Page 80 of Silver Fox's Christmas Scandal

"Sorry to invade your space," he said quietly. "Your mom sent me to check on you, but I wanted to apologize first. She doesn't mean to be so pushy about your personal life. She just worries about you up here all alone."

His kindness, so unexpected and gentle, made my heart squeeze. He was so perfect for her, and it made me wish Lucian were here to be a sounding board for my thoughts.

Tears spilled over before I could stop them, and suddenly, I was sobbing against the chest of a man I barely knew while he rubbed my back with paternal comfort.

"Hey, it's okay," he murmured. "Whatever's going on, it's going to be fine."

But it wasn't going to be fine. I was in love with a man who saw me as a convenient arrangement.

I was probably pregnant with his child while hiding from gossip blogs that could destroy both our careers.

My mother was visiting, asking innocent questions that could unravel everything if she connected the wrong dots.

And I was crying in a restaurant because Frank Delgado had been kind to me.

I never cried. Ever. I was the woman who handled crises at work without flinching, who managed Lucian's impossible schedule like a pro, who'd built walls around my heart to protect it from exactly this situation.

"I think I might be pregnant," I whispered, the words escaping before I could stop them.

Frank's hand stilled on my back, but he didn't pull away or ask questions I couldn't answer. "Is that a good thing or a scary thing?"

"Both." I wiped my eyes with a paper towel, trying to compose myself. "Definitely both."

"The father?" he asked gently.

"It's complicated."

He nodded as if that explained everything. "Most important things are."

We stood there for a moment before I managed to pull myself together. "Please don't tell Mom. Not until I know for sure."

"Your secret's safe with me." He squeezed my shoulder. "But Tessa? Whatever happens, you're stronger than you think. Your mom talks about you constantly—how proud she is, how hard you work. You'll figure this out."

The rest of breakfast passed in a blur.

Mom chatted about the heat in Florida and her plans for decorating their new condo while Frank steered conversations away from anything too personal.

I picked at my eggs, my mind racing with worries and concerns.

By evening, I was exhausted from pretending everything was normal.

We'd spent the day wandering through Millennium Park and the Art Institute, Mom exclaiming over every detail while I tried to focus on being a good hostess.

But the nausea kept returning in waves, and the emotional volatility I'd shown in the bathroom lingered under my careful composure.

"Let's go shopping," Mom announced as we finished dinner at a cozy Italian place in Little Italy. "I want to buy some proper Chicago winter clothes before we head back to Florida because I'm coming to visit around Christmas this time. And I need to be prepared."

The mall felt overwhelming—bright lights and crowds and the constant hum of activity.

Mom dragged us through department stores, trying on sweaters and coats while Frank offered commentary on colors and styles. I followed behind them, my mind elsewhere, until I spotted a small pharmacy tucked between a jewelry store and a phone repair shop.

"I need to use the bathroom," I announced suddenly.

"There's one right by the food court," Mom said, holding up a burgundy cardigan for Frank's approval.

"This one's closer." I was already walking away before she could argue.

My hands shook as I grabbed a pregnancy test from the shelf, and the cashier, a bored teenager with purple hair, barely looked at me as she rang up my purchase.