Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I resist the urge to put the blocks and play mat back into the toy box that’s actually an old chest matching the living room decor. Lana would never have a fun, primary colored box in the room. My focus is more on what’s going on in Aria’s room, wondering if she’s making excuses for me or telling my child I’m a mean daddy who jumps to conclusions and treats people like shit before getting to the truth. I hate the idea of her doing that, despite it being a hundred percent true.
It takes half an hour before Ali emerges from the hallway, and per her usual, she walks into the kitchen like I don’t even exist.
I want to apologize. I need to do it, but the urge hitting me harder is wrapping my arms around her while she stands at the sink, looking out at the backyard and pressing my lips to her neck. I don’t want to be ignored or thought of as someone she needs to avoid because my mood swings are driving her crazy.
I doubt she’d appreciate me confessing that they drive me crazy, too.
I can’t act on those desires though.
I can’t touch her like she’s mine because I know I’ll bask in the attention, love every second of the moment, and then the guilt will slam into me. It’s already tickling the edges of my subconscious.
“I’m sorry it sounded like something else,” she says with her back still to me, and I find that I miss her eyes on me. Even if she’s angry or upset, I want her looking at me.
“Don’t apologize for my reaction,” I manage.
“I would never try to take Lana’s place,” she continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “I need you to know that.”
“I know,” I say, because I think deep down, I’ve always known that comparing this woman to my wife… my deceased wife—fuck, I don’t even know how to think of her any longer—is pointless.
Lana was Lana, and Ali is Ali. They’re polar opposites, and when I’m not concentrating on fighting any of what I’m feeling, my brain tries to assure me that I’ve always needed both of them in my life. It urges me to consider that what’s happening is what was always meant to be, that maybe a lifetime with Lana was never in the cards.
My eyes burn with the prospect because my vows were made to last an eternity… a lifetime.
I swallow down the realization that it did last a lifetime… Lana’s.
I want to cry, all the while a little more weight is lifted from my shoulders.
Acceptance is fucking hard, but it’s necessary.
“I’m so sorry for being a dick to you. You don’t deserve it.”
She turns around from the sink to look at me. A placating, tiny smile is on her face as she gives me a quick nod. “I’m going to get ready to go. Your parents will be here shortly.”
I’d already forgotten about my parents arriving later today, and the fact that they’re probably already on the plane and heading this way is the only reason I don’t call them and tell them now isn’t a good time.
“You don’t have to go,” I say, realizing at the same time that although I promised Ali I would, I haven’t told them about her living here.
It doesn’t take a genius to read into why. If she were just the woman taking care of my daughter, the news would’ve left my lips long ago. I’ve fought against it, raged in my head to keep it from happening, but it doesn’t change the fact that Alyssa Dansby has become… more.
“You and Aria need to spend some time with them without the nanny hanging around,” she mutters as she walks past me and leaves the room before I can ask where she plans to go.
Chapter 21
Alyssa
I take longer in the shower than required because I’m livid, so pissed that I could spit nails. I couldn’t go back out there and face him without calming down. It took all I had not to slap him in the face when I entered the living room earlier. He traumatized Aria with the way he entered that room, assuming I was trying to convince her to call me Mama. The freaking nerve of him.
I’m a little calmer by the time I get out, and I can feel my blood pressure leveling off as I get dressed. I’ll put on a regular shirt over my tank top, but the heated thickness in the bathroom would leave me needing another shower if I did it in here. I crack the bathroom door, letting some of the steam escape as I blow-dry my hair, and the doorbell echoes through the house before I’m done putting it in a messy bun.
My anxiety increases, thinking it’s his parents. I wanted to be gone before they arrived. If his parents are anything like my mother, they’ll feel the strife between us without either of us having to say a word.