Page 22 of Vegas Daddies (Forbidden Fantasies #17)

ALLIE

D ue to a series of character flaws, I was running fifteen minutes late getting to my mom and dad’s house for our regular family dinner.

That meant two things. One, my dad had definitely started eating without us.

And two, my mom was probably pacing the kitchen, worrying that I was dead in a ditch somewhere.

From the back seat, Daphne kicked her little sneakers against her car seat. “Mommy, I’m hungry. When are we getting to Gram-Gram’s?”

“I know, baby,” I soothed my sweet, growing-impatient little girl. “But look. We’re finally here, and that means you get dinner in just a second.”

I pulled into the driveway of the cozy blue house I’d grown up in, letting out a breath. I could already see the glow of the kitchen light through the front window, the silhouettes of my parents moving around. I could almost hear the muffled hum of my dad’s favorite oldies radio station.

Daphne bounced in excitement as I parked. “Do you think Poppy made chili?”

“Knowing him? Definitely.” It was getting to be actual springtime, and though SoCal didn’t get real winter, Dad still would be trying to squeeze every last ounce of cozy comfort food from the season.

I climbed out and opened Daphne’s door, helping her unbuckle before she scrambled into my arms. Even though she was four now—practically a big kid, in her words—she still loved when Mommy carried her, especially when we were going to someplace as comfortable and familiar as Gram-Gram and Poppy’s house.

The second I pushed through the front door, the familiar squeaky hinge announcing our presence, the smell of chili and cornbread wrapped around me like a hug.

“We’re here,” I called out as I headed into the kitchen. My dad stood at the stove, stirring the pot with the same well-worn wooden spoon he’d probably had since before I was born.

“Finally,” he said, grinning as he turned toward us. “Ang, Alligator is finally here!” he called back through the house, and I heard my mom’s loving “about time” from the small dining room.

“Sorry we’re late,” I told both of my parents as Mom finally came into the room, her gray hair piled into a clip at the back of her head.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Mom said. She came to kiss me and Daphne each on the cheek, her warm smile just as comforting as the chili.

“I know you’re busy. But if you were any later, I would have called all of the local hospitals.

” I rolled my eyes at her dramatics. “Besides, you know your dad gets impatient.”

“I thought I was gonna have to eat all of Mom’s cornbread by myself.”

Mom had gone to college in the South, and had picked up some grade-A Southern cooking tips while she was there. Her cornbread was to die for, and it went perfectly with Dad’s chili—spicy as he could take it, though there would be a smaller batch with less heat for Daphne too.

Daphne wiggled in my arms, and I set her down. She ran straight to my dad, who scooped her up and propped her on his hip with a very grandpa groan.

“You’re getting big, little one,” he pointed out, making my heart clench.

“Poppy!” she squealed. “You’re not supposed to eat all the cornbread.”

“Why not?” He tapped her nose with a flour-dusted finger. “I’m the grandpa! That means I get first dibs.”

“Noooo.” She giggled, squirming until he set her on the counter beside the bread box. Dad handed Daphne a piece of the very same cornbread, holding her over until we could get everything plated up and on the table.

Mom turned her attention to Daphne, reaching out to smooth her wild curls. “And how was your day, little miss?”

“I drew a picture for you at daycare,” Daphne declared, shoving a crumpled paper from her pocket.

Mom took it with a warm smile, unfolding it to reveal what was, honestly, a very abstract family portrait. “Oh, sweetheart, I love it.”

Daphne beamed. “That’s me, and that’s Mommy, and that’s Gram-Gram and Poppy”—she pointed to three squiggly stick figures—“and that’s our puppy.”

Dad arched a brow. “You don’t have a puppy.”

“But maybe for my birthday,” my little girl said, giving me a too-cute-for-words flutter of her eyelashes.

I laughed, looking at my parents. “This is her recent obsession, even though I told her we can’t have a dog in our apartment.”

Daphne pouted, but when Poppy handed her another little slice of cornbread, the potential for tears went away.

“Come on, let’s get you really fed,” Dad said, lifting her off the counter and carrying her to the table.

We all sat down, the warmth of family wrapping around me like a second skin.

The old, mismatched chairs. The little owl-shaped salt and pepper shakers that had been my maternal grandmother’s before Mom got them.

The way my parents never sat down without making sure everyone else had a full plate first.

“So,” Mom said as she passed the cornbread basket, finally settling in for her own dinner. Her eyes landed on me. “We heard all about Daphne’s artwork. What’s new with our other favorite girl? How’s work?”

“Work is good,” I said quickly. But when it came to the other question, the open What’s new?

I hesitated, thinking first of the one update to my life that I absolutely could not tell them.

Oh, you know—I just hooked up with the guy who may or may not be Daphne’s father in a bar bathroom, and now I’m in a whole mess of paternity drama with his two best friends, one of whom is actually my husband. Surprise!

But I shoved those thoughts away, revealing that underneath, there were parts of my current life I could share. I cleared my throat. “Well, I’m kind of getting back into music. I…actually played at an open mic the other night.”

Dad nearly dropped his spoon, then broke into a huge smile. “Hey, that’s my girl! What did you sing? Did the crowd beg for an encore?”

“I just did the one song,” I said, smiling back at him. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“I would have loved to have seen it,” Mom frowned. “You’ve got such a pretty voice, and we haven’t seen you perform in forever.”

“It was a spontaneous thing,” I hurried to say, feeling a little twinge of guilt. “Next time, I’ll let you know beforehand.”

“So there’ll be a next time?”

“I hope so,” I said, and the happy bubble popped.

Mom nodded slowly, her smile turning more serious. She exhaled, that familiar mix of pride and worry flickering across her face. “Sweetheart, you know we’ve always believed in your talent, but…”

“But being a musician is not a realistic career path,” I finished for her, tearing off a piece of cornbread and popping it into my mouth.

“I didn’t say that.” She softened. “I just…you know I worry about you trying to get into such an unstable industry. Dealing with rejection. And we don’t want you to lose sight of what’s important. You have Daphne to think about.”

“I know,” I said, my stomach twisting. I always knew. But I also knew that Daphne needed to learn to follow her own dreams, no matter how big or unrealistic. And I certainly knew that if I didn’t at least try to follow my own, I’d regret it forever.

Before I could argue, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, frowning at the screen. Luca’s contact flickered across it.

“No phones at the table,” my dad barked, and Daphne made a scandalized oooh sound that meant Mommy’s in trouble .

“I know, Dad,” I said, wincing. But Luca calling didn’t exactly bode well, considering the fact that we were in a complicated situation together. “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta take this,” I decided, pushing back my chair.

As I stepped into the hallway, I answered quietly. “Hey. I’m, uh, at dinner with my family. What’s up?”

“Oh, damn,” His voice was soft, like he was just as concerned with being overheard as I was. “Sorry to bother you. I should have texted first.”

“It’s fine,” I told him, accidentally overlapping with the start of his explanation. “Sorry, say again?”

“Well…I know I said it wouldn’t come up, but my mom’s been on my case about meeting you.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because she’s my mother, and she asks a lot of questions. And, uh…” He hesitated. “I panicked and told her you’d come to a family thing this weekend.”

I groaned. “Luca. You’ve got to stop panic-lying.”

“I know, but?—”

“And I’d have to get a babysitter, and?—”

“Oh, I already told her about Daphne,” he piped up. “I was thinking you could bring her along too.”

I froze. “What?”

“I told my mom that you have a kid. From a…previous relationship.” His voice was softer now.

“And she said you should bring your daughter. She wants to meet both of you, and there’ll be lots of kids around for Daphne to play with.

But if you’d rather not bring her, that’s also okay, I’d understand. ”

Something caught in my throat.

It wasn’t just that he’d told his mom—I could have done that myself if it ever came down to it. I wasn’t ashamed of being a young single mother. It was how he’d thought of it himself, considering Daphne in his plans because he knew she was part of my life.

Warmth spread through my chest, and before I could stop myself, I rushed out, “I think it’s good that you’re the one I accidentally married.”

Luca was quiet for a second. Then, almost shyly, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Because that’s so thoughtful, you’ve almost earned husband status.”

I could practically hear his smirk. “Glad to hear it.”

I smiled, shaking my head. “I’ll see if I can get the weekend off.”

“Sounds good, wife.”

I hung up, turning to head back toward the dining room—only to find Mom standing behind me in the hallway, her eyes wide. She’d clearly been on her way to the bathroom just past where I’d chosen to stand, not intending to eavesdrop.

“What was that about being married?” she asked softly.

Shit.

“Can we talk in the kitchen?” I asked, and my stunned mother nodded, following me there.

I didn’t bother with trying to play it off; my mom was always supportive, always there for me in even the most dire of circumstances.

Instead, I began with a disclaimer: “Okay, there is something else going on with me. Something new, I mean. It’s not as serious as it sounds, so I didn’t want to freak you out. ”

I launched into the bare-bones version of the story for her.

How the reckless, younger version of me that she still sometimes expected me to be had gotten drunk-married in Vegas.

How I only found out recently because the guys—and her eyes did widen when I said guys , clarifying that there were three of them—because they’d sought me out to get an annulment.

I even confessed that I’d lied to her years ago about Daphne’s father being some guy from the college I’d been attending when I got pregnant.

By the time I finished, my mom looked almost sick.

“I’m…not sure which of them it is,” I admitted to my mom, feeling my face turn red. “But one of them is Daphne’s father. I’m, uh, getting paternity tests done.”

“Oh, honey,” Mom said, her face full of sympathy and concern. “That must be overwhelming for you.”

“It has been,” I answered, almost surprised by her response. “Um, but one of them works in the music industry. So…he’s trying to help me out. Hence the open mic.”

“Well, they sound like nice young men, at least,” Mom surprised me by saying. I blinked at her, and she met my eyes, serious and full of love. “Allie, when have I ever judged you?”

Those words made me want to cry. I felt the familiar pull of tears in my throat, but I shoved them back. “I…you haven’t. I just…it’s a pretty wild situation.”

“I was young once too,” my mom waved my concerns off. “I had my own fair share of wild nights in college. Maybe not three men all together wild, but—” She stopped, looked into the distance. Her face turned pink. “Well, no, there was that one frat party?—”

“ Mother, ” I hissed, scandalized but smiling, and she blushed again.

“You didn’t hear that,” she whispered to me, leaning in closer with flaming cheeks much like my own. “And Glenn certainly doesn’t need to hear it. This was all well before I met your dad, of course.”

“Of course,” I agreed, grinning.

“Well,” Mom said after a moment. “That’s…a lot to take in.”

“Yeah.” I swallowed. “I’m…I’m sorry. Don’t tell Dad, please.”

“Your dad will love you no matter what, just like me,” Mom contradicted me. I gave a weak smile.

“I know. I just…don’t need to give him a heart attack.”

Mom let out a soft chuckle. I couldn’t help but add another, “I really am sorry.”

She exhaled, then reached across the counter, squeezing my hand in hers. “You don’t have to apologize, sweetheart. I’m here for you. We’re here for you. Always.”

I let out a breath, relief flooding through me for the first time since the guys had shown up at the diner. I was in some deep shit, but I definitely wasn’t in it alone.