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A fact my daughter will never know.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper into the crown of her head. And I am. I’m sorry that she’s hurting, I’m sorry she’s confused, and I’m sorry I haven’t made Shelby her mother before now. But I’m not sorry that my first wife is dead.

No one tries to take my child, and no one leaves me.

My fingers touch another hand, bringing me out of my dark thoughts. Shelby leans in close, whispering sweet words of love. Soothing my daughter with me until her tears dry up and her body sags.

“Are you and Daddy going to get married?”

“Would you be happy with that?” I ask before Shelby can even process my daughter’s question.

With a shrug, Riley whispers, “Would she leave?”

My eyes meet wide blue eyes over the top of Riley’s head. “Never,” I swear.

Shelby’s face flames. Shock, fear, and want wash over her features.

“Your daddy and I love you.” That’s all my future wife can say.

“Very much,” I agree. “Do you want to take a bath, and I’ll read you an extra-long bedtime story?”

Riley nods eagerly. “Extra, extra long?”

“I think we can do that.” I smile, soothing my thumb over her crinkled forehead. “Okay,” I say. I shift to my knees and set Riley on her feet. “I’ll make you a warm milk while you get ready for bed.”

Shelby follows suit and stands. “Maybe I should go home for the night? This whole live-in nanny thing might be too much for her.”

Catching her chin with my thumb and forefinger, I pull her full lip from between her teeth. “You’re not going anywhere,” I whisper.

Shelby’s eyes flare at my words, and the heat flows into me. She has no idea just how much I mean those words.

“Riley will get used to our new living arrangement.”

“It’s just a trial run,” she reminds me with a shrug.

“She’ll get used to it,” I repeat. “Let me settle Riley, and I’ll make you a juice when I get her milk.”

“Oh, I’ll get them.”

“No,” I rush, encasing her hips. Taking a breath, I soothe her with a smile. “I’ll do it. If it’s too early, the milk will be cool. Go chill, and I’ll bring it to you in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” she agrees easily.

She’s so trusting.Too trusting.

We follow Riley. My daughter ducks into her bedroom, eager to pick out a story.

The hand I have on Shelby’s back tingles with every movement that her body makes. I don’t want to have to sneak these moments.

I want her to know who I am.

The feel of her body bumping into mine draws me from my thoughts.

“Max is a little shit. That’s probably why his dad doesn’t love him,” Shelby grumbles as she passes me.

I choke on my chuckle. I will not laugh at that, no matter how true it is.

Spinning in her bedroom doorway, she asks, “Too mean?”