Being her mom.
Don’t cry, sweetie.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to pull herself together, but Gino cried all the harder.
She sat on the sofa, lifted him from the carrier and cuddled him against her chest. Sobbing in earnest now, the little boy buried his face in her neck.
He smelled like baby lotion and felt as soft as feathers from an angel’s wings. She closed her eyes again, weakened by longings for her own baby. Remembering treasured events. The plans they’d had for Layla’s future. The mom she’d wanted to be.
Shaking with sorrow, she pushed at those memories, trying to get them out of her head. But they wouldn’t budge. Instead, they arched in her brain like a rainbow of photos, a cacophony of happy sounds. Baby giggles. Toddler laughs. First words. Mama. Da Da. Nanna. Pap Pap. Kitty.
She knew it was the sweet baby scents that caused her total recall. So she grabbed a blanket from the diaper bag and laid it on the sofa, then placed Gino on top, putting three feet of distance between them.
She swallowed. The memories receded. Her shaking subsided. The thumping of her heart slowed.
The little boy blinked at her.
“I know you’re probably scared,” she said, talking to him as if he were an adult because she couldn’t risk the baby talk that she knew would soothe him. “I know my mom was very good to you the past few days, but I’ll bet you miss your own mama …” She swallowed. Miss didn’t even halfway describe the feelings of loss this baby must feel. Even though he probably didn’t understand that his parents were dead, her heart broke because she did understand. She knew exactly what it felt like to lose the two people closest to her. He was alone. Scared. And wanted his mom. Or someone to make him feel safe again.
In three long years, she hadn’t felt safe. Everything she believed had been tossed in the air and come down in pieces the day her husband had committed suicide and killed their baby with him.
As she checked Gino’s diaper to see if that was why he was crying, a rush of memories of Layla flooded her brain again. Except this time they weren’t happy. This time, she heard her baby crying, calling for her, and suddenly she was face to face with her worst fear. The fear that morphed into guilt. The guilt her therapist had told her was pointless.
No one knew if Burn had deliberately put Layla into the car with him when he’d decided to kill himself by sitting in the vehicle while the garage filled with carbon monoxide. Speculation was that he’d put Layla into her car seat to go somewhere, but when he’d gotten behind the wheel he just couldn’t force himself out into the world. He’d sat in their garage long enough for the fumes to begin to get to him and was soon mentally too far gone to remember he had the baby with him.
That explanation had soothed everyone but Whitney. If everyone accepted that Burn’s depression and mounting mental illness were reason enough to forget he had their child in his car, then shouldn’t she have realized he was too sick to care for her baby?
Layla.
Why hadn’t she recognized Burn’s growing troubles?
Why hadn’t she protected her baby?
What had been so important in those months that she’d missed all the signs that Burn was tumbling over the edge?
Tears filled her eyes as Gino began to cry, drawing her back to the present. She wanted to cuddle him, to love him, but her memories of Layla were still morphing into memories of Burn’s suicide, Layla’s death and the horrible, horrible feelings of guilt.
She couldn’t deal with the guilt.
She changed Gino’s diaper but rather than hold him, she returned him to the baby carrier. He looked at her with sad dark eyes.
She blinked back tears, hoping for his sake that the trouble she had holding him was only temporary. It wasn’t his fault her family had died. Plus, Missy had wanted her to care for this little guy—
Remembering the envelope her dad had given her, she rose from the sofa to retrieve it from her jacket pocket. After fumbling with the seal, she pulled out the slim sheet of white stationery. Pacing in front of her sofa, she read …
Whitney …
It’s funny to be writing this because I don’t think you’ll ever read it. Actually, I hope you never do read it. But we’re having wills drawn up today and we have a baby. Plans have to be made for who will care for Gino just in case something happens. Stephone said he wanted Darius to have custody, but I didn’t think that was such a good idea. I know Darius will never marry and that means Gino will never have a mom. But I also recognized I couldn’t talk Stephone out of naming Darius as guardian. All I could do was suggest making you co-guardian. So that’s what we did. If something happens to me and Stephone, Darius will be Gino’s dad and you will be Gino’s mom.
Love him, Whitney. I’m not sure Darius knows how. Missy
Whitney swallowed and sank to the couch. The note was short and to the point. A mother’s simple plea. Love her baby. Because she wasn’t sure his older brother knew how to love. Hadn’t she already guessed that?
She glanced at Gino. The baby blinked at her dubiously. This little boy had gone from his parents’ home in Greece to Whitney’s parents’ home, and now he was being passed to her. It had undoubtedly frightened Gino to be passed from one set of strangers to the next. He had to get into a stable environment. She had to get him into a stable environment. Without her, there was no guarantee Gino wouldn’t be raised by nannies or at boarding school. Worse, there was no one to prevent Darius from seeing Gino more as a vote at a director’s meetings than as a baby.
She had to do this. She had to be a part of this little boy’s life. She had to care for him. She had to love him.
She popped the pacifier into Gino’s mouth again. “This has been a rough couple of days for you. But you’re safe now. I’m going to take good care of you.”
An arrow sliced into her heart. How could she promise she’d take good care of this little boy when she hadn’t even been able to protect her own child from her husband … the baby’s father?
Darius gave himself another minute to collect himself, then stepped into the hall and instructed the receptionist to let Attorney Ross know he was ready.
Pacing the rich red Oriental rug, he waited for Ross to return. When the side door opened, he spun toward it to see only Whitney enter. She held Gino in the basket-like carrier. A big duffel bag and a diaper bag were slung over her shoulder.
“I know I said I could begin working for you today, but I just realized there’s no one to care for Gino. Plus, I have no baby things at my home,” she announced casually as she stepped inside. “No crib, no high chair, no swing or rocker.”
Darius’s male senses perked up. Probably because he and Whitney were alone for the first time. He caught the scent of her perfume on the air, noticed her legs were long and shapely.
“I was thinking I should probably make arrangements to get all of that shipped to my apartment.”
Darius almost said, “Sure,” if only because his immediate reaction was to give her anything she wanted. But that was his attraction talking, agreeing so she’d like him. He had to resist that. He wanted this little boy in his life. He also needed Whitney to teach him how to be a father. The only way he could see that working out would be for her and the baby to live with him—at least for the first few weeks.
“I’ve been thinking about this deal and I’m not sure either one or the other of us taking him is the right thing to do.”
She blinked at him. “You want to leave him at a hotel?”
He chuckled, hoping she was joking. Surely she couldn’t think he was that inept. “No. I’m saying we need a plan.”
“We’ll