Chapter 29

The day stretches long and lazy, the kind you dream about but seldom get to live. I’m curled up in Patrick’s study, sipping herbal tea. The dress shirt I’d snagged from his closet hangs loose over my shoulders, barely covering my panties.

It’s comfy, yet I can’t shake the heavy thoughts that circle like vultures overhead.

I can hear Patrick in the kitchen, flipping through his notes, the clink of a spoon against the mug as he stirs his coffee. He’s going over potential restaurant specials, the scrawl of pencil on paper filling the silence.

There’s something cooking, too. The constant scent of delicious food in the air is one more thing I love about Patrick’s place.

I smile, imagining the furrow in his brow, that intense look he gets when he’s deep in the culinary creation zone.

I should be over there, bouncing ideas off him, letting our creativity spiral into new and exciting dishes. But I stay put, my thoughts on the Mafia thing. It’s causing a tight knot in my chest and demanding attention. I promised myself I’d address it before we head back to the restaurant tonight. But it’s not just about confirming my suspicions anymore.

I’m in love with him, deeply, irrevocably. I’m carrying his child. Does it really matter if he has ties to the Mafia? I suppose in the grand scheme of things, it does, but it’s not going to change how I feel about him. Yet, I crave transparency. I need to know who he is, all of him, especially the shadowy parts he keeps veiled.

Does he love me? I haven’t gotten it spelled out in black and white yet but every look, every touch, speaks volumes. He cares, and that much is crystal clear. Maybe that’s enough to build on, to create something lasting—not just for us, but for our coming child.

I set my tea down, feeling the weight of the decision I’m about to make. Confronting the Mafia topic isn’t just about clearing the air; it’s about setting a course for our future, determining if our foundation can handle the heavy truths.

With a deep breath, I walk toward the kitchen.

I breeze in just as Patrick is putting the final touches on what looks like a feast fit for a queen. He greets me with that killer smile that’s been knocking me off my feet since day one and gestures grandly to the spread on the counter. ‘Voilà! For the lady: perfectly seared steak rich in iron, vibrant veggies with vitamin C, and a steamy mug of collagen broth for the baby.’

I’m genuinely touched. He was diving into the world of pregnancy superfoods. My heart does a little dance—half from love, half from the sheer delight of being so thoughtfully cared for.

He chuckles as he serves me, the clink of the utensils playing background music to his next declaration.

‘This baby’s going to have a palate that appreciates the finer things in life, starting in the womb,’ he jokes, winking as he hands me a fork.

As I take my first bite, I can’t help but smile, feeling spoiled and cherished. ‘Patrick, you’re turning this baby into a gourmet before they’ve even entered the world,’ I tease back, savoring the rich flavors.

He watches me with eyes full of something warm and tender, making the veggies seem even crisper and the broth more comforting.

But as wonderful as the meal is, there’s something heavy lingering in my thoughts. As we’re laughing over a particularly cheesy joke he makes about baby food haute cuisine, I decide it’s time to cut to the chase.

Setting down my fork with a dramatic flair, I catch his attention. ‘So, Chef, between prepping deluxe baby menus and running a top-notch restaurant, when do you find the time for your Mafia meetings?’ I ask, half-teasing, half-serious. The air shifts, curiosity in his eyes.

‘Is that what’s been cooking up in your mind?’ he asks, the tone cautious.

‘Yeah,’ I admit, leaning in, the moment turning serious despite the playful banter. ‘I love what we have, Patrick, and I’m in this for the long haul. But I’ve got to know about the company you keep.’

The moment is surreal, frozen like one of those scenes in a movie where you can almost hear the record scratch. The front door creaks and swings open just as Patrick and I are about to wade into some serious talk, and my heart skips a beat—not the good kind this time.

‘Shit,’ Patrick mutters under his breath, the color draining from his face as footsteps echo through the hall.

Then, like a scene straight out of a sitcom, Caleb’s voice floats into the kitchen, breezy and unsuspecting.

‘Hey, Dad, the lawyer’s down with the flu, so I’m back early and—’

He rounds the corner, and there it is—the jaw-drop moment. His eyes land on me, then dart to his dad, then back to me. I’m caught in mid-bite, frozen with a fork halfway to my mouth, clad in nothing but Patrick’s dress shirt and my panties.

‘Dad? Allie?’

Patrick stands up, a hand outstretched as if he is putting up a barrier. ‘Caleb, this isn’t what it looks like.’

I scramble to my feet, clutching the shirt a little tighter around me.

But honestly, it’s exactly what it looks like, and the more we try to fabricate some innocent explanation, the sillier it sounds. Caleb’s face cycles through confusion, shock, and a touch of betrayal.

He looks at me. ‘You and … my dad?’ His voice cracks just a bit, and it’s clear he’s trying to piece together a puzzle he never even knew existed.

Patrick steps forward, his voice calm but firm. ‘We were going to talk to you, son. It’s recent, and—’

‘Recent?’ Caleb interrupts, an incredulous laugh escaping him as he looks around the kitchen as if it might offer some explanation or maybe an escape route.

‘Yes, and it’s becoming serious,’ I add, finding my voice because if there’s ever a time to be bold, it’s now. I straighten up, meeting Caleb’s gaze with as much resolve as I can muster. ‘I care about your dad a lot, Caleb. And I care about you, too. We didn’t mean for you to find out this way.’

As Patrick hands me an apron, I quickly wrap it around myself. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than standing there in nothing but his shirt. The fabric settles around me like a shield, just in time for Caleb’s next words.

‘This is fucked up!’ Caleb blurts out, his voice braced with hurt. “She’s my ex!”

Patrick’s posture stiffens, and he meets his son’s gaze with a level of seriousness that pins me to the spot. ‘I understand this is a shock, but you need to know that what Allie and I have isn’t casual. She’s right—it has become serious.’

I chew on my lower lip, watching the storm brew between Patrick and Caleb. There’s a tense ripple in the air that’s tough to ignore. When I finally gather the courage to jump into the fray, I keep my tone firm yet gentle. ‘Caleb, I know we dated, but it was brief and a while ago. I didn’t think you’d be so upset by this.”

Caleb throws his hands up, frustration washing over his features. ‘Maybe it didn’t mean that much to you, but it did to me.’

I shoot Patrick a look, hoping for some backup, but he’s deep in it with Caleb. ‘This wasn’t about sneaking around or anything shady. It just happened. Allie and I, we—’

‘You just happened to fall for my ex?’ Caleb interrupts, skepticism sharpening his tone.

Patrick steps in, his voice a notch softer, trying to bridge the gap. ‘I know it’s messy. And if I could have controlled falling for Allie, believe me, I would have. But feelings don’t always follow a schedule. It wasn’t planned.’

Caleb shakes his head, disbelief still etched across his face as he turns to me. ‘What was I to you, just a rung on the ladder?’

That hurt. I step up, needing to set things straight. ‘No way. You and I didn’t work out, but it had nothing to do with your dad. You know why we split. What’s going on with Patrick and me now is a whole new chapter.”

The kitchen air thickens with tension. Caleb’s voice cuts deeper. ‘How long? How long have you two been an item?’

Patrick answers though each word seems to weigh heavy on him. ‘A couple of months, Caleb.’

‘A couple of months?’ Caleb’s voice cracks with pain. ‘Great. I hope you’re enjoying my spoils.’

At that, Patrick’s patience wears thin, his tone sharpening. ‘You need to watch your mouth. Don’t be disrespectful. Allie isn’t an object to be won.’

‘Oh, but you won, didn’t you?’ Caleb’s bitterness slices through the remaining civility.

I’m caught in the middle, desperate to smooth things over but barely finding the words. ‘Caleb, that’s really not fair—’

‘Fair?’ Caleb scoffs, throwing his hands up. ‘What’s fair about any of this?’

In the heat of the moment, Patrick’s control slips, and the words burst forth. ‘She’s pregnant, Caleb. It’s mine, and you will respect her.’

Silence crashes down like a heavy curtain. Caleb’s face drains of color as he processes the news. ‘You’re what?’ His voice is low, disbelief clouding his eyes.

The impact of Patrick’s words hangs heavily between us. I stand frozen, watching Caleb grapple with the revelation. The moment drags into what feels like hours until he spins on his heel, his departure marked by the sharp slam of the door.

Patrick runs a hand through his hair, worry tracing his features as he turns to me, his apology clear in his gaze. ‘I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.’

I nod, though my mind races with a thousand thoughts. ‘We’ll figure this out,’ I assure him, though I’m not entirely sure myself. The kitchen, once a sanctuary, now feels stark, echoing with the remnants of the confrontation.