Arrogant Playboy(65)

My lips part, and for a moment, I consider asking him if he wants help assembling the rest of the baby gear. Opting to keep my comment to myself, I say nothing. Not in a mood to be crucified for kindness again.

We sit in silence, sipping waters, and basking in our respective orgasmic afterglows.

“I should go soon.” For the life of me, I can’t come up with a valid excuse other than the fact that sitting here like this is awkward.

Sadie whimpers from the next room, and I spot a baby monitor on the kitchen island, the one I ordered for him last week. Beckham says nothing. He leaves the room and returns with her a couple minutes later.

“She’s wide awake,” he says. “You mind holding her while I make a bottle?”

He lowers her into my arms. She smells like baby fabric softener and lavender. Her dark eyes are especially bright as she focuses in the dim light. I can’t resist running my fingers through her soft tufts of straight black hair. Her dainty features are ridiculously adorable, and I grin as she wraps her tiny fingers around my thumb.

Beckham returns with a warm bottle and takes her, cradling her in the corner of his arm. He still holds her like he’s terrified he’ll break her.

“She looks so much like you.” I lean in, convinced these two were meant to be in each other’s lives. They were made for each other in the most beautifully divine way.

The corner of his mouth pulls down as his brows lift. “Yeah, well…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, and I’m positive the thought of her not being his resides in the forefront of his mind every second of every minute of every day.

“It’s going to be a while before we can get a DNA test,” he says. “Eva’s still at the hospital, and there’s this whole process…”

His voice trails, like he doesn’t want to discuss it.

“Have you considered one of those drugstore DNA tests? I’ve seen them. I mean, I don’t know if the results will hold up in court or anything, but at least it’d give you an answer. Peace of mind. I wouldn’t be able to stand not knowing.”

“I wasn’t aware those existed.” His gaze never leaves her.

“I swear I’ve seen them. I don’t know how long they take, but I’m sure you’ll get an answer before you get your legal stuff sorted out with Eva.” I shrug. “It’s just an option.”

He huffs. “The last thing is to be seen buying a mail order DNA test from a Duane Reade. The tabloids would have a field day with that. Page Six would eat me alive.”

“I’ll do it. I’ll pick one up. Nobody knows me.”

He turns to me, his bottom lip jutting out as he contemplates my offer.

“I’ll grab it on the way home tonight,” I say. “Bring it to you tomorrow at the office.”

He pulls in a deep breath, his chest swelling and falling. “Yeah. Sure. Why the hell not?”

***

There it is.

The DNA swab kits sit inconspicuously along a bottom row, two spots down from a row of pregnancy tests.

I swipe the box and flip it over, reading the instructions. There’s a rush option, where results will come in two weeks, otherwise typical handling time is four to eight weeks.

Perfect.

I drop it in my basket and head to the check out lane, stopping dead when I see her.

Annelise.

I refuse to smile, and I make no effort to hide my disappointment in seeing her here. She’s dressed in a cream cashmere twinset and black leather leggings tailored to her perfect physique. Her face is covered in the kind of makeup a woman buys from a counter at Barneys. Annelise doesn’t belong in a Duane Reade.

It’s too much. We’re past happenstance and coincidence.

“Annelise.” I grip the basket handle until my knuckles whiten and the plastic digs into my palm.

“Odessa.” She pulls her shoulders tight, and dons a devilish smirk. She doesn’t fidget or dither and her eyes don’t shift. If someone told me the woman standing before me was Annelise’s evil twin, I wouldn’t argue.

“What are you doing here?”

Her eyes fall to my basket, landing on the DNA test. My stomach twists. I bet she followed me here after seeing me leave Beckham’s place. If that’s the case, my sympathy for this broken-hearted girl is quickly morphing into concern that she might need professional help.

“I knew the baby wasn’t his.” Her arms fold.

“No clue what you’re talking about.”

Her blue eyes roll. “Not falling for that.”

“You need to distance yourself from him,” I say. “It’s not healthy. And please stop following me.”

She smirks, shaking her head. “Don’t act like you know him better than I do.”