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He said it with such certainty, and no shame.
Paige sputtered. “In what regard?”
“People see me … well, as a tyrant. If not that, a corruptor of innocents, and perhaps, the personification of Charon, ready to lead people down the river Styx and into Hades.”
He said it lightly, with some amusement, though his expression stayed smooth. Paige laughed. “Uh, yes, well, I suppose that’s true.”
“Already there is speculation that you might manage to reform me. The idea of giving that impression … I find it intriguing. An interesting social experiment if nothing else, and one with the potential to improve business for me.”
“Of course you would also actually be helping me and Ana,” she pointed out.
He nodded once. “I don’t find that objectionable.”
She could have laughed. He said it so seriously, as if she might really think he would find helping others something vile. And he said it like that perception didn’t bother him.
“Okay. Good.” She continued on down the hall with him, on the way to the day care center that she’d come to be so grateful for.
She opened the door and sighed heavily when she saw Genevieve, the main caregiver, holding Ana. They were the last two there. “I’m so sorry,” she said, dumping her things on the counter and reaching for Ana.
Genevieve smiled. “No worries. She’s almost asleep again. She did scream a little bit when five rolled around and you weren’t here.”
Paige frowned, a sharp pain hitting her in the chest. Ana was only four months old, but she already knew Paige as her mother. There had been such few moments in Paige’s life when she’d been certain of something, where she hadn’t felt restless and on the verge of failure.
One of those moments was when she’d been hired to design the window displays for Colson’s. The other was when Shyla had placed Ana in Paige’s arms.
Can you take care of her?
She’d only meant for a moment. While she rested and tried to shake some of the chronic fatigue that came with having a newborn. But Shyla had lain down on their sofa for a nap that day and never woken up. And Paige was still taking care of Ana. Because she had to. Because she wanted to. Because she loved Ana more than her own life.
Genevieve transferred Ana and her blanket into Paige’s arms, and Paige pulled her daughter in close, her heart melting, her eyes stinging. She looked back at Dante, and she knew that she’d done the right thing.
Because she would be damned if anyone was taking Ana from her, and she would do whatever she had to do to insure that no one did. Ana was hers forever. And even if marriage to Dante wasn’t strictly necessary, she would take it as insurance every time.
Genevieve bent to retrieve Ana’s diaper bag, then popped back up, her eyes widening when she registered the presence of their boss. “Mr. Romani, what brings you down here?”
Paige thought the girl had a slightly hopeful edge to her voice. As if she was hoping Dante had come to ravish her against the wall. Something Paige could kind of relate to, since Dante had that effect. Even Paige, who knew better than to fantasize about men who were so far out of her league, struggled with the odd Dante-themed fantasy. It was involuntary, really.
“I’m here to collect Ana,” he said.
Genevieve looked confused. “Oh … I …” He reached over the counter and took the diaper bag from the surprised-looking Genevieve.
“With Paige,” he finished. “It was announced in the news today, but in case you haven’t heard, Paige and I are to be married.”
Genevieve’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, I …”
“Let’s go, caramia,” he said, sweeping Paige’s things from the counter and gathering them into his arms. Her big, broad-chested Italian boss, clutching her sequined purse to his chest, was enough to make her dissolve into hysteric fits of laughter, but there was something else, another feeling, one that made her stomach tight and her chest warm, stopping the giggles.
She wiggled her fingers in Genevieve’s direction and walked through the door, which Dante was currently holding open for her with his shoulder.
Paige continued down the hall, heading toward the parking garage. Dante was behind her, still holding all of her things. She stopped. “Sorry, I can take that.”
“I’ve got it,” he said.
“But you don’t have to … I mean … you don’t have to walk me out to my car.”
“I think I do,” he said.
“No. You really don’t. There’s no reason.”
“We have just announced our engagement. Do you think I would let my fiancée walk out to her car by herself, with a baby, a diaper bag, a purse and … whatever else I’m currently holding?”
“Maybe not,” she said. “But then, you don’t really have a reputation for being chivalrous.”
“Perhaps not,” he said, “but I’m changing it, remember?”
“Why exactly?”
“Walk while you talk,” he said.
Not for the first time, Paige noticed that he didn’t look at Ana. She seemed no more interesting to him than the inanimate objects in his arms. Most people softened when they saw her, reached out and touched her cheek or hair. Not Dante.
“Okay,” she said, turning away from him and continuing on. “So … how are we going to do this?” she asked.
She paused at the door, a strange, new habit she seemed to have developed just since coming down from the top floor with Dante. And he didn’t let her down. He reached past her and opened the door, holding it for her as she walked into the parking garage.
“Where are you parked?” he asked.
“There,” she said, flicking her head to the right. “I get to park close now because of Ana.”
“Nice policy,” he said. “I don’t believe I was responsible for it.”
“I think your father was.”
A strange expression passed over his face. “Interesting. But very like Don. He’s always been very practical. One reason he put in the day care facility early on. Because he knew that employees with children needed to feel like their family concerns were a priority. And better for the company because it ensures that there will be minimal issues with employees missing work because of child care concerns. Of course, missing baseball games cannot be helped sometimes, and I am not putting a field in the parking garage,” he finished dryly.
“I imagine not.” She shifted, not quite sure what to do next. “Well, I’ve never met your father, but judging by some of the policies here, he’s a very good man.”
Dante nodded. “He is.”
Paige turned and headed toward her car. “Oh … purse,” she said, stopping her progress and turning to look at Dante. He started trying to extricate the glittery bag from the pile in his arms. Then she checked the door. “Never mind, I forgot to lock it.”
“You forgot to lock it?”
“It’s secure down here,” she said, pulling the back door open and depositing the sleeping Ana in her seat.
“Locking it would make it doubly secure,” he said, his tone stiff.
She straightened. “How long have you lived in this country?”
He frowned. “Since I was six. Why?”
“You just … you speak very formal English.”
“It’s my second language. And anyway, Don and Mary speak very formal English. They are quite upper-crust, you know.”
“And you call them by their first names?”
“I was fourteen when they adopted me, which I’m sure you know given your proclivity for tabloids.”
“Wow. Exaggerate much? Proclivity …”
“And,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “it would have seemed strange to call them anything other than their first names. I was adopted to be the heir to the Colson empire, more than I was adopted to be a son.”
“Is that what they told you?”
His expression didn’t alter. “It’s the only reason I can think of.”
“Then why aren’t you a Colson?” She’d often wondered that, but she’d never asked, of course. Partly because until today she’d never had more than a moment to speak to him.
“Something Don and I agreed on from the start. I wished to keep my mother’s name.”
“Not your father’s?”
His face hardened, his dark eyes black, blank. “No.”
Paige blinked. “Oh.” She looked back down at Ana, who was sleeping soundly and was buckled tightly into her seat. She closed the door and leaned against the side of the car. “So … I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“You’ll see me tonight,” he said, turning away from her.
“What?”
“We’re not going into this without a plan. And if I’m going to help you, you will help me. It’s in both of our best interests that it look real, once we take one step into confirming this, there is no going back. You understand?”
She nodded slowly.
“And you need to remember this. It’s essential for you, much more than it is for me. If this blows up it would simply be another bruise on my reputation, and frankly, what’s one more beating in that area? You on the other hand …”
“I could lose everything,” she said, a sharp pang of regret hitting her in the stomach.
“So we’ll make sure we don’t misstep,” he said. “I’ll follow you to your apartment.”
The thought of him, so big and masculine and … orderly, in her tiny, cluttered space, made her feel edgy. Of having a man, any man really, but a man like him specifically, in her space, was so foreign. But really, there was no other option. And she couldn’t act like he made her nervous. He was supposed to be her fiancé.
And people were somehow supposed to believe that he had chosen her.
“I feel dizzy,” she said.
He frowned. “Should I drive?”
She shook her head. “I’ll be fine,” she said, opening the driver’s side door. “I’ll be fine,” she repeated again, for her own benefit more than his.
And she really hoped it was true.
CHAPTER THREE (#ucee2d68b-dd06-5d8e-abc6-862a58eb0486)
PAIGE’S house was very like her. Bright, disordered and a bit manic. The living area was packed with things. Canvases, mannequins, bolts of fabric. There was a large bookshelf at the back wall filled with bins. Bins of beads, sequins and other things that sparkled. Her office had simply been the tip of the iceberg.
This was the glittery underbelly.
“Sorry about the mess,” she said. “You can just dump my stuff on the couch.” She set the baby’s car seat gently on the coffee table and bent, unbuckling the little girl from her seat, drawing her to her chest.
He looked away from the scene. Watching her with the baby reminded him of things. He wasn’t even sure what things exactly, because every time a piece of memory tried to push into his mind, he pushed it out.
He focused instead on trying to find a hook of some kind, something to hang her bag on at least.
“Just dump it,” she said, shifting Ana in her arms.
“I don’t … dump things,” he said tightly.
She rolled her eyes. “Then hold Ana while I do it.”
He drew back, discomfort tightening his throat. “I don’t hold babies.”
She rolled her eyes. “Pick one,” she said.
He set her purse on her kitchen counter and then went farther into the living room, depositing her fabric on another pile of fabric, and placing her sketchbook next to a bin that had paints and pencils in it.
That had some reason to it, at least.
She laughed. “You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t just dump it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with caring for what you have.”
“I do care for it.”
“How do you find everything in here?”
She cocked her head to the side and he caught sight of the flash of pink buried in her hair again. “Easily.” She put her hand on Ana’s back and patted her absently, pacing across the living room.
There was no denying that she looked at ease in her surroundings, even if he couldn’t fathom it. He needed order. A space for everything. A clear and obvious space for himself. He prized it, above almost everything else.
He cleared his throat. “What size ring do you wear?”
“Six,” she said, frowning. “Why?”
“You need one.”
“Well, I have rings. I can just wear one of those,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal.
