I studied to be a pastry chef in Paris, backpacked through Germany, lived on a commune on a vineyard in the Italian countryside, and went to more rock concerts than a Rolling Stones groupie. I have more stories to tell after twenty-eight years than most people have after a lifetime.
I also have a daughter. A beautiful, magical little girl who, despite the fact that her father isn’t the man I thought he was, isn’t a mistake. Felicity is a treasure, and I could do worse for my child than moving in with a man who adores babies in general, and mine, in particular.
Like staying here and facing my father’s disappointment, day after day.
“I love you, Daddy,” I say, swinging the baby bag over one shoulder and grabbing Felicity’s small overnight suitcase from the floor. “But this is my life and I make my own decisions, and this one is already made.”
He frowns. “All right. But don’t come crying to me when it falls apart. That man has never had your best interests at heart, Aria, not when you were a girl he was pushing to grow up way too fast, and not now.”
“He wasn’t pushing me to…” I trail off with a shake of my head.
This is pointless.
Once Dad has something stuck in his head, arguing with him is an exercise in futility. I’d just be wasting breath and the time I’ll need to get the crib Nash borrowed set up before Felicity’s bedtime.
“Fine,” I say with a sigh. “I won’t come crying to you. Goodnight, and thank you for trying to help. Hopefully, the next time we get together we can enjoy each other’s company without all the unsolicited advice.”
“Maybe,” he says, scowling. “If you leave that idiot you married at home.”
I bite my tongue. A part of me wants to defend Nash—he has many annoying qualities, but he’s far from an idiot—but I know when to cut my losses. My father is too stubborn for anything I say right now to make a bit of difference anyway.
Without another word, I walk out of the bedroom and down the stairs, kissing my mom and sisters goodbye before heading out the door.
Chapter Twelve
Aria
Don’t panic, don’t panic, I chant silently to myself as I follow Nash down the walk to his truck. He’s holding Felicity, who’s grinning at me over his shoulder, clearly thrilled to be going for a ride with her new friend.
“That went well.” Nash beams at me across the back seat of the truck as he straps Felicity into her car seat, and I wedge the diaper bag and small suitcase onto the floor beneath her feet.
The truck bed is already full of my two large suitcases, a duffel bag full of Felicity’s clothes, two toy chests, a few tote bags stuffed with sheets for the crib, baby towels, soap, and other toiletries, and the crib Nash picked up earlier in the day.
This “moving in together” situation is becoming more real with every passing moment, but so far Nash doesn’t seem to be freaking out.
I wish I could say the same.
“You okay?” He winces as Felicity grabs a fistful of his hair and tugs at it with a squeal, but he doesn’t pull the baby’s hand away. He’s like a giant Labrador retriever, patiently enduring Felicity’s rough handling.
I should lie to him, pretend like the last ten minutes of the evening didn’t happen and everything is fine, but when I open my mouth, the truth comes spilling out. “My dad came up to talk while I was packing.”
Nash gently dislodges Felicity’s fingers, exchanging his hair for her favorite toy hammer with a grunt. “I can imagine how that went.”
I sigh. “He’s going to have a lot of fun saying ‘I told you so’ when we break up in a few months.”
Nash pauses, staring at me with an expression I can’t quite decipher.
“What?” I finally ask.
“I know your dad isn’t a fan, but I had a good time with your family and Skeeter today,” he says before adding in a softer voice. “I had a good time with you today.”
“I had a good time with you, too,” I murmur, so flustered I can’t work up the gumption to insist he stop calling Felicity by that ridiculous nickname.
Nash smiles again, that smile that makes his eyes crinkle and my stomach feel crowded with butterflies. “So, why not enjoy it? Nobody said we can’t have fun pretending to be married.”
“I…guess not,” I say, the suspicious part of me warning that this is a trick and that trusting Nash is the stupidest kind of stupid.
He shrugs. “So, let’s be friends, have a good time, and worry about the future when we get there.”
I cock my head, studying him for a long moment as I work up the courage to ask, “So you don’t hate me anymore?”