30
Ididn’t go straight home from the restaurant. Honestly, the idea of burying myself on the couch or crawling into my little space at the top of the stairs felt more than a little pathetic, and that was exactly what I was trying to escape by leaving.
Part of me wanted to stay. Xavier had so clearly made room for everyone else important to me. I should have been thankful that he was turning out to be the kind of dedicated father I myself had never had. All my fears about him and Sofia proved to be unfounded. It was more than I could have wished for. For her, anyway.
But in a way, it sort of made me feel even worse. It was clear that he could offer Sofia so much more than I ever could. His wealth, of course, made almost anything possible. But on top of that, there was simply the fact that, like the party where we had stumbled into each other, I just didn’t fit into his world. That restaurant was for her—as well it should have been. And it was for the patrons, the ones who could afford to spend hundreds of dollars on the world’s most expensive fish. Or girls like Joni, who loved to flirt with the kind of men who would pay for her meal regardless. Or men like Matthew, sophisticated no matter what, but even more so with someone like Nina at his side.
Me, though. No. It was like I didn’t exist.
And honestly, maybe I shouldn’t.
So I went to a place I always went when I needed a bit of cheering up—a bookstore. And after treating myself to a cup of tea and some Brontë, eventually I found my way back to Red Hook.
It hadn’t quite worked, though. I had wanted to dive into Jane Eyre and get lost in the fantasy of Mr. Rochester along with her. Instead, I kept coming back to the moment St. John finds her on the moor. When she’s lost, fleeing the house so far above her station, where she believed for one fleeting moment she might belong.
Except she didn’t.
The problem, I supposed, was that yet again I was faced with an impossible circumstance and impossible choice. Story of my life.
No one expects to get pregnant out of nowhere. No one expects the father to all but disappear. No one expects for him to show up again and turn out to be a duke of all things like you’re actually living in a Julia Quinn novel.
Then again, no one expects the duke to be sitting on their doorstep either.
Well, not unless you’re a duchess.
Nevertheless, there he was, sitting on my front stoop, elbows balanced on his knees, tuxedo jacket undone, neck freed from the top buttons of his shirt, black tie dangling down his shirtfront. He looked more than worse for wear, tired and tortured. But like a still-life painting, as beautiful as ever.
“Xavier?” I asked.
He jerked up, a few black locks dangling over his forehead. His blue eyes shone with fury and concern.
“Jesus, Francesca. Where the fuck have you been?”
I frowned as I drew my keys from my purse. “What do you mean, where have I been? Why aren’t you at your opening?” I looked around. “Where’s Sofia?”
The question was automatic before I recalled my sister’s offer.
“With Kate,” Xavier confirmed. “You don’t think I would have left her there.”
I swallowed guiltily. Of course, he wouldn’t.
Oddly, it only made me return to that feeling of uselessness. At least five months ago, I had parenthood over him. I knew when she was hungry and when she was tired. I could trust that I’d never forget her places and remember her favorite stuffed animal. My family helped, yes, but no one could ever replace her parent.
Now, what was I good for?
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
Xavier frowned. “Ces, what do you think I’ve been doing? I went out looking for you—fucking everywhere, I might add. Why haven’t you answered your phone?”
I took it out and only then realized it had run out of battery long ago.
He just shook his head. “Had the car take me to every bloody bookshop in Manhattan.”
“I went to one in Brooklyn,” I murmured.
Xavier did not look impressed. “Why?”
I toyed with the keys in my hand.