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I reached out and grabbed the phone before it slid off the edge.

The screen glowed in front of me.

No password. Three consecutive iMessages popped up dead center.

The contact name was one word. Principessa.

Message previews.

—Daddy, don't forget to get me that box of rose macarons from Pierre Hermé!

—You're coming back to New York tomorrow, right?

—Don't you dare have Rocco call to postpone Thursday dinner again, or I swear I'll smash your wine cellar! Love you!

I stared at the words on the screen.

The warmth drained from my fingers inch by inch.

I stared at those lines, air sucked from my lungs. Breath froze in my throat. My stomach convulsed without warning.

"Daddy."

That word drove through my retinas like two ice-cold steel nails.

He had a daughter.

A grown daughter who lived in New York, who savored expensive macarons. A "princess" who had all his affection and a complete family background.

Then what the hell was I doing in this room last night? Like a complete lunatic, I'd screamed and stripped myself bare beneath a man old enough to be my father—who actually had an adult daughter.

The shower stopped abruptly.

The glass door slid open. Marcelo walked out with a white towel wrapped loosely around his waist, rubbing his wet hair with another towel, expression relaxed.

"Who is it?"

I looked up and locked eyes with him.

"You have a daughter?"

Marcelo's hand froze mid-air.

He stood there. Water droplets slid down the grooves of his chest into his V-line. Gray-green pupils contracted sharply, gaze sweeping across my bloodless face and landing on the lit phone.

"Ruby." He tossed the towel onto a nearby shelf and stepped forward. "Let me explain—"

"She calls you Daddy." I cut him off sharply. My nails dug into the phone's edge, knuckles pale as bone. "Or is this some kinky role-play you've got going with a mistress in New York?"

Marcelo stopped at the foot of the bed.

Jaw muscles clenched, bones jutting sharp angles. Five full seconds of dead silence.

He took a deep breath, chest heaving once, then stepped closer to the bed's edge. "Yes. I have a daughter. I'm sorry, Ruby."

My stomach twisted violently upward.

I grabbed the phone and hurled it onto the dark gray comforter. It bounced once, tumbling into the silk sheet's folds.