“Not today.”
“Wait.” She scrunches up her nose. “But you’re proposing one day?”
I hadn’t thought that far ahead. In fact, my only goal for today was to convince Blake that she and Alessia should move in with me. You know, one step at a time. But here we were, and I wasn’t going to shy away from how I felt.
I hadn’t the first moment I laid eyes on her, and I wasn’t about to start now.
Closing the car doors, I walk around the hood of the car to Blake’s side and take her hands in mine.
“If you think we are anything less than a proposal and a life together, then I’m afraid I’ve been doing this all wrong.”
“Rio.” She manages to say my name with both hope and warning in her voice. “You don’t have to. I mean, you don’t need to.”
I silence her with my mouth, wanting to devour all her fears and insecurities and give her nothing but my unconditional love.
“I don’t have to,” I murmur against her lips. “I don’t need to either. But I want to.” I rest my forehead against hers. “In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m in love with you. I think I loved you the moment I laid eyes on you. But I knew I loved you when you introduced me to our daughter. Naming her after me, and giving me a place in her life before I even knew about her. And these last six weeks.” I take a sharp breath, trying to control my emotions. “They’ve been perfect, but I want more.”
“More?” she says with a shaky breath.
“Move in with me? Or we can buy a brand-new house together. I don’t care which it is, but I want you and Alessia to be with me always. I’m already committed to time away from you two because of work and I don’t want to be constantly missing you two unless I have to.”
“Okay,” Blake says, surprising me. “You’re right.”
“I am? I thought for sure I was going to have to work harder than that.”
She laughs while sliding her hands up my arms to rest on my shoulders. “You’re always right.”
“Hey, a man could get used to hearing that.”
“Well, don’t,” she sasses before her face morphs into an expression a little more serious. “I love you, Rio. Alessia and I both love you. So much. You are a man women would kill to have and a father that rivals any expectation I had of you. You’re it for us, and I don’t want us to be unnecessarily away from you either.”
“I love you,” I reply on an exhale, not realizing how much I needed to hear that. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, just marry me.”
“What?” I rear my head back to look at her. “Did you just ask me to marry you?”
“Well,” she starts, her smile sheepish. “And I quote, ‘If you think this is anything less than a marriage proposal and life together, then I’m afraid I’ve been doing it all wrong.’”
Doctor Daddy by Misty Walker
Prologue
Lance
My feet drag along the tightly woven carpet as I walk down the hall to my apartment. I’d like to say something poetic like, no part of me wants to do what I’m about to do except my heart. But it’s not true. My heart is an organ whose only function is to pump blood through my organs so I don’t die.
No, this has absolutely nothing to do with my heart. It’s something else inside me that medical school didn’t teach us. Something that can’t be examined. Something intangible.
Whatever it is, it’s ruining my life. Now I have to walk inside my apartment and ruin someone else’s life. Someone who has loved me, supported me, and been with me for ten years. To say she deserves more is an understatement. But in order to give her more, I have to let her go. I can’t be the person she needs, and there’s nothing that would show up in my autopsy to make her understand.
After some time, she’ll realize I’m right and she’ll realize this didn’t come out of the blue. It’s easy to ignore the blaring red flag above my head when every other aspect of our relationship is perfect. From the time we wake up until the time we go to bed, we talk, laugh, and connect. But the second the lights go out and we’re lying next to each other, it’s glaringly obvious we don’t fit. And it’s even more obvious the issue is with me.
I type the code into the door and listen as the bolt disengages. I rest my hand on the knob, and my forehead on the door. It would be so easy to go through with this if I had anything bad to say about Maisy. But I don’t. She’s successful, beautiful, and kind. There isn’t one person in this world who would look at what I’m doing and understand.
Not even me.
Not really.
I take one last breath, turn the knob, and enter. Our apartment is artfully decorated. Modern, yet warm. Maisy calls it transitional. We purchased it for our one-year wedding anniversary. I’m going to miss it, and the twenty-minute walk to New York Presbyterian Hospital where I’ve been a hospitalist for five years.
“Is that you?” Maisy’s sweet and bubbly voice calls from the kitchen.
A delicious aroma fills my nostrils. She’s an amazing cook, and it’s yet another reason I am an absolute idiot for wanting to leave her.
“Yeah.” I toe off my shoes and hang my coat.
“I’m making piccata. Hope you’re hungry.”
I walk down the hallway into the open concept kitchen and living space. My wife is dressed only in one of my button-down shirts. Her blond, short, curly hair is messy and wild. She’s beautiful as she dances around the kitchen without a care in the world. She won’t have a problem replacing me. At least not in theory. Unfortunately, I know she loves me with all her heart and it’s not conceited to say she won’t move on easily.
“We need to talk,” I blurt out before I lose the nerve like I’ve done so many times before.
“’Bout what, buttercup?” She saunters up to me and reaches to her tiptoes, throwing her arms around my neck.
“Maybe we could chat over dinner.” I kiss the tip of her nose affectionately. I don’t want to be married to her, but I do love her.
“O-okay.” Her smile falls and she releases me. “Well, it’s ready now.”
She serves us our dinner while I pour her wine and myself an IPA. Wordlessly, we seat ourselves at the dining room table. I stare into my food, pushing the chicken around on my plate. I don’t have an appetite. If I tried to take a bite, I’m certain my stomach would revolt.
“What is it, Lance?”
I look up to see Maisy staring at me with furrowed brows. I want to reach over the table and smooth the wrinkles out. I want to change my mind and come up with some other reason for my behavior in order to save her the heartache. But it’s not fair to either of us, so I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and steeple my hands.
“I want a divorce.” The words come out as though I’m stating how cold it is outside. I’ve been reciting the words in my head for months, maybe even years, so they hold no meaning to me.
Her shoulders slump and her eyes become glassy. She covers her face and whimpers into her hands. I jump up and rush over, pulling her chair from the table and turning her to face me. She’s a slight woman, so it takes zero effort. I collapse onto my knees in front of her and gently draw her hands down.