Page 60 of Second Chance Daddy

We fall asleep like that, tangled in each other, my tears drying on his skin, his heartbeat steady under my ear.

I dream of nothing.

When I wake, the first pale light of dawn is filtering through the curtains. Dante’s still beside me, his arm a heavy weight across my waist, his breathing deep and even.

Then I hear it—the soft patter of tiny feet in the hallway.

My heart stops.

The door creaks open, and there she is. Aria, sleep-rumpled and innocent, rubbing her eyes with tiny fists. She doesn’t seem surprised to find me here, with him. Doesn’t hesitate.

She pads across the floor and climbs onto the bed with the confidence of a child who knows she’s loved. For a moment, she studies Dante’s sleeping face, head tilted like she’s piecing together a puzzle.

Then, with a small, contented sigh, she crawls into the space between us, curling up against his chest, her back to my stomach.

Dante’s eyes open, finding mine over her head. I see the moment he registers what’s happening—the shock, the wonder, the raw emotion that floods his face.

His arm shifts, curling around her small body, protective, possessive. His other hand finds mine, fingers lacing together over our daughter’s sleeping form.

We say nothing.

But the truth is crawling closer, inescapable now.

It doesn’t matter anyway because…

He knows.

16

DANTE

I’ve never been the sit-around-and-savor-shit type, especially in the morning.

The way my life’s wired? Mornings usually mean your phone rings with bad news, your body’s sore from something that shouldn’t have happened, and the only thing crawling under your skin is the itch to run before the next problem finds you.

But right now?

The sun’s bleeding slow through the curtains, warm across the blankets, and I’ve got a woman tangled at my side and a kid curled so tight into my chest, I don’t want to fucking move.

Cassie’s breathing softly, her hair a mess on the pillow, her leg half-thrown over mine like some subconscious reminder that I belong here now—even if her head’s still fighting it.

And Aria?

She’s a furnace. Little arms locked tight around my torso, cheek squished against my chest, messy curls tickling my chin. She’sdrooling on me a little, but hell… I’ve had worse things on my chest.

I try to remember the last time I let myself have something this normal and soft. The answer’s a blank space.

But this?

This feels like a fucking anchor. Dangerous in its own way.

I brush my hand down her cheek because she’s so darn cute, slow, steady, careful not to wake the little munchkin—but of course, the kid’s already stirring.

Her tiny fingers flex against my side, and then that sleepy little voice cracks through the quiet like a bullet to the ribs.

“I’m hungry…”

Cassie glances at Aria, then her eyes lock with mine, and whatever sleepy haze she was floating in evaporates fast. Her whole body stiffens, face twisting with that wide-eyed, shell-shocked look like she’s only just realized who she’s curled up beside. I see it hit—the hesitation, the walls snapping back into place, brick by stubborn brick.