Chapter 1

ONE

Francesca

“ C es. Ces, baby, are you all right?”

I blinked ferociously, trying to get the flashes out of my eyes, along with the sudden sting of tears. My ears rang with strangers calling my name, capped with the roar of engines and constant clicks.

Or not my name, exactly. Only one person called me that. Ces, pronounced “Chess.” A shortened version of my full, formal name. Francesca Zola. Which seemed to roll off only one man’s tongue. Someone with a deep voice. And blue eyes. And an English accent.

That exact voice pulled me from an oblivion laced with too many other voices to distinguish. This one, though, had a deliciously deep accent born in South London. This one growled through my dreams and beyond.

That’s right, I was with Xavier Parker. All six feet, five inches of gorgeous, brooding man who took my virginity and gave me the greatest piece of my life: my daughter.

To some, it would have been a fairy tale. And in some ways, it did feel that way. What else would you call it if you’d run into your child’s father not quite six months ago on a wintry night and close to five years since you’d seen him last?

And then held him at arm’s length for months afterward, trying to determine whether this seemingly cold, brazen man was, in fact, fit to be a father?

And then discovered that said man wasn’t simply a chef and restauranteur but, in fact, a member of the British peerage, something of a prodigal duke?

And then fell completely in love with him anyway, secrets and all?

Xavier’s harsh exterior had melted into a more loving and kind man than I’d thought possible—especially when it came to Sofia, our daughter. And then, by some miracle, he’d fallen in love with me too, despite the secret I’d kept, thinking it in my own best interest.

Fate intervened, so they say. And after four years of life as a single mom, I’d not only found my child’s father but also the love of my life.

Talk about luck.

Now I was here. In England, a land I’d visited through countless novels, seen through the eyes of too many heroines. I’d pretended to be Elinor Dashwood or Elizabeth Bennett in my dreams since I was a kid. But here I was, in the arms of my love like a real-life British romance heroine.

Or not quite.

We were outside Heathrow Airport, where, just as Sofia and I had found Xavier, the three of us had been absolutely swarmed by cameras, reporters, and throngs of people interested in…me?

“ Mamaaaaa !”

A loud wail further yanked me out of my daze, and I turned toward Sofia, who was flailing from Xavier’s arms toward me like a baby octopus, crying and rubbing her eyes as the flashes continued to go off around us.

“Baby, don’t rub,” I said, taking her from him and balancing her on my hip despite being half-blinded myself.

“Do you mind?” Xavier snapped at the crowd. “She’s four.”

“Your Grace, who is that?”

“Is that your daughter, Xavier?”

“Is this the American you’ve been seeing?”

“Fuck off,” Xavier growled.

Without waiting for a reply, he shepherded Sofia and me through the crowd, out to the curb, and into the back of a large black car with tinted windows. The doors shut, and though the questions continued through the windows, they were much easier to ignore.

“Here, darling,” Xavier murmured as he stroked Sofia’s hair back from her face, which was currently buried in the collar of my fleece. She turned sideways and rubbed her nose into his Arsenal jacket, which left an impressive trail of snot leftover from her cryfest.

Xavier, to his credit, didn’t seem to care. That would have told me he was an actual parent if nothing else did.

“I’ve got you, Sof,” he told her as he petted her black curls, mussed from the flight. “They’re gone now.”

“Xavi, our bags—” I started.

“It’s fine. Jagger’ll get them.”

A few seconds later, the back of the car opened, and I turned to find the rakish, goateed face of Jagger Harrington, Xavier’s best friend, grinning at me over the seats as he tossed my suitcase, backpack, and Sofia’s various paraphernalia into the trunk. Elsie, Xavier’s assistant, had already taken her seat up front with the driver. After he finished, Jagger elbowed his way through the reporters and climbed into the middle row, and turned around to greet us.

“All right?” he asked.

“Did you know it was going to be like that?” I wondered to Xavier over Sofia’s head. Her whimpers were softer now, but her eyes were still scrunched closed while she clutched her favorite stuffy, a unicorn named Tyrone.

Xavier looked over my shoulder, toward where I assumed the paparazzi were still in view, and shook his head. “Not like that. It’s never been like that.”

“Well, except after your mum passed.”

Jagger turned from the front and flashed what could only be called a cheeky grin. Other than the Wayfarers perched atop his head, he looked like he had marched right out of a Regency novel, ready to duel over the honor of a fair maiden or maybe just a gambling debt. My baby sister Joni, an equally shameless flirt, would have been all over him.

“Crowded their way down South End, didn’t they? Once your dad came through, anyway,” he continued. “And then, after you found out you were the heir. That was pretty bad. And again when Rupert died. And when you expanded the Parker Group, and you brought that model to the opening?—”

“That’s enough, Jag,” Xavier cut him off. His tone was sharp, though his touch on Sofia’s neck and the hand that sought out mine were gentle. “Jagger, Els. You’ve already met Ces. When she’s ready to say hello to the world again, this is our daughter, Sofia.”

Sofia just buried her face deeper into my neck, clearly unwilling to meet anyone just yet.

I offered a grim smile to Jagger and Elsie. “Hi, guys.”

Elsie offered a sympathetic nod. “Hello, darlings.”

I stroked Sofia’s back, as I had since she was a baby, while she shifted herself back and forth on my lap in a move I recognized as a search for movement, just like when she was a baby. My little girl was growing, but she wasn’t too big for rocking hugs yet. And truth be told, I could have used a little rocking too.

Lord, we hadn’t even left the airport, and we were already overwhelmed. Six weeks ago, I’d taken the biggest leap of my life since becoming a single mother at twenty-three by agreeing to spend the summer with Xavier. Eight hours ago, I’d still been sleeping on my brother’s landing. Two days ago, I was still an elementary school teacher struggling to make ends meet while raising her four-year-old daughter.

It was supposed to be the start of a fairy-tale ending. But right now, I was feeling less like a princess and more like Alice toppling down the rabbit hole. Agreeing to spend the summer in London with Xavier was just the next crazy stop in Wonderland.

Because I wasn’t anything special. Just plain old Frankie Zola. Bookworm, wallflower, messy bun-wearer. Fourth child of six, daughter of a deceased mechanic and a recovering alcoholic, raised in the most average house in the Bronx. The idea that someone like Xavier could love someone like me was still, well, unbelievable.

Even now, on a casual Sunday afternoon, we didn’t match. Xavier’s dark jeans, red and white Arsenal jacket, and flashy blue sneakers all looked like they had been purchased at the mall on the way here. His shiny black hair, cut close at the neck, slightly longer up top, was casually mussed in a British Vogue sort of way that paired delectably with the trimmed stubble around his jaw and the tattoo that snaked up his neck from beneath his jacket collar.

I, on the other hand, looked exactly like I had just gotten off a six-hour flight with a four-year-old, complete with a wrinkled T-shirt from Target, my favorite grandpa sweater that was pilled under the arms, and leggings stained with the remnants of chocolate milk Sofia had spilled on the plane.

Hot, I know. They call me Princess Pajama Party back home.

And yet, when I looked up from comforting our daughter, there was Xavier, hovering over us both like we were the most precious things in the world to him. His clenched jaw cut in the car’s dark interior, full bottom lip pulled apprehensively between his teeth. Those dark blue eyes sparkled with concern, yes, but also joy. Especially when they met mine.

Men like Xavier Parker didn’t fall for women like me. But he had. Twice.

“‘I wonder which way I ought to go,’” I murmured, quoting Lewis Carroll’s classic.

The hand on my lap squeezed, and I looked up to find Xavier watching me with a knowing look. Our eyes met, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Gone were the phantom flashes and echoed shouts as everything about him came into focus.

“Who are you now?” he asked quietly over Sofia’s whimpers.

I smiled shyly. He always knew, somehow. “Alice. In Wonderland, of course.”

I was rewarded with his own smile, which somehow warmed the car and quieted the chaos outside even more. “Welcome to London, gorgeous.”

I couldn’t help but grin as that warmth extended into my chest and made me hum with happiness. I knew how rare Xavier’s smiles really were. I could have basked in the glow of it for hours.

“All right?” he asked.

Tentatively, I nodded. “We are now.”

Even so, the knot of anxiety in my belly remained, particularly as I recalled Jagger’s comments. Was this what his life was like here? Hounded by cameras and crowds? Cornered into luxury cars that were no better than moving cages?

Why had he never mentioned it before?

What had Sofia and I just stepped into?

“Daddy?”

As if she could hear me thinking, Sofia stopped sniffling and sat up to face Xavier.

My heart thrilled. It never stopped, that feeling when Sofia used the D-word to address Xavier. For all four years of her life, I’d never told her who he was, believing at the time that he had abandoned me for another woman. I hadn’t known the whole story, of course. That his former fiancée was only a friend, Lucy. That she had had cancer and never really wanted to marry him in the first place. And that she’d died shortly after he’d gone back to help her.

How could I have known? I’d never tried to contact him, either.

When he’d returned to New York last winter, I’d been terrified all over again, not just of being hurt myself, but that he would hurt Sofia too. My own heartbreak—I could handle that. But hers? Never. But despite the fact that he was definitely still learning the ropes of parenthood, Xavier had turned into a surprisingly gentle and devoted father. And once Sofia had learned who he really was to her, she hadn’t looked back either.

Daddy, he was now. Daddy, he would always be.

“Hello, darling.”

Xavier grinned at her too, the blinding brightness of his smile making her squeal. She wriggled out of my arms and climbed into his lap, still clutching Tyrone by the horn. Yeah, the last weeks apart hadn’t done much to quell her enthusiasm for her dad.

As for us…well, it wasn’t quite as clear.

On the last night I’d seen him, Xavier had told me in no uncertain terms that he loved me. It had been the night of his restaurant opening in New York. Chie was an homage to his love for his daughter…and, as he confessed that night, for me.

They didn’t work without me, he said. He needed me. Loved me, even.

And then he promptly had to return to London, though not without inviting us to join him when we could.

At the time, it felt like all my dreams were coming true. Since then, however, despite daily phone calls for Sofia, check-ins, and text messages, he hadn’t said the words again. Apparently, we were at the “I love you” pronouncement stage but not at the generic type before the end of a phone call. Definitely not at the phone sex stage—not when we hadn’t even had a real date yet.

And so there was this odd tension. It was a strange feeling to be sitting next to a man I had slept with exactly twice since he had walked back into my life, fantasized about nearly every night since (and, let’s be honest, a whole lot of nights prior), who had told me once he loved and adored me…without knowing at all how to act around him.

Xavier extracted one of his hands and squeezed mine, almost as if to say, “me too, babe.” I offered a slight smile in return, but the discomfort remained. Was it selfish of me to want a hug too? I also could have used a kiss hello. Hell, I wanted a lot more than that.

I just had no idea how to ask for any of it.

That’s one thing they never tell you about motherhood. It becomes almost impossible to ask for things for yourself when you spend almost all your time anticipating the needs of others.

“‘If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more,’” I murmured to myself as I gazed toward the blocked traffic.

Over Sofia’s head, Xavier quirked a black brow. “Another quote?”

I blushed. “How did you know?”

“You had that dreamy look on your face,” he replied. “Who were you pretending to be now, then?”

I reddened even more. I had forgotten about his annoying habit of reading even my daydreams so easily. No one else in my life had ever figured out my tendency to pretend I was the heroine of my own romance novel.

“ Emma ,” I admitted.

“Is she hot?”

I rolled my eyes. “She’s a book character. Although that particular quote was spoken by her true love, Knightley.”

Xavier rolled his eyes. “Wanker.”

Sofia chuckled and whispered “wanker” into his shoulder.

“Oh my God,” I said. “Don’t be jealous of a fictional character.”

Xavier just leered. “Ben, let’s go,” he called to the driver, though he made no move to release Sofia.

Obediently, Ben started the engine and flipped on the blinker as he looked to move into the outgoing traffic. Still, Sofia lay in Xavier’s arms, happily singing a song under her breath that sounded a lot like the arrivals jingle in the airport crossed with “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

“Xavi, um…” I gestured at the two of them as the car began to move.

Xavier looked up sweetly. “What’s that, babe?”

I felt like I was a penguin living in the Twilight Zone, the way I was flapping my hands around. Did he really not know what I was thinking here?

“Xavi, she needs to be in her own seat.”

He glanced toward the traffic, which was hardly moving, then back at Sofia before pulling his hand from mine so he could wrap both arms around her. “No worries. I’ll keep her safe. Can’t stop a girl from hugging her daddy, can we?”

I frowned. This was legitimately sweet and all, but was he being serious?

The car moved again, then came to a lurching stop. Ben slammed on the horn. Sofia jerked forward with the movements.

“Xavi, seriously,” I said. “Her booster is in the back. She can’t sit in your lap like that. It’s dangerous.”

Xavier opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but before he could, Elsie turned from the seat up front.

“I’d do what she says, boy,” she said. “It’s a thousand-pound fine if you’re not wearing a seat belt. And they might call social services if the girl’s not in a proper car seat. You don’t want to end up looking like that pop star in the papers, do you?”

“I remember that,” Jagger concurred. “They practically crucified that Katie Derek for driving around with a baby in her lap. You don’t want to be called an unfit mum, do you, Xav?”

Despite the jokes, Xavier scowled at all three of us. Reluctantly, he unwound his arms from Sofia, reached a long arm to grab her booster from the back, then placed the seat between us and took a few extra moments to buckle her in safely.

“There we are,” he said. “Snug as a bug in a rug.”

Sofia giggled and gripped Tyrone harder. “That’s for sleep, Daddy, not the booster.”

“Ah, well. How about…sweet as a beet in your seat, eh?”

Sofia tipped her little head and wrinkled her nose. “Are beets sweet?”

Xavier winked. “They are when I make them.” Then over her head to me, with considerably less sparkle: “Happy, now?”

It was slight, but the resentment in his voice surprised me. Xavier wasn’t typically passive-aggressive—no, he was the type to come banging on your door in the middle of the night, shout profanities at prospective suitors, and growl at anyone who looked at him wrong. Or maybe that was just Xavier in America. Was Xavier in London the type who cared more about what the damn papers thought than his own daughter’s safety? I didn’t like to think it, but apparently so.

“I am,” I told him cautiously. I didn’t want to fight. Not within minutes of seeing each other. “So, where are we headed?”

He pulled out his phone. “There’s a bit of a fire I’ve got to put out at one of the restaurants.” He smirked. “Chef’s acting up again. Got to put him in his place.”

In front, Elsie tittered to herself. I could only imagine what Xavier “putting him in his place” looked like.

“Then I thought maybe we could take a walk down to the river. Maybe see London Bridge, and later we could all get dinner. There’s this new place in Camden I’d like to try out. They’ve got a black cod that’s getting raves, and I want to know if it’s better than mine.”

“Like the song?” Sofia immediately started singing “London Bridge is falling down,” though without the ability to pronounce the letters r or l fully. She was working on it, poor kid, but they weren’t quite there.

“That’s right, babe,” Xavier said. He looked at me. “What do you say, Mum? Feel like a codfish?”

I made a face. “Mum? Codfish?”

His grin turned a bit more mischievous. “Babe?”

I shook my head, suddenly annoyed. “Why don’t you try something that isn’t what you call hundreds of other people? Frankie’s fine.”

Instantly, his grin disappeared. For a moment, I thought he might give in to the urge to argue too.

Instead, Xavier leaned over Sofia, who was still singing her song, and whispered into my ear, “How about my perfect, luscious, inexplicably delicious Francesca?”

He ended with a nip on my earlobe that no one else in the car seemed to notice before sitting back in his seat, clearly satisfied. No wonder, since my heated face had once again turned the color of a scarlet rose.

How could he do that with just a few words? And in a car full of people, no less?

I bit my lip. His eyes lasered onto the movement.

“That works,” I murmured.

The grin returned.

Between us, Sofia gave a massive yawn that was big enough to interrupt her rendition of “London Bridge.”

I looked up at Xavier. “I think the restaurant and the rest will have to wait, though. Can we start with a nap? She didn’t sleep well on the way here.”

Xavier’s hard edges softened a bit more. “Of course. I should have thought of it in the first place.”

His guilt was palpable. He was getting much better at anticipating Sofia’s needs, but I could tell he still felt horrible when he missed something so basic. Things like car seats and naptimes weren’t quite on his radar yet.

“Ben,” he called up front. “Back to Mayfair.”