Mistakenly Yours

The Aegean Sea glittered like crushed sapphires beneath the cliffside terrace, but Lily Rodriguez barely noticed. She was too busy adjusting her camera settings, trying to capture the exact moment the sunset turned the white-washed buildings of Santorini into something that looked Photoshopped but wasn't.

"Lily! Put the camera down and drink with us!" Her best friend Mara waved a glass of champagne from across the terrace, her white rehearsal dinner dress billowing in the evening breeze.

Lily grinned and held up one finger. "One more shot!"

"That's what you said twenty minutes ago," called a male voice, deep and amused.

She glanced up to find a man leaning against the stone balustrade, watching her with dark eyes that seemed to catalog everything. Tall, probably six-two, with the kind of sharp jawline that belonged on a cologne ad. His crisp white shirt was rolled to the elbows, and he held a glass of whiskey with the casual confidence of someone who never questioned whether he belonged somewhere.

Jasper Sterling. The groom's older brother. Mara had mentioned him-hotel empire, workaholic, "emotionally unavailable but devastatingly hot," in her exact words.

"If you're going to lurk, at least be useful," Lily said, surprising herself with her boldness. Maybe it was the Greek sunset. Maybe it was the three glasses of wine she'd already consumed. "Stand over there by that bougainvillea."

One dark eyebrow lifted. "I don't take direction well."

"Shocking." She lowered her camera. "Let me guess-CEO? Hedge fund manager? Professional brood-er?"

His mouth quirked. "Hotel developer. And I don't brood."

"You're literally standing in shadows right now."

"The sun is setting. Everything's in shadow."

"Semantics." She took the shot anyway, without him in it, then finally set her camera down. The terrace was filling with wedding guests-Mara's family, Josh's college friends, various glamorous people who probably summered in places Lily only visited for blog content.

Jasper moved closer, and she caught the scent of expensive cologne mixed with sea air. "You're the travel blogger."

"Lily Rodriguez, professional wanderer." She offered her hand. His grip was firm, warm, and lasted a half-second longer than necessary.

"Jasper Sterling, professional... what did you call it? Brood-er?"

Despite herself, she laughed. "I thought you didn't brood."

"I'm making an exception for destination weddings." He took a sip of his whiskey. "Too much forced joy. Too many speeches about soulmates."

"Cynical."

"Realistic." His gaze held hers. "You don't believe in soulmates?"

Lily thought of her father-the man who'd promised her mother forever, then disappeared two months before Lily was born. She thought of her mother's double shifts, her tired eyes, her warnings: *Never depend on a man, mija. They leave.*

"I believe in spectacular sunsets and good wine," she said lightly. "Everything else is temporary."

Something flickered in Jasper's expression-recognition, maybe. Understanding.

"Now that," he said, raising his glass, "I can drink to."

---

Four hours later, Lily was pleasantly drunk and dancing barefoot on the terrace. The DJ was playing something with a hypnotic beat, and the stars had emerged like diamonds scattered across black velvet.

She'd lost track of Jasper after dinner, but suddenly he was there again, not dancing, just watching her with those dark, unreadable eyes.

"You really don't know how to have fun, do you?" she called over the music.

He moved closer, his voice low near her ear. "I'm having fun."

"You're standing completely still."

"I'm appreciating the view."

Heat that had nothing to do with the warm night flooded through her. This was dangerous. She didn't do dangerous. She did casual, uncomplicated, gone-by-morning.

"Want to see the real view?" The words escaped before she could stop them.

His eyes darkened. "Show me."

They slipped away from the party, climbing the narrow stone steps that led higher up the cliff. Lily's heart hammered as they reached a small overlook, completely private, where the sea stretched endlessly below and the lights of the cruise ships looked like floating stars.

"There," she breathed. "That's my favorite-"

Jasper kissed her.

It wasn't gentle or tentative. It was consuming, demanding, the kiss of a man who always got what he wanted. And God help her, she wanted it too. She wound her fingers through his hair and kissed him back with equal hunger, with the recklessness of someone who would be gone in three days, back to her nomadic life, her carefully constructed independence.

"This is a terrible idea," she gasped when they broke apart.

"The worst," he agreed, his hands on her waist, pulling her closer.

"I'm leaving Sunday."

"Perfect."

"I don't do relationships."

"Neither do I." His mouth found her neck, and she shivered. "One night. No complications."

It was exactly what she needed to hear. Permission to be reckless, just this once, with someone who understood the rules.

"My room or yours?" she whispered.

"Yours is closer."

They barely made it through the door.

---

Later-much later-Lily lay in the tangled sheets, listening to Jasper's steady breathing beside her. The room was dark except for the moonlight streaming through the gauzy curtains. Her body felt pleasantly sore, satisfied in a way she hadn't experienced in... ever, maybe.

This was fine. This was perfect, actually. In forty-eight hours, she'd be on a plane to her next destination-she was thinking Croatia, or maybe Iceland. Jasper would go back to building his hotel empire. They'd never see each other again.

No complications. No risk. No one getting hurt.

She turned her head to study his profile in the moonlight-the sharp nose, the surprisingly soft mouth, the vulnerability that sleep brought to his features.

For just a moment, she let herself imagine something different. Something impossible.

Then she closed her eyes and reminded herself: temporary was safer.

Temporary was all she'd ever allow.

She had no way of knowing that in eight weeks, temporary would become permanent in the most terrifying, miraculous way possible.

---

The coffee shop smelled like burnt espresso and broken promises.

Lily had been back in New York for exactly forty-three hours, and she'd already made three catastrophic decisions: coming home, leaving her apartment, and ordering a decaf latte that tasted like regret filtered through cardboard.

She pressed one hand against her still-flat stomach, hidden beneath an oversized sweater that had seen better days. The pregnancy test sat at the bottom of her purse like evidence at a crime scene-three pink lines that had derailed her entire life plan.

No. Not derailed. She could handle this. She'd handled everything else life had thrown at her, hadn't she?

Her phone buzzed with another text from her mother. *Mija, you never called me back. Are you eating enough? You sounded tired.*

Lily's thumb hovered over the screen. How did you tell your mother-who'd raised you alone after your father disappeared the moment he learned about the pregnancy-that history was repeating itself in the most humiliating way possible?

She shoved the phone back in her pocket and reached for her latte with a trembling hand.

"Lily?"

The voice hit her like a physical blow. Deep. Certain. Unmistakable.

*No. No, no, no.*

She looked up slowly, praying she'd imagined it, praying the universe wasn't cruel enough to-

Jasper Sterling stood three feet away, immaculate in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her rent, his steel-gray eyes locked on her face with an intensity that made her want to crawl under the table.

"What are the odds?" His mouth curved in that half-smile that had gotten her into trouble in the first place. "I thought you'd still be in-where was it? Turkey?"

"Cappadocia." The word came out strangled. "I was. I'm not anymore."

He moved closer, and she caught his scent-sandalwood and something crisp, expensive. Her stomach lurched, and she gripped the table edge, willing herself not to bolt.

"Mind if I sit?"

*Yes. Very much yes.*

"It's a free country."

Jasper slid into the chair across from her with the easy confidence of a man who'd never been told no in his life. His gaze swept over her face, assessing, and something shifted in his expression.

"You look different."

Lily's heart hammered against her ribs. "Bad lighting."

"No." He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "You look... are you sick?"

"I'm fine."

"You're pale. And you're shaking."

"Low blood sugar." She grabbed her latte, took a scalding sip to prove her point, and immediately regretted it. The nausea hit like a wave, and she set the cup down with a clatter. "I haven't eaten today."

"Then let me buy you lunch."

"I don't need you to buy me lunch, Jasper."

"I wasn't asking for permission." He stood, pulling out his phone. "There's a place two blocks from here-"

"Stop." The word came out sharper than she intended. Several heads turned their way, and she lowered her voice. "I said no."

He studied her for a long moment, his jaw tightening. "What's going on, Lily?"

"Nothing. We ran into each other. That's all."

"We slept together eight weeks ago."

"Nine," she corrected automatically, then wanted to kick herself.

His eyebrows rose. "Nine. Right." He sat back down, his posture shifting from casual to predatory. "And now you're back in New York looking like you've seen a ghost, refusing food, drinking decaf-" His gaze dropped to her cup, then snapped back to her face. "You never drink decaf."

Panic clawed up her throat. "I'm cutting back on caffeine."

"Why?"

"Because I want to."

"Try again."

"This is none of your business."

"If it involves me, it is."

"It doesn't-" She stopped, pressing her lips together. Every word was a trap, every denial digging her deeper.

Jasper went very still. When he spoke again, his voice was dangerously quiet. "Lily. Look at me."

She forced herself to meet his eyes, those storm-gray eyes that had looked at her with hunger in Santorini, that had watched her leave without a backward glance.

"Are you pregnant?"

The question sucked the air from the room. Lily felt the blood drain from her face, felt the walls closing in. Around them, the coffee shop continued its mundane rhythm-milk steaming, conversations humming, oblivious to the bomb that had just detonated at table seven.

"That's-" Her voice cracked. "That's a hell of an assumption."

"Is it an assumption?" He leaned forward, his hands flat on the table, and she could see the muscles in his forearms tensing beneath his rolled sleeves. "Or is it the only thing that makes sense? The timing. The way you're acting. The decaf."

"Lots of people drink decaf."

"You're deflecting."

"You're being paranoid."

"Then say no." His voice was steel wrapped in silk. "Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll apologize and walk away. We'll pretend this never happened."

Lily's throat constricted. She could do it. She could lie. He'd never know. She could disappear back into her nomadic life, raise this baby in hostels and rental cars and beaches halfway around the world, never looking back.

Just like her father had never looked back.

The thought made her sick.

"I don't owe you anything," she whispered.

Jasper's face went pale. "Oh God." He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "You are. You're pregnant."

"Sit down. Please." She glanced around wildly. "People are staring."

"I don't give a damn about people." But he sat, his movements rigid. When he spoke again, his voice was raw. "How long have you known?"

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks." He ran a hand through his dark hair, disheveling it for the first time since she'd known him. "And you weren't going to tell me."

"I was handling it."

"Handling it?" His laugh was bitter. "What does that mean? Were you going to-"

"No." The word exploded out of her. "No. I'm keeping it. Him. Her. I don't know yet."

Something flickered across his face-relief? terror?-before his features hardened into that impenetrable mask he wore like armor.

"We need to talk about this. Properly." He pulled out his phone. "My lawyer-"

"No lawyers."

"Lily, be reasonable-"

"I said no lawyers." She stood, grabbing her purse with trembling hands. "This was a mistake. All of it."

"You can't just walk away."

"Watch me."

She made it three steps before his hand closed around her wrist-gentle, but firm enough to stop her. The touch sent electricity racing up her arm, and she hated herself for still feeling it, even now.

"Please." The word sounded foreign in his mouth, like he wasn't used to saying it. "Don't run. Not from this. Not from me."

Lily turned, and what she saw in his eyes stopped her cold. Not anger. Not calculation.

Fear.

Raw, visceral fear that mirrored her own.

"That's my child," he said quietly. "Mine. You can hate me, you can want nothing to do with me, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm going to be a father."

"You don't have to be anything. I told you, I can handle-"

"I won't abandon my own child."

The words hung between them, weighted with something deeper than duty. Something that spoke of old wounds and unhealed scars.

Lily's phone buzzed insistently in her pocket. Then buzzed again. And again.

With a sinking feeling, she pulled it out.

Seven missed calls from her mother.

One text message: *Lily Marie Rodriguez, I know something's wrong. I'm at your apartment. We need to talk. NOW.*

"Perfect," she breathed. "This day just keeps getting better."

Jasper was watching her carefully. "What is it?"

"My mother. She's at my apartment." Lily met his eyes, and despite everything, she felt a hysterical laugh building in her chest. "She knows something's up. She always knows."

"Then we should talk to her together."

"Are you insane?"

"I'm the father of her grandchild." His jaw set with determination. "She has a right to know I'm not going anywhere."

Before Lily could respond, her phone rang. Her mother's face filled the screen-a photo from last Christmas, smiling and vibrant and completely unaware that her daughter was about to break her heart all over again.

Lily stared at the ringing phone, then at Jasper, then at the door.

One night. One mistake. One impossible choice.

She answered the call.

"Hi, Mamá," she said softly. "We need to talk."

The prenatal vitamin lodged in Lily's throat like an accusation.

She stood in the cramped bathroom of her sublet apartment-a fifth-floor walkup in Bushwick that smelled perpetually of her neighbor's curry and someone else's regret-and stared at the prescription bottle Jasper had pressed into her palm before she'd fled the coffee shop. Premium prenatals, the kind with DHA and folate and probably gold flakes, knowing him. The kind that cost more than her weekly grocery budget.

She wanted to throw them away. She wanted to prove she didn't need his money, his concern, his suffocating sense of obligation.

Instead, she dry-swallowed one and hated herself a little.

Her phone buzzed on the sink. Another message from Jasper-the seventh since yesterday.

*We need to discuss logistics.*

*I've arranged for you to see Dr. Morrison at Presbyterian. She's the best.*

*Lily, ignoring me won't change the situation.*

She deleted them without responding, then immediately wondered if that made her petty or just practical. Probably both. The distinction didn't matter when you were eight weeks pregnant with a stranger's baby and your entire life philosophy was currently imploding.

Her laptop sat open on the kitchen counter-if you could call the three feet of warped laminate between the fridge and the stove a kitchen-displaying her blog's analytics. Down seventeen percent. Her last post about the fairy chimneys in Cappadocia had gotten half the engagement of her usual content. Turns out people could sense when your heart wasn't in the wanderlust anymore.

Turns out it was hard to sell the dream of radical freedom when you were about to be responsible for an entire human being for the next eighteen years.

Lily pressed her palms against the cool porcelain sink and studied her reflection. She didn't look pregnant yet. Still the same honey-colored skin, the same dark eyes that her mother always said held too much stubbornness and not enough sense. Still the same girl who'd left Miami at eighteen with a backpack and a blog and a bone-deep certainty that staying in one place meant slow death by ordinary.

Except now that girl was going to be someone's mother.

The thought arrived with its now-familiar companion: terror, sharp and electric.

The buzzer shrieked through the apartment like a smoke alarm.

Lily's stomach dropped. She knew-*knew*-before she even pressed the intercom button.

"I brought Thai food." Jasper's voice crackled through the ancient speaker. "The kind with extra vegetables. I checked-they're good for first trimester."

"Go away."

"Lily-"

"I said go away, Jasper. I don't need you showing up at my apartment with prenatal vitamins and unsolicited medical advice and-" She stopped, horrified to feel her voice crack. "Just go."

Silence stretched between them, punctuated only by static and someone's car alarm three blocks away.

Then: "I'm not leaving."

Of course he wasn't. Because Jasper Sterling didn't know how to lose, how to walk away, how to accept that some things couldn't be fixed with money or persistence or sheer goddamn force of will.

Lily jabbed the buzzer.

She counted his footsteps up all five flights-steady, determined, probably not even winded because men like him had private trainers and Pelotons and functional cardiovascular systems. She'd barely opened the door before he was there, filling her doorway with his Brooks Brothers shirt and his expensive cologne and his eyes that saw too much.

"You look tired," he said.

"You look like you're about to give me a PowerPoint presentation on fetal development." She crossed her arms. "Please tell me you didn't actually make a PowerPoint presentation."

Something flickered across his face-amusement, maybe, or pain. "It's only fifteen slides."

Despite everything, Lily felt her lips twitch. She stepped back. Let him in. Hated herself for it.

He set the Thai food on her counter with the careful precision of someone who'd probably never eaten takeout in a Bushwick walkup. His gaze swept the studio: the futon that doubled as her couch, the collage of photographs from forty-three countries, the half-packed suitcase in the corner that she couldn't bring herself to finish unpacking or put away.

"How long is the sublet?" he asked.

"Month to month."

"That's not stable."

"Stable is a trap." The words came automatically, a mantra she'd repeated so many times it had worn grooves in her brain. But they sounded hollow now, unconvincing. "I'm not you, Jasper. I don't need a five-year plan and a diversified portfolio and-"

"A place for our child to sleep?" He turned to face her fully. "Because that's not negotiable. Neither is prenatal care, or proper nutrition, or-"

"Stop." Lily pressed her fingers to her temples. "Stop turning this into a business transaction. This is my body. My life. My-"

"Our baby."

The words landed like a verdict.

Jasper stepped closer, and Lily saw something raw in his expression, something that looked almost like fear. "You think I want to be the guy who demands involvement? Who shows up with vitamins and Thai food and acts like I can fix everything?" His voice dropped. "I don't. But I also won't be my father."

Lily's breath caught. In the coffee shop, he'd mentioned his mother's death-overwork, exhaustion, a single parent's breaking point. But this was different. This was the wound beneath the scar.

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

"He left." Jasper's jaw tightened. "I was seven. My mother worked three jobs trying to keep us afloat. She was brilliant-could have been anything-but instead she was cleaning office buildings at midnight and waitressing on weekends and slowly killing herself because one man decided fatherhood was too inconvenient." He met her eyes. "She died when I was nineteen. Heart failure at forty-two because she'd never taken care of herself, never rested, never-"

He stopped. Swallowed hard.

"I built Sterling Hospitality so my mother would finally be proud of me," he said. "So I could prove I wasn't like him. And now you're asking me to walk away from my own child because you've decided I'm not capable of being more than an obligation?"

The question hung between them, sharp and accusing and completely fair.

Lily opened her mouth to respond-but her phone erupted with a ringtone she'd assigned to only one person.

Her mother.

Who didn't know about the pregnancy.

Who definitely, *definitely* couldn't know about the pregnancy.

She grabbed the phone, finger hovering over decline, but Jasper's eyes narrowed.

"Answer it," he said.

"Jasper-"

"Answer it, Lily. Because whatever you're running from isn't just about me."

Her phone rang again, insistent. Final warning.

Lily answered.

"Mija," her mother's voice trembled through the speaker. "I need you to come home. Right now. It's about your father."

The world tilted.

"Mamá, I don't have a father-"

"He's dying," her mother said. "And he's asking for you."