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nothing says romance like a paternity crisis
Date de publication:
2026-09-04 18:53:07
Dernier chapitre
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi his mystery woman & my mystery man
I was doing just fine until the investor found out I ran GALA myself.“Really?” he said, not exactly condescending, just the kind of surprised a man might sound if he believed women under five-six had to choose between running a business and having cheekbones. “You look too small to be dangerous.”I smiled. “I get that a lot.”“Don’t let that fool you. She leads with her right,” Rafael said from beside me, sipping his whiskey without even looking our way.I turned.Rafael kept drinking.The man laughed, assuming it was a joke but I didn’t.“How do you know?” I asked Rafael.He lowered his glass. “You’re a black belt.”I kept staring at him. “I told you I’m a black belt. I never told you my stance.”Rafael shrugged. “Security report.”I narrowed my eyes. “My security report includes my stance?”“The risk assessment was thorough.”“Does it also have my skincare routine?”“No.”“Bra size?”The man in front of us nearly choked on his wine.Rafael just looked at me.I smiled sweetly. “Just
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi stare all you want. the rate went up.
The entire drive to Nob Hill, Rafael and I somehow managed to turn a simple conversation about an A-plus reward into a full parliamentary hearing over whether a four-year-old needed a microscope that could connect to an iPad, because the answer was obviously no, while according to Rafael, “he’s interested in science” was apparently a sufficient financial argument. When I reminded him that Al had also once been interested in sticking a grape up his nose, Rafael just rolled his eyes and told me I made everything too complicated.Which, naturally, made me spend the next five minutes explaining that he was the one with no concept of moderation because billionaires heard the words gift and somehow translated them into something with a serial number and an insurance policy.Eventually, he leaned his head back against the seat, jaw tight, staring out the window with his annoyed face, “It’s a microscope, Arabella, not uranium.”I crossed my legs and smiled sweetly. “Good. We’re making progres
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi i blame the tuxedo
I slipped my phone into my small black clutch, grabbed my heels in one hand because I wasn’t stupid enough to walk down my own stairs in shoes that high before having to perform in front of rich people, then headed out of the bedroom.My first step into the hallway nearly landed on a tiny piece of clay shaped like something between a dinosaur, a potato, and trauma.I took a deep breath. “Alvaro,” I muttered, “if I die because of a clay dinosaur on the floor, I’m haunting you bilingually.”“I hear you!” Al’s voice floated up from downstairs.I made my way down carrying my heels, my clutch tucked under one arm, and what remained of my patience now reduced to travel size. From the dining area came the sounds of little plates, Gabby talking nonstop, Al arguing back, and Kendra saying, “Sit properly.”Then I saw Rafael.He was standing behind Gabby and Alvaro’s chairs at the dining table, one hand resting on the back of Gabby’s chair while the other adjusted something on the table. A napki
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi everything is on fire. my eyeliner is flawless.
At seven twenty-one, my walk-in closet had turned into a fashion tribunal with one defendant: me.Gabriella sat on the cream velvet ottoman in the middle of the room, her little legs crossed, a pink plastic crown tilted on her head, and an expression far too serious for someone who still believed pasta could be a royal color.In her hand was an empty powder compact she’d taken from the bottom drawer because, according to her, “fashion people need tools,” even though the only tool she’d truly mastered so far was looking at people like they had personally disappointed civilization.On the carpet, Alvaro was lying on his stomach taking apart something that very clearly did not belong to him. I knew it wasn’t his because it was gold, small, and made a suspicious clicking sound every time he poked it with one of my hairpins.“Alvaro.”He didn’t lift his head. “Hmm?”“What is that?”“Machine.”“What kind of machine?”“It’s from your drawer.”I looked at him through the vanity mirror, one ey
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi if this burns, at least i’ll be well dressed
After lunch, which legally should probably have been classified as a circus performance with a side salad, we went back to my house because I owned GALA, and one of the privileges of owning your own company was being able to leave the office right after your kids called your newly-old husband Daddy seventy-two times in a public restaurant.I texted Dianna from the car.Me: I’m going home.Her reply came fast.Dianna: Because of lunch or because of Daddy Lemon?I locked my screen.Not every employee deserved communication privileges.The drive home took twenty minutes, which was enough time for Gabby to empty the entire contents of her preschool bag looking for one glitter sticker she claimed was “legally missing,” while Al decided an old bread bag could become a dinosaur habitat if he poked enough holes in it with a pencil.Kendra tried to contain the chaos from the back seat, but eventually she just sat between the two car seats with the expression of someone reconsidering her colleg
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi the lemon has evolved
“Daddy, daddy, daddy—”I clapped my hand over Gabriella’s mouth before the entire GALA staff could witness me lose emotional custody of my own kids in my own lobby.“Daffy, daffy, daffy.” Gabby kept talking into my palm, her voice came out muffled and full of tiny triumph because that girl considered physical obstruction a vocal challenge.Alvaro looked at her like a little scientist who had just witnessed an embarrassing but useful experiment. “That’s not how mouth works.”I slowly lowered my hand. “We’re going to lunch.”Gabby immediately smiled. “With Daddy Lemon?”I closed my eyes.Twelve minutes later, we were at a small restaurant in Hayes Valley that was far too pretty for two four-year-olds, but close enough to the office, private enough in the back, and expensive enough that the waiter didn’t ask why an Italian billionaire was sitting there with a unicorn backpack under his chair.The twins immediately flanked Rafael like there had already been a royal seating chart.Gabby on
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi He Never Chose Me
“Wow,” I said at last, closing the door behind me with a soft click. “I thought you were still busy having a reunion with your ex.”His gaze dropped for a second, traveling down my body. From the thin heels, to my bare legs, to where the dress cinched at my waist, to the neckline that was bold enou
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi Platinum Barbie
Seven p.m., and Lake Como looked like an expensive postcard that had been photographed to death. Deep blue, almost black. Villa lights scattered messily across the water. A thin veil of fog hovering low, like a cheap Instagram filter no one bothered to turn off.From the study window facing the lak
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi Glass Mansion, Soft Monsters
Five Years Later.“AL, STOP PULLING MY HAIR, I’M A PRINCESS!”“UGLY PRINCESS!”Something small, warm, and heavy slammed into my waist. Then something else landed on my stomach. I didn’t wake up because of an alarm, but because two tiny bodies decided I was their personal playground.“Oh God,” I ras
Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi The Wife
The small pan hissed softly as the oil heated, the sharp scent of roughly crushed garlic already filling the kitchen before I realized I was humming. Fuck.A Shakira song.Wildly off-brand for this morning’s mood, which had gone to hell at five twelve a.m. sharp, when Arsen, the technological basta
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