“He dropped you?” There was a dangerous edge in Dante’s voice.
“It was an accident.” It was the first time—since it had happened—that Cleo could hear a ring of absolute truth and sincerity in her own voice. How could she have allowed one of her best friends to wallow in his own guilt for so long? How could she have steeped herself in such absolute self-pity that she’d been blind to what she was doing to him? God, she was an awful person. Shallow, selfish, and weak. She shook her head, slightly dazed by the direction of her thoughts.
She looked up at Dante, whose eyes were narrowed in concern, and hated the doubt she now felt about him, about how she was dealing with her pregnancy and his need to be involved.
“Yeah, well, his career took a hit after that too,” Coco cheerfully divulged.
“This is ancient history, Coco. I’d rather not discuss it any longer,” Cleo said pointedly, and Gigi, bless her soul, jumped right into the awkward breach.
“Well, we’re here to take Cleo out for a night on the town. Would you like to join us, Mr. . . . ?”
“Damaso,” he informed her, and held out a hand to Gigi, who shook it with enthusiasm. “And I’m not sure Cleo’s feeling up to a night on the town.” The last was said with a worried look at Cleo, who felt a little punch-drunk after her epiphany.
“Cleo?” Coco waved a hand in front of her dazed eyes. “What’s up with you, girl?”
“Uh . . .” Cleo blinked, finally coming back to the present. “I’m a little tired. Not up to a night of partying, I’m afraid.”
“Aww, come on, don’t be such a spoilsport, it’ll be just like old times.” Coco pouted and Cleo nearly giggled at that. “Old times” had included early bedtimes, brutally long rehearsals, tired minds and bodies, and disgustingly painful feet. The few nights they had gone out to “party” had nearly always ended after only two or three drinks before midnight had effectively wiped her out. Not exactly halcyon party nights.
“I’m a little pregnant,” she admitted with a smile, happy at that moment to let that old life go and excited for whatever the future held. “No drinking for me.”
“Seriously?” Gigi’s shriek was impressive and could rival anything Coco had in her bag of screeches. “That’s awesome. I’ll make a fantastic aunt, Cleo.” She hugged Cleo tightly. Cleo laughed at her enthusiasm. Coco seemed a little shell-shocked but hugged her as well.
“Wow, this is unexpected news,” she said.
“Yeah, I’m making a few lifestyle changes. I have to leave this place, for one. Cleo pointed to the building behind her. “I’ll probably wind up moving in with the baby’s dad.”
She saw Dante’s head swivel in her direction, and she met his shocked, questioning gaze with a shrug. After everything she’d just learned about herself, she felt that maybe giving him the benefit of the doubt would be the best thing for her baby, for Dante, and for herself. She hoped this was the right course of action. Only time would tell.
In the end, Coco and Gigi walked her up to her apartment, and Cleo managed to send Dante on his way after he extracted a promise from her that she would call him later. Cal wasn’t home when the women reached the apartment, which was a blessing—in that he absolutely hated Coco and, to a lesser extent, Gigi—and a curse because Cleo was desperate to talk to him after her revelation. She figured he was probably uncertain of her mood and hiding out after “abandoning” her at the doctor’s office that afternoon.
Coco and Gigi stayed for a couple of hours, eating forbidden chocolate truffles, chatting about the company’s new production of Cinderella and Coco’s role as one of the evil stepsisters, Cal, the weather, and eventually Dante.
“So, that man is gorgeous,” Coco said, licking some melted chocolate off her fingertips.
“Which one?” Cleo asked evasively, and both Gigi and Coco threw her a dry look.
“Do we have to answer that?” Coco asked incredulously.
“Okay, fine. Yeah, he’s good-looking.”
“And he’s the baby’s dad?” Coco prompted. With everything that had happened, was the nondisclosure agreement still valid? Cleo had no idea how things stood between her and Dante now.
“He’s my ex-boss,” she hedged. “We were just going over some details involving my old job. He’s a bit of a prick, actually.” Most of that was technically true.
“So, who is the baby’s dad?” Gigi asked, falling for the subterfuge like the sweet, trusting soul she was. Coco’s eyes told Cleo that she wasn’t buying it at all, but thankfully she didn’t pursue the matter.
“Nobody you’d know,” Cleo said dismissively, before asking Coco another question about her new role. As a diversion, it was pretty effective, because there was nothing Coco loved more than talking about herself.
Cal wasn’t back by the time they left, so Cleo bit the bullet and called Dante. Luckily she still had his number in her phone. He answered after the second ring.
“Did you mean it?” he asked without preamble.
“Yes, but there are a few caveats.”
“Of course there are,” he said drily.
“I won’t have my freedom curbed,” she said, ignoring his sarcasm.
“How the hell would I curb your freedom?” He actually sounded offended. “I won’t shackle you to the kitchen sink or whatever the hell it is you’re imagining.”
“I just mean that I’ll come and go as I please. I still dance regularly at a studio in Newlands, and I’m thinking of teaching a few classes to earn some money.” She’d been thinking about this option more and more after her last visit to Susan’s studio. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad; maybe she could finally let go of her old ambitions and take pride in her students’ achievements. It would help if said students were kids instead of teens or adults, though. She wasn’t sure she’d be any good at it, but she was still excited at the thought of a fresh start.
“You don’t have to work,” Dante said.
“Yes, I do.” There was a long silence after that firm proclamation before she heard him clear his throat.
“What else?” he asked.
“My life is my own, and where I go, what I do, and who I do it with are none of your concern.”
“You mean with men?”
“I mean in general. But yeah, any relationships—platonic or otherwise—I happen to form with other men are not your business.”
“You intend to get involved with guys while you’re pregnant?”
“Who knows? Life is weird like that.”
“Fine, and the same rule applies to me.”
“Whatever.” Like she cared. Okay, maybe she cared. A little. “And we’ll be looking for a small—not huge, expensive, or ostentatious—place for the baby and me to move into after he’s born. The place will be in his name. It will never belong to me. Any money from you will go toward my medical bills and the baby’s necessities, like clothes, medical bills, and education.”
“I want to set up a trust fund and a university fund.”
She let him have that one, since the next one was so important to her.
“The baby’s last name will be Knight, and while you will play a role in his or her life, you will never be named as this child’s father.” He was silent for so long that she feared they had lost the connection. When his voice eventually broke the silence, it was quiet and a little hoarse.
“Fine.”
Cleo exhaled the breath she’d been holding and allowed herself to relax.
“I want all of that in writing and witnessed by both attorneys before I move in,” she added shakily.
“Right.”
After another achingly long silence, Cleo felt her eyes well up with tears. She hoped to God this was the right move for all of them. She didn’t want to be unfair, but she didn’t want to screw herself over either.
“Dante,” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“Mi placer, cielo.” The Spanish startled her. Dante’s English was so good that, despite his accent, she sometimes forgot that Spanish was his first language. She was starting to learn that he only ever used it when he was under emotional duress.
“I think I’ll have to tell Luc about this now,” she acknowledged, saddened by how the news would potentially affect her brother.
“I should do it,” Dante insisted. “It is the man’s duty, and I should have told him long before now.”
“Dante, there’s no need for this sexist BS,” she said. “He’s my brother. I know how to handle him.”
“I’ll do it.” She could hear him practically gritting his teeth as he said it, and she sighed, remaining silent to avoid an argument but already planning when and where to tell her brother about the thing with Dante. She just needed to get to Luc before Dante did, which would be easy since Dante was a slave to his schedule.
He seemed to take her silence for tacit agreement and changed the subject by asking her when she thought she’d be ready to move in.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I have to give notice here, sort out the teaching job with my friend at the studio, and figure out what I’ll be bringing with me.”