But she couldn’t. Even though Leonidas had lied to her about his identity, and lied about Daisy’s father, she couldn’t fall to his level. She couldn’t lie to his face. Not even for her child.
What kind of mother would she be, if she practiced the same deceit as Leonidas Niarxos? She felt somehow, even in the womb, that her baby was listening. And she had to prove herself worthy. She, at least, was a good person. Unlike him.
“Am I the father, Daisy?” he pressed.
Stiffening, Daisy lifted her chin defiantly. “Only biologically.”
“Only?” Leonidas’s eyes went wide, then narrowed. Setting his jaw, he walked slowly around her, as if searching for weaknesses. He ignored her dog, who traitorously wagged her tail at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why would I?”
“Because it’s the decent thing to do?”
She glared at him. “You don’t deserve to be her father.”
Leonidas stopped, as if he’d been punched in the gut. Then he said evenly, “You are legally entitled to child support.”
She tossed her head. “I don’t want it.”
“You’d really let your pride override the best interests of the child?”
“Pride!” she breathed. “Is that what you think?”
“What else could it be? You want to hurt me. You don’t care that it also injures our baby in the process.”
It was strange, Daisy thought, that even after all this time, he could still find new ways to hurt her.
It didn’t help that Leonidas was even more devastatingly handsome than she remembered, standing in the twilight dressed in black from head to toe, in his dark suit covered by a long dark coat. His clothing was sleek, but his black hair was rumpled, and his sharp jawline was edged with five o’clock shadow. Everything about him seemed dark in this moment.
“This isn’t about you,” she ground out. “It’s about her. She doesn’t need a father like you—a liar with no soul!”
For a moment, they glared at each other as they stood on the empty pathway along the East River, with the brilliant backdrop of Manhattan’s skyline against the red sunset. Her harsh words hung between them like toxic mist.
“You only hate me because I told the truth about your father.” His voice was low. “But I am not the one you should hate. I never lied to you.”
“How can you say that?” She was outraged. “From the day we met, when you told me your name—”
“I didn’t tell you my full name. But that was only because I liked talking to you and didn’t want it to end.” His deep voice was quiet. “I never lied. I never tried to sell a forgery. I am not the criminal.”
She caught her breath, and for a moment she felt dizzy, wondering if he could be telling the truth. Could her father have been guilty? Had he known the Picasso was a forgery when he’d tried to sell it?
I didn’t do it, baby. I swear it on my life. On my love for you.
Daisy remembered the tremble in her father’s voice, the emotion gleaming in his eyes the night of his arrest. All throughout his trial and subsequent imprisonment, he’d maintained his innocence, saying he’d been duped just like his wealthy customers. But he’d refused to say who had duped him.
Who was she going to believe—the perfect father who’d raised her and loved her, caring for her as a single parent after her mother died, or the selfish billionaire who’d had him dragged into court, who’d taken Daisy’s virginity and left her pregnant and alone?
“Don’t you dare call my father a criminal!”
“He was convicted. He went to prison.”
“Where he died—thanks to you!” Her voice was a rasp. “You ruined his life out of spite, over a painting that meant nothing—”
“That painting means more than—”
“You ruined my life on a selfish whim.” Daisy’s voice rose. “Why would I want you near my baby, so you could wreck her life as well? Just go away, and leave us alone!”
* * *