Maisey Yates - Her Little White Lie

“What I mean by it being real, has to do with our activities outside the bedroom. You will need to accompany me to any events I might need to attend. We will have to get married, and you will have to move into my home. It has to look real.”

Dante didn’t like the idea of it. Not in the least. Of bringing this little rainbow whirlwind into his personal space. And not just Paige, but the baby, as well.

He gritted his teeth. His house was big. It would be fine. And it would be temporary. He didn’t question the decisions he made. He simply made them.

She nodded slowly. “I know. But I mean … it seems crazy and extreme.”

“It’s hardly extreme. Understand this, Paige, you’ve gotten us both into a bit of a dangerous game. There could be very real consequences if we’re caught in the lie. Very real for you, especially.”

She looked away, pulling her lush bottom lip between her teeth. “You’re right.”

He pulled his focus away from her mouth. “Of course I am. Do you have anything to drink?”

“Uh … there’s a box of wine in the fridge.”

Dante didn’t bother to keep the disapproval from showing on his face. “A box?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Sorry if that doesn’t meet with your standards. Maybe you can choose me some wine and a ring?”

“I’m not opposed to it. However, when you move into my home, there will be a wine selection waiting for you. And none of it will be boxed.”

“Well, la-dee-da,” she said, standing. “I’m going to put Ana in her crib. Do you think you can stand here for a minute and keep the internal judgment to a minimum?”

“I’ll do my best,” he said drily.

He watched her walk out of the room, his eyes drawn to the sway of her hips and the rounded curve of her butt. He was only human, and she was beautiful. Not his type in the least, and yet, it wasn’t the first time he’d noticed her.

He liked women who were cool. Contained. In both looks and manner. And Paige was none of those things, which made her both a fascination and impossible to ignore.

Paige returned a moment later, hands free, a wet spot on her shirt near her shoulder. “You have something on your shirt,” he said.

She looked down. “Oh. Yeah. She’s really drooly right now. No teeth to hold it back.”

He let out a long breath and sat down on the couch. “I think I will take some wine.”

The idea of having this woman and her explosion of belongings and a baby who was, by Paige’s description, drooly, in his home was enough to send a kick of anxiety through him.

Paige shrugged and headed to the kitchen, reaching up into a high cabinet and taking down two mismatched pieces of stemware. A green champagne flute and a clear wine goblet. Then she opened up the fridge and bent down, dispensing wine from the plastic tap that was jammed into the cardboard box, into the cups.

She kicked her shoes off and pushed them to the side as she walked to the couch, wineglasses in her hands. “I haven’t had anyone over in a long time. You know, other than the social worker.” She handed him the clear glass and moved to a chair that was positioned next to the couch. She sat down on her knees, her feet tucked up under her.

“In how long?”

Paige looked down into her wine. “Since Shyla died.”

“That must have been difficult.” It was hard for him to find the words you were supposed to say when people were grieving. Hard to know what they wanted to hear. He had experience dealing with death, and yet, he couldn’t remember what people had said to him. If they had said anything.

Paige took a sip of her wine and nodded. “Yes. She was my best friend. She and I moved to San Diego from Oregon together shortly after we graduated.”

“Why here?”

She shrugged. “It’s sunny? I don’t know. A chance to start over, I guess. Be new people. She met her boyfriend really soon after we got here, and she ended up moving in with him. Then she got pregnant and he freaked out. And I had her move in with me. It was crowded but great. And then … and then Ana was born and it was so fun to have her here. So amazing.” Paige looked down into her glass, tears sparkling on her lashes like shattered crystal. “We were making it work. The three of us.”

“How old are you, Paige?” he asked. She looked young. Beneath all the makeup, he was sure she looked like a girl who could still be in school. Her skin was smooth and pale, her blue eyes round, fringed with long, dark lashes. Her lips were full and pink, turned down at the corners, giving the illusion of a slight pout.

“Twenty-two.”

“You’re only twenty-two?” Ten years younger than he was. And yet she was willing to take on raising a child by herself. “Then why do you want to raise a child right now? You have so many years ahead of you. And don’t you want to get married?”

She shrugged. “Not really. And anyway, I guess … no this isn’t the ideal time for me to have a baby. And if you had asked me a few months ago if I was ready to have a baby, I would have told you no. But that would be a hypothetical baby. And Ana isn’t hypothetical. She’s here. And she doesn’t have anyone. Her birth mother is dead, my friend, my best friend is dead. The line on the birth certificate that should have a father’s name on it is blank. She needs me.”

“She needs anyone who will care for her. It doesn’t have to be you.” She flinched when he said the words.

“It does,” she said, her voice thin.

“Why?”

“I don’t know for sure if anyone else will love her like I do. And I … I knew Shyla. I knew her better than anyone, and she knew me. I’ll be able to tell her about her mother.” Paige’s throat convulsed. “And Shyla asked me to. She asked me to take care of her.”

That answer hit him hard in the chest and the memories he’d been pushing away from the moment they’d picked Ana up at the nursery crowded in, too fast and forceful for him to hold back anymore. He’d been much older than Ana when he’d lost his mother, so he remembered a lot on his own. Memories that he often wished he didn’t have. Of soft lullabies, gentle hands … and blood. In the end … so much blood.

He blinked and shook off the memory, reclaiming control, lifting the glass of wine to his lips and grimacing when the chilled, acrid liquid hit his tongue. There was no buzz on earth worth that. He set it back down on the table.

“I understand that.”

“It’s not just for her. It’s for me, too. I love her. Like … like she really is my baby. I saw her come into the world. I cared for her from the start, did the midnight feedings and visits to the doctor. I can’t … I can’t just let her go. Let her go to someone else. Someone who might not love her like I do. How could anyone love her like I do? I love her so much that sometimes it overwhelms me.”

Paige spoke with conviction, so much it vibrated from her petite frame. Dante couldn’t imagine emotion like that. It was so far beyond where he was now.

In truth, he couldn’t imagine a good emotion that strong. Fear, grief, the type that had the power to reduce a man to a quivering, raw mass of anguish … that he knew. But nothing like it since. Nothing that even came close. He was numb to feeling.

But he could sense hers, could feel them radiating off her. She didn’t hide them, didn’t sublimate them to try to deal with them. He doubted she could. She was too honest.

Well, except for that one little lie. The one he was currently enmeshed in.

“You cannot keep the pink in your hair,” he said. He needed to tone her down, to make her less distracting.

“What?” she sifted her fingers through her dark hair, the movement unconsciously sexy.

“I would hardly become engaged to a woman with pink hair.”