3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Clara

A warm, sticky hand gently slapped my cheek.

"Wake-up time."

My eyes fluttered, and my legs shuffled in the sheets. Was it really time to wake up? It felt like I'd just reached over and turned off the light beside my bed.

And I'd been having the best dream. I was on the back of someone's bike, wind whipping my hair, laughing at the stars twinkling in the night sky. I wasn't ready to wake up and face the sun yet.

"Mommy, open your eyes."

Nellie's sweet breath grazed my cheek, and I grabbed her, pulling her wiggly body onto my chest. She squealed with surprise, giggling as she fell against me.

"I'm not ready to wake up," I whined, keeping my eyes clamped shut.

"But you gotta work, Mommy."

She said this with no conviction, quickly settling on my chest, her small fingers tangling in my hair. I relaxed, soaking in her weight and gentle touches. If she wasn't careful, she'd put us both back to sleep.

"I'm so comfy, though." I squeezed her tight. "I think we should stay here all day. You can be my teddy bear."

That got her going again, laughing like I was the best comedian she'd ever heard, giving me a proper ego boost. Granted, she was three and it didn't take much to crack her up, but I counted it as a win.

"I'm not a teddy bear," she declared.

"You're not?" I pet the top of her head. "But you're so fuzzy."

"Mooommy, come on!"

She pushed away, scooting to sit beside me. I cracked open my eyes to look at my daughter. Her chestnut waves were a mess, and she had a milk mustache. As always, she was utter perfection.

"Did Marina feed you a yummy breakfast?" I asked.

She nodded vigorously. It was how she did most things. "Cereal and lotsa fruit."

I scrunched my nose. "I wonder if she'll make me breakfast too."

Her head tilted in thought. "I think so. You gotta get out of bed if you want to eat it."

I sighed. "Oh, all right."

I used to feel terrible, gut-churning guilt at having a nanny help me in the mornings with feeding Nellie breakfast and getting her dressed while I caught extra sleep, but my mother had put a stop to it. She'd told me women with partners didn't feel guilty for letting their partner pick up the slack or tapping out when they needed to. She had reasoned since I was doing motherhood on my own—unintentionally and rather traumatically—I should consider my nanny my parenting partner.

Now, I only had a gnawing edge of guilt over not being able to do absolutely everything for my daughter. Marina was a godsend and kept me sane. In her sixties, she was like a second grandma to Nellie. She lived in the in-law suite on my first floor and helped out when I needed her but kept to herself when she was off the clock. It was the perfect setup.

Convinced I wasn't going back to sleep, Nellie went out to play with her nanny, and I hopped in the shower to get ready for work.

As the just-short-of-scalding water slid over my skin, I let my head fall back. Flashes of my dream played out behind my eyelids.

Funny I'd dreamed of being on the back of someone's bike when I had never ridden with anyone but my father—and that had ended the moment I'd become old enough to drive myself. But since Jake had been the driver, the dream had probably had little to do with motorcycles.

I pressed against my collarbone. It was no longer tender. The bruise he'd left there a week ago had healed and faded. The ones on my thighs and rug burns on my elbows and knees had too, as if my interlude had never happened. Except…when I crossed my legs a certain way, I could still feel the ghost of him driving into me.

I didn't date or have casual encounters with men. Jake was the one indulgence I'd allowed myself since my marriage fell apart three years ago. He was exactly what I needed right now. No strings, no complications, nothing personal, just crazy, intense sex. I couldn't say if it would happen again or when, but I had plenty of memories to get me through lonely nights.

Chuffing, I shook my head. Enough of this .

It was too early in the morning to be thinking about the sex I wasn't having. Jumping out of the shower, I dried myself, then wrapped a towel around my chest. My routine was almost muscle memory now, so it took me no time to blow-dry my shoulder-length bob and flat iron the wave out.

Over my years of working in an office, I'd honed my style. Dresses were easier since they were one piece and I rarely had to fuss with them. I slipped on one of my favorites, a burgundy, high-necked, short-sleeved sheath with a built-in belt.

My reflection didn't quite match what was in my head. Since having Nellie, I had bountiful curves where I'd once been relatively straight. Then again, pre-motherhood, I'd spent hours in the gym with my ex, doing everything in my power to retain his physical ideal: small and tight. Given my Italian heritage and love of carbs, I'd been working against nature. But I'd loved him, so I'd considered all the work I'd put in to whittle myself down to the slightest version part of being a good wife.

Pffft.

If he'd been making the same effort to keep me happy, I'd have had more to show than ten years of lies and a very public divorce.

I smoothed my hands over my rounded hips and the slope of my stomach that seemed to be here to stay. I was trying really hard to love myself in this shape.

The added pounds certainly hadn't deterred Jake.

I met my eyes in the mirror and whispered sternly, "Not that it matters what a man thinks."

I knew better than to base my self-esteem on a man's good opinion, which could be rescinded at any moment. What I thought was paramount—and that was…a work in progress.

Today, I felt good, though. Whether it was a leftover boost from my wild night with Jake or the dress that fit me like a glove, I wasn't sure, but I'd take it. It meant my appearance would fade to the back of my mind where it belonged. My days were far too full to be distracted by the size of my thighs.

The bathroom door cracked open, and Nellie's head peeked through.

"Oooh." She pushed the door open wide. "Mommy, I like this."

"You do?" I took her hands before she could paw at me. While she was dressed and appeared shiny and clean, one never knew what could be lurking on a three-year-old's hands. "What do you like about it?"

Her brown eyes flared. "The color, and…" she guided our joined hands to my thigh where her index finger poked the fabric, "the bumps. The bumps are nice."

"That's called slub weave. I love how it feels too." I let go of her hand to tug her braid. "I love your hair, Nell-Belle. Marina is so talented."

And thank god for it. If Nellie's hair were left up to me, she'd have a lopsided ponytail every day.

She patted her head. "It's beautiful, right, Mommy?"

I bent down to kiss her forehead. "Yes, my love. Everything about you is."

My workdays were scheduled to the second. This was by design. When I was in the office and away from Nellie, I did not want to waste any precious time. Every day, I dropped her at the company day care ten floors down and hit the ground running.

This was why my brother's random visits annoyed me. Luca often wandered in, checking out the books on my shelves and view from my windows, taking his sweet time getting to the point of his appearance.

As CEO of our family's motorcycle company, Rossi Motors, he could do what he wanted. As my younger brother, he most often wanted to bug me.

When he folded his long limbs into the chair opposite my desk, I paused reading a manufacturing report to give him my attention.

"Good morning." He rested his ankle on the opposite knee, the picture of relaxation.

"Good morning. Did you need something?"

He huffed, his dark eyes twinkling. "Straight to business, huh? I remember when you weren't so serious. There was that time you danced on a bar—"

"I've never danced on a bar. Why would I do that?" The idea horrified me. First, getting on top of the bar had to be completely awkward, and once you were up there—

Luca chuckled. "You're thinking about it, aren't you? Listing all the reasons you'd never do it?"

I sighed, my hands spreading on the smooth surface of my desk. "What's the purpose of dancing on a bar?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. For fun? Attention? Does there have to be a reason to do everything?"

"Perhaps not, but I think my bar-dancing days have sailed."

For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine what Jake would do if I climbed onto the deeply gouged mahogany at The Tavern. I was fairly certain if I made it up there, I would end up hauled over his shoulder with a bright-red backside.

I blinked away those thoughts and cleared my throat. "You never did say why you're in my office."

"Besides the obvious in wanting to see my sister?"

I nodded. "Of course."

He shot me a mischievous grin. "I wanted to see how my darling niece is. Does she want to come spend the night with Uncle Luca and Aunt Saoirse soon?"

I lowered my chin, giving him a pointed look. "You know damn well if you dangle Clementine in front of her, she'll be at your doorstep with her blankie and dolly before you can blink."

My daughter loved their cat, maybe more than she loved me or anyone else.

She also loved her Uncle Luca. He'd been there with me when she was born and had stayed in the hospital for those first couple days. He did skin to skin with her when I was too out of it to function following my emergency C-section and hadn't failed to be there for both of us since.

His wife, Saoirse, had become my sister in all but blood, and she and Nellie adored each other.

If there were a contest, though, Clementine would win, hands down.

"If I have to bribe her with my cat, I will," Luca answered.

"I don't know." I tucked my hair behind my ear. "She spent the night with Mom and Dad last weekend. I wouldn't feel right sending her away again so soon."

Dropping his foot to the ground, he leaned forward in his chair. "Sending her away? It isn't like having a sleepover with her family is tantamount to dropping her off at the orphanage. Jesus, Clara, we love her like she's ours. You don't have to do it all alone."

"But she isn't yours." My stomach twisted with the guilt that never went away, and it made me defensive. "If you and Saoirse want a little kid around so much, why don't you have one of your own?"

He slowly blinked at me. "Being a dick won't push me away." He drummed his fingers on his knee. "Saoirse and I aren't ready for our own kids. Let us spoil yours."

I tilted my head, considering my brother. He was thirty-three and had been happily married for three years now. We weren't alike in a lot of ways, but family was everything to us. This was the first time he'd explicitly told me he wasn't ready for kids. I'd assumed their pregnancy announcement would be coming any day now. Then again, I'd been waiting for it since their wedding day.

"Why aren't you ready, Luca? Is it the job?"

He stared back at me, still doing that slow-blinking thing. More guilt rolled through me. By most standards, as the older, more serious Rossi sibling, I should have become CEO when our father stepped down for health reasons three years ago, but I had never wanted to take the helm. My role as COO was where I thrived. Being the public face of Rossi held no appeal to me.

I'd let that role fall to Luca despite him never showing any interest in the business.

Before he'd taken over, he'd been a freewheeling artist, the wild child of the family.

All that ended in one day.

As expected, Luca stepped in as CEO, and while it hadn't been the smoothest transition, he'd grown into it beautifully. Our shareholders loved the direction he was taking Rossi, and the board basically kissed his feet at our meetings.

But it was a big job. He had to travel, work much longer hours than a typical office drone, and his moves were always being watched and reported on by journalists—local and national. If he and Saoirse were delaying their family because I'd forced him into a life he'd never wanted, I wouldn't be able to live with myself.

"You're going to worry yourself into a heart attack like Dad." Reaching forward, Luca snagged my hand and gave it a tight squeeze. "The job is mine. I've made it my own. It doesn't own me like it did when I first took over. The fact is, I'm just not ready to share my wife full time yet. Call me a fiend, but I like being able to get her naked—"

I yanked my hand away. "Whoa, all right. Gross."

He laughed. "You know I have sex, right?"

"Yes. Obviously. But knowing it in an abstract way and thinking about it are two different things." I waved my hands in front of me. "Don't worry, I've learned my lesson about asking when you're having kids. I won't be doing that again."

"Huh. I'm going to remember this when Mom guilt-trips me for not giving her more grandkids."

I arched my brow. "You're going to tell our mother you have sex?"

He winced, falling back in his chair like I'd shoved him. "Hell no. I'd rather have bamboo shoved under my fingernails. Forget that."

I folded my arms at my middle. "I suppose one of the good things about the dissolution of my marriage is not having the pressure to procreate looming over me."

"For now. I have no doubt our mother is going to start fixing you up with her friends' nice, divorced sons as soon as she thinks you're ready."

I shuddered. "Horrific."

"Almost as bad as when you tried to set me up with your friends. They were basically clones of you."

"They weren't." His chin lowered, and his brows rose. I sighed. "Fine. My former friends weren't exactly your type, but you found Saoirse before you were subjected to any blind dates. I'm never marrying again. I'll have no cover when Mom decides my mourning period is over."

"Mourning period?" He scoffed. "Is that what she calls ridding yourself of your stiff-necked, boring, unhinged—"

"I know who Miller was. There's no need for you to describe his finest attributes."

Talking about my ex wasn't my favorite activity, which Luca was aware of. After all, he'd been the one to uncover exactly the kind of person Miller Fairfield actually was—and it wasn't at all the man I'd thought I'd married. Those rough first days of realization, Luca had held me while I utterly fell apart. Then Nellie came, and I'd had no choice but to put myself back together.

"All right." Luca smoothed his hand over the side of his hair. "I came in here to talk to you about the meeting with Motor Zone next week. I went through the initial proposal last night. On paper, it sounds good, but I want to hear your thoughts."

Just like that, I flipped from sister to COO of the largest manufacturer of motorcycles in the United States. This conversation wasn't in my schedule, but I mentally shifted things to make room for it.

There were few things I enjoyed more than having nitty-gritty, nuts-and-bolts discussions with Luca about Rossi Motors—and not just because this business was an integral part of my life. It was sharing this responsibility with my brother, having my opinions valued and my point of view honored even when he didn't agree. It was the freedom to express all my thoughts with him, unfiltered, unlike what I offered the rest of the executive team. It was the excitement we shared to move Rossi forward—to grow and expand what our great-grandfather had started before we'd even been a twinkle in the sky.

This was why I loved my job.

Working with my brother, as annoying as he was capable of being, was something I'd never trade.