Page 3 of Stealing Home

Talia flinched, and he immediately regretted the sharpness of his tone. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Sorry. I just…”

He looked at the baby again. His baby. His brain rejected the idea immediately, and he resumed pacing. He was twenty-four, and his biggest recent accomplishment had been building patio furniture without swearing. He still had laundry in the dryer from four days ago because it was more irritating to fold it than to just grab clean clothes from the machine. He wasn’t somebody’s father.

“I thought I could do it.” Talia swiped the tears from her cheeks with one hand. “I thought I wanted to do it.”

“What?” That word was getting a workout. Dom stopped and turned to her with a frown. “What does that mean?”

“It means I love her,” she whispered fiercely. She clutched the baby tighter against her chest. “God, I love her so much it feels like I’m suffocating sometimes. But I don’t want this, Dom.”

Dominic stayed very still, as if he could stop what he knew was coming if he just didn’t move. “Talia…”

“I never wanted to be a mom.” As soon as she said the words, Talia started sobbing, and Dom saw the relief in her at finally telling the truth. Her voice was shaky when she spoke again. “I thought maybe something in me would change. Everyone talks about it like it’s automatic, like the second you hold your baby, everything clicks into place and you just know it will all be worth it.”

The baby stirred slightly, and a soft, sleepy coo escaped her lips, and Talia turned impossibly sad eyes toward him. “I feel trapped,” she whispered. “And so fucking guilty. Every day I wake up scared that I’m already failing her before I even get out of bed.”

“Okay, but I’m here now,” he said. “We can do this together.”

“I can’t.” Talia shook her head. “I love her, but I don’t want this life. I don’t want the two a.m. wake-ups or the diapers or all the rest of it. I don’t want to spend every second terrified I’m ruining her because I resent how much of myself keeps disappearing.” Her voice broke.

Talia looked at the small bundle cradled to her chest. “I’ve tried to force it,” she continued brokenly. “I thought if I just tried harder, I would become the kind of parent she deserves. I wake up every day hoping I’ll feel differently, and every day, I don’t.”

Silence blanketed the room. He looked at the baby, tiny and sleeping and completely unaware that her world was being upended.

“So what are you saying?” Dom said finally.

Talia slowly held the baby out toward him.

“Talia—”

“Please take her. You said once you wanted a lot of kids. She deserves someone who wants her completely,” Talia said, tears sliding down her cheeks. “Not someone who has to convince herself every morning not to run.”

“You’re her mother.”

“And you’re her father.”

He’d never held a newborn. He’d always waited to play with his cousins’ kids until they were sturdy enough not to look breakable. This baby looked terrifyingly fragile. “I can’t,” he whispered.

Talia’s face crumpled. “Please.”

The baby made a tiny unhappy noise, and Dom’s hands reached for her before his brain registered the movement.

“Oh my God,” he muttered as Talia carefully transferred the baby into his arms. She was warm and impossibly light, and Dom froze in complete terror.

“Support her head,” Talia instructed softly.

Dom adjusted her awkwardly, and the baby settled against his chest with a tiny sigh. He stared down at her in absolute disbelief, taking in her dark eyelashes, round cheeks, and the smallest bow-shaped mouth he’d ever seen. His daughter. Holy shit.

“Her name is Lucia,” Talia said. “I wanted to give her part of you, and Lucia is the female version of Luca.”

His middle name. His heart swelled. “Lucia,” he repeated.

When he looked up, Talia had stepped back, arms wrapped around herself like she didn’t know what to do with her hands without the baby to hold.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I’m so sorry.”

“Talia.” Dominic’s panic spiked higher. “You can do this. I’ll…I’ll help.”