiles, the bond that flows between us crackling like electricity in the air.
“So, what do you want to watch?” he asks.
The scene is so perfectly normal, it's almost like we're playing house or something. It's the strangest feeling and yet, it feels so incredibly right at the same time. I can't explain it. I don't get it, but somehow, some way, this just feels – normal. It feels good and I can't keep the stupid grin off my face.
“I don't have a preference,” I tell him.
He nods. “Well, okay then, I guess it's up to me.”
“Looks that way.”
He flips on a movie on one of the cable channels and I immediately burst out laughing. He turns to me, a crooked grin on his face.
“What?” he asks.
“Well, for one, I never pictured you as the sit at home, watching TV kind of guy.”
He shrugs. “I'm not much for the party circuit anymore. I used to be, but it's just not my style any more,” he says. “Most evenings, you'll either find me reading or watching TV. I'm kind of old and boring like that, I guess.”
“Hardly that,” I reply. “The second thing, though, is that I never pictured you watching – that.”
“What's wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” I say, laughing harder. “I enjoy it. I just didn't think you'd be the type who would.”
“Little known fact about me – I absolutely love Star Wars,” he confides. “I can geek out on Star Wars with the best of them.”
We both laugh, but my image of him is being blown away. I always imagined him to be the suave, debonair, billionaire playboy type. The way he wore the tuxedo the night of the gala, not to mention his demeanor, did nothing to dispel that notion. But, knowing that in reality, he's kind of a homebody who enjoys nerding out on Star Wars is completely image shattering to me.
“That's – adorable,” I giggle.
“Adorable?” he chuckles.
“It's just not what I pictured, that's all,” I say.
“Oh, I still enjoy some of the more refined things in life, Alexis. But man cannot live on museums, art galleries, and opera alone,” he says. “Sometimes, we need a little more variety in our cultural diets. And the Star Wars films – except for the prequels – are cinematic masterpieces.”
The conviction with which he speaks cracks me up to no end. In the ten minutes we've been sitting here, I think I've learned more about Duncan than I did the entire time we were together at the gala. And if I'm being honest, I find this different facet to his personality entirely appealing. Knowing that he can get dressed up to go uptown for an upscale night out or throw on a pair of sweats and relax on the couch watching campy sci-fi movies is an entirely attractive quality in my book. The nuances to his personality make him that much sexier to me.
“Please tell me you don't really enjoy the opera?” I say.
He shrugs. “There are some good ones out there,” he replies. “But I tend to gravitate more toward the modern ones, rather than the so-called classics, to be honest.”
“I've actually never been to one, I just know that I'm not into watching some big dude in a Viking hat bellowing for two hours straight,” I admit.
He laughs. “So harshly judgmental,” he teases. “So, I take it you've never seen Phantom of the Opera?”
I shake my head. Honestly, the little money I normally have left over to have a social life is a pittance and I'd rather spend it on a meal or drinks with friends, rather than a stuffy opera. Though, I will admit to being slightly curious about that whole lifestyle the rich seem to enjoy. There's a little piece of me that's always wanted to be part of the set who can get dressed up and have a swanky night out for no other reason than it's a Wednesday and because we can.
But that's always been nothing more than a pipe dream. And a silly one at that.
“Well, maybe we'll have to do something about that,” he says. “Just as man can't live on opera alone, woman can't live on trashy reality TV alone.”
“Hey,” I say and laugh. “I don't watch trashy reality TV.”
He scoffs. “I saw what was on your DVR list.”
I slap his leg playfully, knowing I'm busted. “Okay fine, a little trashy reality TV,” I admit. “It's my guilty pleasure. So sue me.”
He shrugs. “We all have our guilty pleasures,” he replies. “Speaking of which.”
Duncan starts the movie and we start dishing up the food. I actually haven't had Golden Palace in quite a while – it's an expense I haven't been able to afford – and it's every bit as amazing as I remember it. I eat like I haven't had a decent meal in ages as we watch the movie. I smile as I watch how into it Duncan is, finding it utterly adorable.