Page 78 of All the Forbidden Things

These are the reasons he’s held back, why he hasn’t kissed me. It’s not because I’m Cal’s little sister, nothing to do with our history and family ties. It’s because I’mme, and I look nothing likeher.

I’m just a stupid, stupid girl, still hanging on to dreams about her childhood crush.

I feel like an idiot. I need to woman-up and move on.

I hear Layla cry, and as I turn to move towards her crib, I attract Max’s attention, his wide eyes land on mine. He rakes his hand through his hair and visibly relaxes as he takes me in.

“Bamm,” he says, relief apparent in his voice. He’s pleased to see me, and the realisation makes me feel a little light-headed. “Thank fuck. Can you sort Layla for me? I’m late with her feed. She’s not had a bath either . . . actually, would you mind taking her over to your place?”

My eyes slide from his almost pleading gaze to the steely-eyed glare of the woman standing with her arms folded across her chest, next to him. The tension in the air is palpable, and I’m curious as to why he appears so wound up.

“Of course . . . you okay?”

He shakes his head and rubs his hand over the stubble on his jaw. “I’ve had better mornings. Take the baby over the road, and I’ll come over in a bit when I’ve sorted shit out here.”

“You want me to call anyone?”

He moves towards me, and a small smile now joins the look of relief on his face. “I think I’ve got it covered.” When he gets close, he says very quietly, “Call Aaron. Tell him Whit’s arrived early.”

I nod.

“Just get Layla out of here for me.”

I want to lean in and kiss his cheek, wrap my arms around him, and reassure him everything will be okay. I don’t. Of course, I don’t. Instead, I give another quick nod and say, “Don’t stress. You deal with this and come over when you can.I’vegot Layla, andyou’vegot this, okay?”

He reaches out and squeezes my arm. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“Is there any chance Whitney can see Layla before she goes anywhere? I’ve not even met her yet,” the blonde calls out.

Max gives an instant and emphatic no at the same time gesturing with his head for me to get Layla out of there.

I wrap her in a couple of blankets from her crib, and when I turn around, Max is waiting with her change bag, which he hooks over my shoulder.

“There are a couple of bottles in there, all of her nappy stuff, and a couple of clean babygros.”

He walks with me part way to the back door but stops in his tracks when his name is called from the room he has set up as a bedroom for his wife.

His. Wife.

My stomach lurches, probably because my deflated heart is still flailing around in the pit of it somewhere. “Go deal with that. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Holding Layla against me, I head out of the back door towards my flat, and that’s when the shouting starts.

“This way, love. Just look this way.”

“Whose baby?”

“Is that Max Young’s kid?”

“Can we get a look at the baby?”

“Who are you?”

“Can we get a name?”

“Can you confirm Whitney Federov is out of hospital and back home?”

“Have the Young’s separated?”