Page 5

AURORA

I wake with renewed energy, fresh coffee, and pastries, all thanks to my teddy bear of a bodyguard, who’s quickly becoming one of my favorite people.

Over breakfast, we discuss apartments, and I don’t feel as though I’m being stabbed in the chest with an ice pick.

A flicker of hope and faith lights my spirit.

I put on my sexiest outfit and flirtiest smile for the paparazzi.

Then, I go to work.

My first day back on set.

I try to brush off the lingering stares and obvious whispers, but my confidence shakes even with Ricky’s comforting presence.

I can’t pretend they’re not talking about me, because they are.

Not only am I returning pregnant and alone—no boyfriend and no assistant—I’m returning after being publicly humiliated by my so-called baby daddy.

Cheated on by a man every woman desires, by a man I considered mine.

No matter how much I tell myself I don’t care, my social anxiety cares a whole fucking lot. My skin burns with raw vulnerability, my chest erupts with hives, and my fingers tremble.

Before, modeling empowered me. Fashion is art, and I was proud to show off something unique and beautiful.

Now, as I strip naked backstage with my changing body while people snicker and talk behind my back, I’m terrified.

For what? Because they want me to feel ashamed?

I glance down at my tiny baby bump. Torn and afflicted with guilt, I wrap my arms around my swollen stomach in a tight embrace.

Why should I be ashamed of my baby? I’m not.

I may have lost Jackson and Emily, but I have this child, and he’s my everything.

Our designated stations are separated by racks of appointed outfits, and I grab the first one—a delicate, pink, silk-and-lace slip. The fabric feels luxurious on my bare skin, and the matching dainty heels make my toned legs appear a mile long.

Heading out to the runway to experience the full effect under the lights, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The soft shade contrasts flawlessly with my tanned complexion, and my courage soars.

My smile grows when my gaze meets ocean-blue eyes brimming with pride. Ricky winks from his seat, and I stand a little taller, my head held high.

For the rest of the workday, I focus on my appearance and technique. I ignore all else, and by the time I’m strutting my last piece, my legs are cramping, and it’s evident in my stiff gait. I drank a bottle of water between sets, but that could’ve been hours ago.

At the end of the catwalk, Ricky stands and crosses his arms over his chest, a stern expression on his handsome face. He nods to the exit, and I don’t argue.

When we leave the building, my cheerful demeanor toward the paps is no longer phony. My muscles may be sore, but my energy is high.

Not everything can be perfect, however, and finding an apartment in the city is more difficult than I expected. I’ve never searched for a rental, and once again, I’m reminded of my inexperience.

We tour a complex in the Fashion District reminiscent of Gram’s old nursing home—white-painted cement walls, stained Berber carpet that trigger terrible memories.

After seeing my revulsion and being less than pleased with the flimsy locks on the doors, Ricky insists on taking a much-needed break.

“I didn’t realize Central Park was this big.” I link my arm with his. “It’s beautiful.”

When I glance up, his gaze is already on me.

“It is,” he agrees. “You should sit. You’ve been on your feet all day.”

I refuse to answer, knowing he’s right but wanting to enjoy the park.

He flashes me a playful glare. “Don’t you dare say I’m fine .” He mimics my girlish voice, and I burst into laughter.

A few heads turn our way, and my anxiety kicks up a notch. We’re an odd pairing, and I’m likely being paranoid. He’s massive. He garners attention in all black, including combat boots, whereas I’m in leggings, an oversized New York Stars hoodie, and matching red Converse.

I found this hoodie hanging in my dressing station; I may have smirked slightly when I put on the replica jersey of the competing hockey team.

Fuck it—a feral grin split my face, mirroring the reckless fury burning inside me.

Ricky leads us to an open stone bench, and we get comfortable, his arm behind me and my head on his shoulder. We watch the falling orange leaves and chat about his time in the military. Having someone else’s past to focus on is a welcome distraction.

A photographer kneels and lifts a camera. I have no reason to be awkward or anxious, but my heart rate spikes, and I scan our surroundings for more.

In the distance, I spot a familiar face and gasp.

No way.

No freaking way.

“Are they bothering you?” Ricky asks, misreading my panic.

My body tenses. “Did you do this?”

I know I’m not imagining him. I would recognize that tall figure and assertive stride anywhere.

Ricky offers a sly smile. “Maybe he reads the society pages.”

I slap his bicep. “It’s a five-hour flight!”

His smile turns into a deep chuckle.

I steal a glance over my shoulder, and heat rushes through my veins. Ethan’s stormy gray eyes lock on me, and a shiver runs down my spine. The weight of his stare feels tangible, a touch that caresses my skin and electrifies every nerve ending.

Ricky jumps up from the bench. “And this is when I make my exit.”

Ethan gets closer, and my mind scrambles. Do I throw myself into his arms? I want to, but if I do, tears will follow, and it may go viral. Or do I play it cool, as if this is a random encounter with the coach of my ex’s team?

With each step, the tension grows. When he’s in front of me, time stands still. I’m frozen, staring up at him, caught between wanting him and not wanting to harm his reputation.

Before I can react, he fists my hoodie and draws me to him. “Hey, baby girl.”

I’ve listened to his voice over the phone, but nothing compares to hearing that deep, husky tone in person.

I surrender, needing to feel his body pressed against mine.

I bury my face in his chest and wrap my arms around his waist. His scent is pure masculinity, wholly Ethan, and I close my eyes as I breathe him in.

His embrace feels more like home than any property or city ever could, and tears well in my eyes.

A camera snaps, capturing our moment, and I couldn’t care less. All that matters is the connection between us, the unspoken promise that hangs in the air by a delicate thread.

Because he’s here, with me, for all to witness, and that has to mean something.

I cling to him, and the agony of the past week diminishes.

He grasps my chin and directs my gaze to his. “I missed you.” He cups my face and kisses me, hard and claiming. It’s languid yet passionate, fueled by pent-up emotions. He’s demanding. His fingers tangle in my hair, gripping the strands, and I whimper, yearning for his possessive touch.

Our tongues intertwine, and a low groan rumbles from his chest.

God, I love that sound.

I trace the contours of his strong jawline, savoring the rough texture of his stubble, and I can’t help but smile. “I missed you, too.”

My words are breathless, and our chests rise and fall in unison. Ethan brushes my tears away with his knuckles, and the bubble pops.

Filled with dread, I frown, and my brows knit together. “We’re in public. There are cameras.”

“I know.” He kisses my forehead, lips lingering, as if he can’t bear to separate.

I glance at the two photographers just off the trail. “Are you sure?”

My only concern is the potential backlash he’ll face. My career thrives off publicity. The repercussions for me are insignificant compared to what he might endure from the team.

“Too late, baby girl. But yes, I’m more than sure.” He pulls away and interlaces our fingers. “Now, what’s this I hear about you looking at apartments?” His eyes darken beneath his lowered brows. “You trying to escape me?”

“I toured a place today. Is that what this is about?” My stomach churns. Is he here for me or because he thinks he’s losing me? Does it matter?

His jaw clenches. “If this is an ultimatum, it’s unnecessary.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because you’re mine.” His tone is firm, his gaze unwavering. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Only if there’s food involved. Your son is being demanding.” I can’t resist the cheeky jab. “Much like his father.”

His face breaks into an unrestrained smile that crinkles his eyes and shows off those dimples. “Mind walking? I know a great place with all-day breakfast.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Before we part, he fists my hoodie once more, his bicep bulging in his pullover as he peers down at me. “Wearing another man’s jersey is a cardinal sin. Do it again, and you’ll be wearing my handprint on your ass. Understood?”

My retort is a salacious smile, my panties wet. If he thinks that’s a punishment, he’s greatly mistaken.