We’ve never met, but I’m pregnant with your second child.
There is… absolutely no good way to say that.
Believe me, I’ve tried.
It’s an impossibly awkward situation. The fertility clinic was supposed to keep our information secret, but my daughter—our daughter—somehow found a way to track down her biological father. She wanted to meet him, and she violated his privacy to do it.
Even worse, it turns out that the anonymous donor is Dominick Henderson. Or, as I used to think of him, “that jerk whose face is always in the tabloids.” From the hockey rink to the bedroom, this guy is a major player.
I assumed that he would get bored and leave after a few days, like he has with every woman he’s ever met. But for some reason he’s sticking around, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Like it or not, he’s part of the family now.
Like it or not, I’m falling for him.
It’s a shame he still doesn’t know I’m pregnant.
Note: This is a standalone story.
