gave a watery chuckle. “I’ve made a good living on being rational. Logical. It’s like I’m operating on a whole new kind of software.”
She gestured to the handful of baby items strewn on the coffee table—a half-open diaper bag with the contents spilling out, a stack of newspapers and some folded sheets. Not a mess by any stretch, but for a woman who liked to show a perfect face to the world, the scene probably bordered on chaos.
“Maybe that’s why biology let men off the hook during pregnancy. So we can be the logical ones.” He forced a grin, trying to keep things light since it wasn’t going to do either of them any good to have a big confrontation about the ethics of keeping him in the dark about the pregnancy.
She’d been nervous to tell him. And he had to take some blame for that given the way he’d left things between them last winter.
“You’re going to be the voice of reason?” She arched an eyebrow, her voice steady and full of attitude.
That was more like it.
“Definitely.”
“Don’t forget I was in your backyard the summer you decided it was a good idea to jump off a second-story deck into your family’s pool.” A smile transformed her features as she shifted her gaze down to the baby in her arms.
And it damn near took his breath away. No wonder she’d looked so good tonight. She had that new-mother glow.
“A minor sprain was a small price to pay for the serious rotation I got on that dive.” He needed her smiling. Relaxed.
Trusting him.
Because he’d been formulating plans from the moment he understood the magnitude of the secret she’d been keeping.
“Nevertheless, I think I’ll keep my own counsel even while I’m under the influence of my hormones.”
“Fair enough. But because you’re a reasonable woman, I know you’re going to agree with me on this first order of business.” He reached to touch her arm where she cradled their son, needing a connection with her when he made his appeal.
“We need to tell our families.” Her gaze met his, the firelight reflected in their depths.
She was a beautiful woman. An intelligent, hardworking woman. And there was undeniable chemistry between them or this situation wouldn’t have arisen in the first place.
“That’s the second order of business.” They’d take care of that soon enough. “First, we need to get married.”
* * *
There was a unique brand of hurt in hearing a man you once cared about offer a sham marriage when he no longer cared about you.
Tatiana breathed through that hurt now, telling herself she could not afford to be any more emotional tonight than she already had been. But heaven help her, how could she not feel vulnerable when her arms were full of the precious baby they’d created, César’s soft breath warming her breast as he began to nod off after his feeding? She was exposed in every possible way, and maybe just for a moment she’d allowed herself to sink into the warmth of Jean-Pierre beside her as they’d marveled together at their tiny shared miracle.
Carefully, she lifted the baby to her shoulder and tucked her breast back into her dress. Patting his back, she took comfort in the ritual, grounding herself in the actions of a new mother. She needed to be strong for her son, no matter that Jean-Pierre’s halfhearted suggestion called to old feelings inside her. She would tamp down those emotions right now.
“The last time we met, you told me in no uncertain terms that the mistake of us being together would never be repeated.” Grateful her voice didn’t quaver while uttering those damning words that had caused her no end of grief these past months, she straightened to face him. “Let’s not fool ourselves into thinking we can take a relationship from that level of animosity to marriage, no matter how cold-bloodedly we approach our goals. You may be a master strategist on the football field, but César and I are not components of an offense to be moved around at your will.”
Jean-Pierre cocked an eyebrow. “So I assume that’s a no to my proposal?”
Swallowing hard, she nodded. “Most definitely.”
“I’m going to ask again.”
“And I’m going to ask you to leave if you don’t respect my wishes,” she said firmly, praying he wouldn’t roll out his old charm, which could too easily whittle away her shaky resistance.
“Fair enough then. For now. Because I very much want to stay. May I take him?” Jean-Pierre offered, already reaching to lift César from her shoulder. “You must be exhausted.”
She wanted to argue since it comforted her to feel the baby’s warm body against hers, but she was indeed tired. And she couldn’t begrudge César’s father this time with him. Not when he’d been denied five weeks of his life already.
“Thank you.” She straightened the spit cloth that he’d tossed over his suit jacket, trying not to notice the attractive vision this powerful man made while holding his son—their child—with such tenderness. “While it’s tempting to hold him all the time, I’m learning to rest more often. I was so tired the whole first week.”
“I wish I’d been there to help you,” he said simply. “Parenting is a team sport.” He patted the baby twice, elicited the necessary burp, then tucked the infant in the crook of his arm as securely as he carried a football for a first down. “That’s why I stand by the marriage offer. I don’t call that cold-blooded. I call it keeping your eye on the end zone. It would benefit our son for us to work together.”
“I don’t think a child gains anything from parents who aren’t happy and yet force themselves to be together. We’d be better off trying to figure out how to effectively co-parent.” Feeling rumpled and flustered, she fastened her dress. What woman wanted to field a marriage proposal over the head of a newborn, her breasts sore and her body bone-weary from the physical odyssey of a first pregnancy?
She knew it was foolish to care, but she could only imagine how she looked right now. And yes, she wished she could have met Jean-Pierre in one of her sleek Stella McCartney dresses, but they were all still too small for her postpartum body to fit into.
“I’m not sure your father is going to think much of a plan to co-parent from separate homes.” He wrapped a dangling swath of blanket around the baby’s foot.
“My father also parented his football players more than his own daughter, so I’m not accepting advice on the subject from Jack Doucet.” She loved her father, but she’d witnessed the way he indulged the elite athletes, giving them preferential treatment. As a teen, it had hurt to see him spend more time with them, showing up at a college prospect’s house on the weekend to establish a relationship while blowing off Tatiana’s debate championship—or any other noteworthy accomplishment.
Although, even as she said it, she realized that Jean-Pierre might bear more of her father’s disappointment than she would. But she’d learned long ago she couldn’t make decisions to please other people. She relied on herself and no one else.
“Of course.” He agreed more easily than she’d expected. “This is a lot for both of us to take in right now. We’ll talk tomorrow. I can put him to
