I owe it to my daughter to pull myself together. All this stress can’t be good for my baby, and Dillon only has the power to destroy me if I let him—which I won’t.
Sliding my sunglasses over my eyes, I grab my purse and head out of the yoga studio to my car. I managed to ditch my bodyguard, but I could tell he was suspicious. Thank fuck, Reeve is at production meetings all day, or he would never have let me leave the house without Leon.
The hour-long drive to the medical laboratory just outside of Santa Clarita is anything but soothing. My nerves are shot to pieces by the time I pull into the parking lot of the small gray brick building. Dillon arranged the testing, but I insisted on being here because I don’t trust him and I want to ask the doctor some questions.
Climbing out of my car on shaky legs, I draw a brave breath as I walk toward the entrance doors. As I make my approach, I spot Dillon waiting outside for me. He’s leaning against the wall, looking at something on his cell, appearing at ease, as if he hasn’t a care in the world.
He’s got a ball cap and sunglasses on, shading his recognizable face. His usual black T-shirt stretches tight across his ripped upper torso, pulling taut along his toned biceps. Ripped navy jeans and black and white Nikes complete his understated look. Leather bands wrap around one wrist, and he’s sporting a bunch of silver rings on his right hand.
Dillon was always effortlessly hot, and today is no exception. I hate how good he looks almost as much as I hate myself for noticing.
He looks up, as I step onto the sidewalk, coolly sliding his cell into the back pocket of his jeans. Although he’s wearing shades, I feel the intensity of his gaze crawling over every inch of my skin, heating me from the inside out.
I come to a standstill in front of him, and we stare at one another in silence. A multitude of emotions blankets the air between us. I have so many muddled feelings when it comes to this man. Tightness spreads across my chest as we stare wordlessly at one another with all the what-ifs going unanswered.
“You have the samples?” he asks, in a gruff tone, after a few beats of tense silence.
A retort lies idle on my tongue as I nod. “Let’s just do this.” I want to get in and out as fast as possible.
Dillon holds the door open for me, and I enter the building first. I take a seat in the small waiting area while he talks to the receptionist. A tall thin man in a white lab coat comes to collect us, and we follow him in strained silence to his office.
My heart pounds behind my rib cage as I take a seat alongside Dillon in front of the doctor’s desk. Removing my sunglasses, I knot my clammy hands on my lap, willing my frantically beating heart to slow down. The man’s eyes widen as he looks at me before he hurriedly composes himself.
Clearing his throat, he hands an envelope to Dillon. “The NDA has been signed by me and all the laboratory staff though there really was no need. We are always discreet. The nature of our work commands it, and our stellar reputation rests upon it.”
“I’m sure you can understand the need for extra precaution,” Dillon smoothly replies, in that husky Irish tone I used to love so much, jerking his head in my direction.
“I can assure you both you have nothing to worry about. I am personally handling your case, instead of one of our geneticists, to ensure your confidentiality is protected.” He shoots me a reassuring smile that does little to reassure me.
If Reeve were to discover the truth via the media, he would never forgive me.
It’s just another reason why I need to talk to him sooner rather than later.
“As agreed, I will enter the samples under false names as an added safeguard,” the doctor continues, his gaze bouncing between Dillon and me.
“Thank you.” I remove the two sealed plastic bags from my purse, placing them on his desk. “The blue toothbrush is my husband’s, and the smaller red one is my son’s,” I explain, almost choking on the words. “Are you sure these will be enough to extract a DNA sample?”
“The DNA in a person’s blood, saliva, hair, or skin cells is exactly the same. Toothbrush samples are commonly used for forensic testing, and it’s no better or more or less accurate than a cheek swab or providing a blood sample, provided there is enough DNA on the sample,” he says, helping to alleviate some of my concerns.
Pulling on surgical gloves, he rounds the desk, standing in front of Dillon with a swab in his hand. Dillon opens his mouth without hesitation, and I watch with mounting trepidation as the doctor swabs the inside of his cheek. He then secures the swab in a sealed bag and writes labels that he attaches to the three samples.
“How long will it take to get the results?” Dillon asks, beating me to the punch.
“Approximately ten days to two weeks.”
That is way too long. “Can’t you expedite it? We can pay more,” I offer.
“That is as fast as we can deliver the results. This is not a routine paternity test. In order to determine paternity in cases of identical twins, we need to examine more than just the standard markers. There is no way it can be rushed.”
“And you’re sure you can conclusively determine paternity with these samples?” I ask.
He nods. “We will examine the entire genome sequence which will isolate at least a single mutation in one of the twin’s genetics that has been passed on from father to son. The test will confirm which twin fathered your son.”
Warmth spreads to my cheeks at his words. What must he think of me? Not that that’s even high on my list of worries at this point.
“We’ll await your call.” Dillon stands. “Thank you.”
The doctor shakes both our hands before showing us back out to the reception area.
“I need to speak to you,” I tell Dillon, not looking at him as we make our way outside. “We can talk in my car,” I add, not waiting for him to reply, striding across the half-empty parking lot toward my SUV.
2
Vivien
I slide behind the wheel as Dillon climbs into the passenger seat. My SUV has tinted windows, so we’re shielded from potential nosy bystanders. Cranking the AC to the max, I moisten my dry lips with my tongue before I turn to face him.
It’s still such a shock seeing him with darker hair and blue eyes, so much like Reeve. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it. Yet he’s uniquely Dillon too with that slight bump in his nose, the small scar over his eyebrow, his dimples, and the defining piercings and ink. He looks like my husband and like himself, and I can’t wrap my head around it.
A familiar smirk curves the corners of his lips. “Did you want to talk or just ogle me?”
Snapping out of my trance, I scowl at him. His arrogance clearly hasn’t faded with the passing of time. I’m trying to be mature about our situation. To not let my feelings toward him distract or derail me, but he makes it difficult. I’m so angry with him, and there’s a whole lot of hurt and pain mixed in with fear and anxiety and the sheer helplessness of the circumstances.
My priority is Reeve and Easton, and doing right by them is my sole focus. I can’t lose sight of that. “I need to tell Reeve, and it can’t wait ten days. I’m telling him everything tonight.” I cannot keep this from my husband any longer. Not without causing irreparable damage to our marriage. As much as I might want to wait for the results—in the hope they’ll confirm Reeve is Easton’s bio dad—I can’t lie to him for that long. Every day that passes tears another fragment off my heart.