Page 28 of His Fake Fiancé

Olivia was standing in her crib, her little fists wrapped around the railing. She was all rumpled, her dark curls sticking up all over the place. So freaking cute. She had a grumpy, uncomfortable look on her face. Also freaking cute.

She made a screeching noise, reaching toward Claire, clenching her fingers in a grabbing motion. “Ca-ca.”

It would have been nice to not be referred to as a synonym for poop, but then again, at least it was something. Poor Mrs. C was still trying to get her to say something close to grandma.

The other issue was that Ca-ca sounded very close to Mama. Every time Olivia said it, Claire took another jab. Gina deserved the title, no matter how much Claire hated the idea. Or the idea that Gina could abandon her baby like she had.

No matter how hard she tried, Claire couldn’t wrap her head around how Gina had come to that decision. She knew she shouldn’t judge, because she really had no idea what the other woman was going through, but she couldn’t help it.

An uncomfortable pressure built inside her, but she pushed it aside. Whatever it was, it was a worry for another day, when she didn’t have a baby with a dirty diaper to look after, and hadn’t tossed and turned most of the night, all hot and bothered by a kiss that never even happened.

Which she was not thinking about, or obsessing over.

She scooped up Olivia and changed her diaper. Judging by the lack of light peeking through the curtains, it was way too early, even if she hadn’t slept like crap. She put Olivia in another pair of sleepers, perched her on her hip, and went back to her bedroom.

Bundling the baby close, she slid back under the covers. Olivia fussed for a second, and Claire rolled over onto her side, maneuvering them so the baby was cradled against her. She built a pillow barrier on the other side, just in case Olivia rolled. That way she wouldn’t fall out of the bed.

Claire pulled the covers up around them, creating a little, warm cocoon to stave off the early morning coolness. She rubbed Olivia’s back, and it didn’t take more than a few minutes for the baby’s little eyelids to droop. She popped her thumb into her mouth—a sure sign she was about to conk out—and Claire sighed and relaxed into the mattress. Olivia’s warm little body next to hers felt far too right. For once, she didn’t try to squash the thought. She sighed, and let sleep take her once again.

She woke with a start, disoriented and sluggish after a hard sleep. It took a second to remember where she was and why she was there. And then panic set in because she was alone in the bed. She tossed back the covers. Her pillow dam was still there, but there was no Olivia.

She scooted over and peered over the edge. Nothing. She shuffled around the bed, checking each side. Olivia was not unconscious on the floor anywhere. The relief that whipped through her was so massive, it made her light headed.

Where the hell was the baby?

She rolled off the bed. The bedroom door was closed. She didn’t remember closing the door. And there was no way Olivia closed the door. She wasn’t a real crawler. She’d skipped that step and went right to pulling herself up into a standing position. It would only be a matter of time before she was walking, and then life would go from disarray to chaos.

Provided Gina didn’t get custody.

Nope, she wasn’t thinking about any of that right now. One crisis at a time.

She tugged open the bedroom door and hurried down the hallway. It was brighter, which meant she’d slept for at least a couple of hours. The nursery was empty. Her stomach clenched so hard, it made her feel sick. She hurried toward the living room, sending a silent prayer out to the universe, and wiping her sweaty palms on her tank top. She rounded the corner and skidded to a stop.

Olivia was in her pack and play, chewing on the arm of a rag doll. And the playpen was also smack dab in the middle of the living room. The pull-out sofa bed had been tucked away already, and there was no sign of the pillows, blankets, or Jake.

She wandered over to the pack and play. Olivia looked up at her and squealed. “Ca-ca,” she said, grinning so that both her bottom teeth were visible.

“Hey, baby girl.” She ran her fingers over Olivia’s cheek. The baby was dressed in a sweet little outfit that consisted of pink and grey floral stretchy pants and a pink long sleeved t-shirt. Her hair had been tamed and was currently pulled into two of the cutest curly pigtails on the top of her head. “Where’s your daddy?”

“He’s out helping Owen.”

Claire jumped, all her organs leaping right into her throat. She spun around. Mrs. C had just come out of the small walk-in pantry in the kitchen, carrying a can of something.

The disappointment that washed through Claire was surprising. Especially since she’d spent the early morning literally avoiding him. Stupid traitorous hormones. “Oh,” she said and wandered over to the kitchen. She hiked herself onto one of the stools at the island.

Mrs. C smiled at her, this one genuine, and something shifted inside Claire’s chest. Ever since Jake had announced this scheme, Claire had the feeling his mom was disappointed in them. And part of her understood. While she didn’t want Jake to lose custody of Olivia, they were lying in order to win. It didn’t necessarily feel right to her either, but she thought doing what she felt was right for Olivia made it slightly more palatable.

“Yes. He came flying into the house very early this morning and asked me to come over here and watch Olivia.” Mrs. C bustled about the kitchen, and it took Claire way too long to realize she was making breakfast. Which was ridiculous, because the scent of delicious bacon saturated the air. She glanced at the digital clock on the back of the stove. Well, actually, brunch would probably be a better description.

She jumped off the stool and hurried around to help. “He could have just asked me.” She grabbed the apron hanging on the pantry door and wrapped it around herself. And then she realized she was still only wearing the shorts and tank top she’d slept in. Why hadn’t she gotten dressed properly? Not that Mrs. C hadn’t seen her in her pajamas before, she’d just probably been about ten years old at the time. “Here, let me help you.”

Mrs. C chased her away from the stove with her spatula. Claire shouldn’t have been surprised. Mrs. C was a nurturer and loved providing for her loved ones. She was also very protective of her kitchen space.

Warmth spread through Claire. It was nice to have someone look after her for a change. She loved her family, but at home, she ended up being the one everyone turned to for this sort of stuff. Granted, neither her dad nor any of her brothers could cook their way out a wet paper bag. One time, Brock had managed to make ramen noodles mushy and crunchy, all at the same time. It was impressive.

Claire poured a cup of coffee, adding a good dollop of cream and a hefty dose of sugar, and then slunk back to her stool.

“He said he didn’t want to wake you, because you deserved to sleep in.” Mrs. C pushed the eggs she was scrambling around the pan.