Unmatched Wife: Not His To Claim Anymore novel Chapter 57

Chapter 57

BIANCA

“So if you have three groups of four apples,” I said, pointing to the worksheet spread across the kitchen table, apples do you have total?”

“how

many

Louis scrunched up his face in concentration, his tongue poking out slightly as he counted on his fingers. “Um… four, eight… twelve?”

“Perfect!” I high–fived him, delighted by his progress. “You’re getting really good at this, sweetheart.”

“That’s because you’re a good teacher, Mummy.” He beamed at me, already reaching for the next problem. “Dad tries to help with math, but he makes it confusing with all his talk about ‘practical applications‘ and ‘real–world scenarios.‘ I just want to know how many apples there are.”

I laughed, reaching to ruffle his hair. “Your dad probably can’t help himself. He likes to-”

The door to the attached gym opened, and whatever I’d been about to say died in my throat.

Rivera emerged, shirtless, his skin glistening with sweat from what must have been an intense workout. A towel hung around his neck, and he was using one end to wipe his face as he headed toward the kitchen.

My brain completely short–circuited.

I’d known, intellectually, that Rivera was fit. You didn’t maintain the kind of athletic build he had without serious dedication to physical training. But knowing it and seeing it were two entirely different things.

His chest was defined but not overly muscled, the kind of lean strength that came from functional fitness rather than vanity. His abdomen–dear God, his abdomen–showed the subtle definition of someone who trained regularly but didn’t obsess over aesthetics. And his arms, when he reached up to run the towel through his damp hair, flexed with muscle that made my mouth go dry.

“So then you take the twelve apples and–Mummy?” Louis’s voice seemed to come from very far away. “Mummy, why is your face so red?”

I jerked my attention back to him, trying desperately to control the blush I could feel burning across my cheeks. “What? It’s not -I’m not–the kitchen is just warm. Very warm. Don’t you think it’s warm in here?”

Louis looked around the perfectly climate–controlled kitchen with obvious confusion. “No? It feels normal to me.”

Rivera, the absolute bastard, was grinning as he moved past me toward the refrigerator. I could feel the heat radiating from his skin as he leaned close–closer than necessary, surely–to grab a water bottle from the top shelf.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice holding barely suppressed amusement. “Didn’t mean to distract from the important work of apple mathematics.”

“You’re not–you didn’t-“I was stammering like a teenager, and from the way his grin widened, he knew exactly what effect he was having on me.

He straightened, uncapping the water bottle, and I found myself tracking the movement of his throat as he drank. The kitchen had definitely gotten warmer. That was the only explanation for why I suddenly felt like I was burning up from the inside out.

“Dad, you’re all sweaty and gross,” Louis announced with the brutal honesty of children. “Go put a shirt on before you get sweat on my homework.”

“Noted.” Rivera’s eyes met mine, and I saw something in their depths that made my breath catch–awareness, heat, a question he wasn’t quite ready to ask. “I’ll go shower. Unless you need help with anything first?”

Chapter 57

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The question was innocent enough, but the way he said it, the way he was looking at me, made it sound like an entirely different

kind of offer.

“We’re fine,” I managed, forcing myself to look back at Louis’s worksheet instead of Rivera’s ridiculously distracting chest.” Totally fine. Great, even. Just working on multiplication and definitely not noticing anything else.”

“Right.” The amusement in his voice was unmistakable. “I’ll just go then. Try not to let the kitchen get any warmer while I’m gone.”

He left, and I heard Louis giggle.

“You like Dad,” he said matter–of–factly, returning to his math problems like he hadn’t just dropped a conversational bomb. ” Like, like–like him. The way people do in movies before they kiss.”

“I do not-“I started, then stopped because lying to a five–year–old who’d already seen through me seemed pointless. “It’s complicated, Louis.”

“Why? Dad likes you too. I can tell. He smiles more when you’re around, and he’s been singing in the shower, which he only does when he’s happy.” Louis looked up from his worksheet with serious eyes. “And you make him laugh. Real laughs, not the fake ones he uses with boring business people.”

“Your dad probably has lots of people who make him laugh,” I said weakly, trying to redirect the conversation back to safer territory. “Now, let’s look at problem four-”

“Not like you do.” Louis was relentless. “And besides, you’re already my mummy anyway. If you and Dad got married, it would just make it official, and then we could be a real family and you wouldn’t have to live in the guest room anymore.”

My heart squeezed at the casual way he said it, like our becoming a family was as simple and logical as solving a math problem.

“Louis, sweetheart, it’s not that simple. Your dad and I are friends, and I’m very grateful that he’s helped me so much, but marriage is—”

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