Page 76 of Tempting Tessa

“Don’t.” My father holds up a hand, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping. “Don’t you dare sit there and act like this is normal. Like this is just two friends catching up over eggs benedict.”

The restaurant has gone quiet around us. I can feel curious stares burning into my back, but I can’t look away from the disaster unfolding at our table.

“Dad, please,” I whisper, “can we talk about this somewhere else?”

He finally turns to me, and the hurt in his eyes makes my stomach twist. “How long, Contessa?”

The question hangs in the air between us. I can’t answer. I can’t breathe.

“How long have you been fucking my best friend?”

The word hit me. My face burns with shame and anger and a thousand other emotions I can’t name.

“Conrad.” Matteo’s voice has an edge now, a warning. “Watch your language.”

“Watch my language?” My father’s voice rises, drawing more attention. “You want me to watch my language while you’re—what? Fucking her? Dating my daughter? What exactly is happening here?”

I grab my water glass with shaking hands, taking a desperate sip. The cool liquid does nothing to ease the heat spreading across my cheeks.

“Dad, lower your voice,” I hiss, acutely aware of the growing audience. “People are staring.”

“I don’t give a fuck who’s staring!” He slams his hand on the table, making the silverware jump. “I want answers, and I want them now!”

Matteo finally puts down his water glass and leans forward, his expression hardening. “You want answers? Fine. Contessa and I have been seeing each other for several months. We’re together. And before you say another word, I want you to remember that she’s an adult who can make her own decisions and that your wife is quite literally her age. Glass houses should not cast stones.”

My father stares at him, then at me, then back at him. The color drains from his face, replaced by something dark and dangerous.

“Several months,” he repeats, each word dripping with venom. “My best friend. And my daughter. Behind my back.”

“It’s not like that,” I try, my voice cracking. “We didn’t plan⁠—”

“Didn’t plan what?” His eyes snap back to me. “Didn’t plan to fuck each other? Didn’t plan to lie to me? What exactly didn’t you plan, Contessa?”

Matteo’s hand finds my knee under the table, a gesture meant to be comforting, but only makes me more aware of the disaster we’re in. I want to slap it away. I want to grip it tighter. I want to scream.

“We were going to tell you,” I say, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. “We just needed to find the right time.”

“The right time,” my father echoes, his voice deadly quiet now. “And when exactly would that have been? After the wedding? After my grandchild was born?”

The blood freezes in my veins. How does he know? My hand instinctively moves to my stomach; there’s no way he could see it with me sitting at the table.

My father’s eyes track the movement, and something shifts in his expression. Disappointment, and I want to curl up and cry.

“You’re pregnant,” he says, not a question but a statement of fact. “Matteo’s baby.”

I open my mouth to deny it, but nothing comes out. My eyes fill with tears that I blink back furiously.

“Six months,” Matteo says, his voice steady despite the tension crackling around us. “She’s six months pregnant with my child.”

My father stands so suddenly that his chair screeches against the floor. The entire restaurant goes silent.

“You,” he points at Matteo, his finger trembling with barely contained fury, “you absolute piece of shit. You knocked up my daughter. My little girl.”

“She’s not a little girl, Conrad.” Matteo stands too, matching my father’s height. “She’s a woman. My woman.”

The possessiveness in his voice sends a shiver down my spine, even as I want to strangle him for making this worse.

“Your woman,” my father repeats, his laugh hollow. “My daughter is your woman. And you expect me to be okay with that? After twenty-five years of friendship? After I trusted you with my family?”