The Ex Who Stole My Delivery Room - Chapter 9: Chapter 9

"Watch your mouth, Cindy," I snapped. I couldn't stand anyone speaking that way to a child—even if they weren't mine.
"What'd I say wrong?" Cindy spat back. "Who abandons their kid at an orphanage unless—"
"Shut it, Cindy," I cut her off. "No wonder your daughter's so nasty."
"Besides," I continued, "some people leave their own children to care for others. So keep your nasty comments to yourself about these innocent kids." Just then, I heard Ethan staring down Layla as he declared, "I'm not an orphan. Don't curse my parents—they're not dead."
Layla burst out laughing. "If you're not an orphan, what are you doing here? And do you even have a daddy like mine?"
Ethan shot a sharp glance at Harris before smirking. "I wouldn't want a daddy like him. Mine's way more handsome and capable than yours."
His words threw me for a loop. Was this confidence from what I'd told him the other day? Guilt twisted in my gut—my son was about to be humiliated because of me.
"Impossible!" Layla sneered. "My daddy's the best—handsome, rich, famous, successful. A nobody like you—"
Before she could finish, Ethan bolted. Worried, I chased after him and froze when I saw him stop beside a man in a tailored gray suit. The guy's back was to me as reporters swarmed him, cameras flashing despite his obvious discomfort.
Then Ethan did the unthinkable—he wrapped his tiny hands around the man's and chirped, "Daddy..."
Every camera instantly swung toward them. Ethan flashed a picture-perfect smile and made puppy-dog eyes. "Daddy, I want you to meet my friend. Can you say hi?"
My face burned with secondhand embarrassment. I rushed over, yanking Ethan away while bowing my head. "I'm so sorry—" I began, but the reporters exploded with questions before I could finish.
"Mr. Russo, is this your secret love child?"
"Are you married?"
"Isn't that woman Harris Salvador's ex? What's your relationship?"
"Mr. Russo, why aren't you answering?"
I finally looked up at the man—half his face hidden behind a mask and sunglasses, but what I could see belonged on a damn magazine cover. Sunlight haloed his perfect jawline, his designer suit hugging broad shoulders like he'd stepped out of a Greek myth. For a heartbeat, I forgot how to speak.
Then Ethan's repeated "Daddy!" snaps me back to reality. "I-I'm so sorry, Mr. Russo," I stammered. "Ethan's never done this before. I'll explain to the press—"
Russo moved faster. Removing his mask and shades, he winked at Ethan before facing the cameras. His voice melted like dark chocolate as he announced, "What's to explain? My son already told you—I'm his father."
Reporters erupted. "Who's the mother, Mr. Russo?"
In one smooth motion, Russo pulled me against him, his arm snaking around my waist. "Who else could birth such a charming boy?" he purred, lips brushing my ear. "Only Dr. Darcy—the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
I choked on air. We'd just met, yet he was acting like some lovesick puppy. I opened my mouth to protest when Ethan whispered, "Play along, Mommy. Harris and that brat are watching."
Sure enough, Harris stood frozen nearby, his face turning purple with rage.
The world tilted under my feet as Russo's lie hung between us. Cameras flashed like strobe lights, trapping me in this surreal nightmare.
Then I caught Ethan's scheming grin and remembered: We're putting on a show. Forcing a smile, I leaned into Russo's embrace. "Yes, we're... very happy," I managed, my voice sugar-sweet.
Russo's eyes gleamed with mischief. He tugged me closer until his breath warmed my neck. "We could be," he murmured, sending shivers down my spine.
As reporters finally dispersed, Russo crouched to Ethan's level. "Naughty boy," he teased, pinching my son's cheeks. "You can't just pick random daddies. You'll get your mom in trouble."
"Mr. Russo," I began, "thank you for—"
"No need," he interrupted, tucking a business card into Ethan's pocket. "Next time you need a dad, call me. Good boys don't trade fathers like baseball cards, got it?"
Ethan frowned. "But you said not to call just anyone 'Daddy'?"
Russo smirked. "I'm not 'just anyone,' am I?" The way Ethan's face lit up made my chest ache.
As we turned to leave, Russo caught my arm. "Better he calls one man 'Daddy' than every Tom, Dick, and Harry, no?" His words left me speechless.
In the car, I scolded Ethan. "That was reckless! You can't just—"
"But he said I could!" Ethan protested. "He's special!"
We both burst out laughing—until Ethan dropped his bombshell: "Mom... is Harris my father?"
My foot slammed the brake. "What? Who told you—?"
"No one," he said calmly. "The reporters called you his ex-wife, and you've been hiding me from him. I connected the dots."
Damn my genius child. "...Do you like him?" I asked carefully.
"No," he said instantly. "You were right to divorce him."
Tears pricked my eyes. Hearing that from my fatherless son meant everything.
Then he added, "I want Uncle Russo as my daddy instead."