“I didn’t mean to speak sharply. I don’t usually make mistakes and they’ve been piling up lately.”
For the most part, Rico was a meticulous planner. He had always been taught success was a matter of research and preparation. That lesson had played out as true more often than not and he had heeded its wisdom—right up until he had impulsively made love with his mother’s maid.
He had promptly fallen back in line with the precisely orchestrated pageant his first wedding had been, o
nly to discover his wife’s betrayal. As resentful as he still was of that, he had to face the fact that if he had refused to marry Faustina when she had come back that next morning, she might be alive and happily ensconced with her lover and child. He wouldn’t have the presidency that had seemed like such a delectable consolation prize, but he would have had the first year of Lily’s life. Poppy bore some responsibility for his missing that, but so did he.
He had believed his tryst with Poppy was all the bucking of expectations he had needed before settling into the life laid out for him. Even after Sorcha had dropped this earth-shattering news on him, he had attempted to defuse it with surgical care, ordering an investigation and telling no one.
Then the test had come back inconclusive and he had come out of his skin. Mere days later, he had a wife and child. His parents thought he was behaving recklessly and a rational part of him wondered if they were right. He was relying on instinct without concrete evidence or other facts to back it up.
He caught Poppy’s affronted glare and heard his own words.
“I wasn’t suggesting this marriage is a mistake. But it will cause a tragic death to be splashed across the gossip sites again. You will be cast as the Other Woman.”
She would be labeled an opportunist and a gold digger. Given her shock at his arrival, he couldn’t accuse her of that, but others would.
“I’ll look like a faithless husband and a deadbeat father. I’m not proud of any of that. Scandals are not my MO. I’m disgusted with myself for creating this situation.”
“And what about Lily? Are you sorry you created her?” The fiery challenge in her expression was quickly schooled as the flight attendant approached to ask after their comfort.
Lily lifted her arms at the woman and pitifully begged, “Oof?”
“She thinks that means up,” Poppy explained with a stiff smile. “I guess I was making that noise whenever I lifted her and didn’t notice. Button, you have to stay in your seat. I’ll apologize now for how miserable she’s going to become.”
Rico preferred a happy baby over one who was screaming, same as anyone. The baby in question, however, was his. He hadn’t fully unpacked that knowledge and very tentatively felt around in the dank spaces within him, looking for the regret Poppy had accused him of feeling toward Lily.
“Our flight should be very smooth until we’re over the Atlantic,” the attendant said. “She could walk around if you want to let her work out some energy.”
“She doesn’t walk yet.”
“There isn’t much she can get into,” Rico pointed out, still searching through the bitterness that encased him for resentment that was wrongly aimed at an innocent child. “All the drawers have catches so they won’t open midflight.”
Poppy peered at the floors. They were as spotless as they ought to be, given the salaries he paid his flight crews.
“You really wouldn’t mind?” Poppy asked the attendant.
“Of course not.” The attendant was bemused by the question and disappeared to fetch the coffee he requested.
Poppy heard his snort and shot him a frown as she unstrapped Lily. “Why am I funny?”
“This is my plane. If my daughter wants to pilot it through loop-de-loops, it’s the crew’s job to make it happen.” That much he was sure of.
Poppy released a small oof of exertion as she pulled Lily out of her seat and stood her on the floor, next to her knee. Then she reached into the toy bag and handed Lily a giraffe. She tossed the half-dozen other toys onto the empty seat next to Rico.
Lily reached for the bag, needing to peek inside to see if more would appear.
“It’s empty. They’re all there,” Poppy told her, pointing.
Lily dropped the giraffe, let go of Poppy’s knee and took three toddling steps, completely unassisted.
Poppy gasped and reached out to catch her, but Lily slapped her dimpled hand onto Rico’s knee. Her fingers closed like kitten claws into the fabric of his trousers as she steadied herself. Then she cruised around his leg and began examining the array of toys.
Poppy clapped her hand over her open mouth. Her eyes brimmed with excited tears. “Did you see that?” She dropped her hand, but emotion husked her voice.
“Those weren’t her first steps.” It couldn’t be. There’d been no fanfare. No announcement over the PA that it was about to happen. It had occurred naturally, as if she’d been doing it all along.
Poppy nodded like a bobblehead doll on the dash of a derby car.