The Match - A Baby Daddy Donor Romance Read online

  The Match

  A Baby Daddy Donor Romance

  Winter Renshaw

  Contents

  Copyright

  Important!

  Also By Winter Renshaw

  Description

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  SAMPLE - ENEMY DEAREST

  About the Author

  Copyright

  COPYRIGHT 2021 WINTER RENSHAW

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  * * *

  COVER DESIGN: Louisa Maggio, LM Book Creations

  EDITING: Wendy Chan, The Passionate Proofreader

  LINE EDITS: Kelley Harvey

  BETA READER: Ashley Cestra

  PHOTOGRAPHER: Wong Sim

  MODEL: Igor Augusto

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or, if an actual place, are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  * * *

  E-Books are not transferrable. They cannot be sold, given away, or shared. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  * * *

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Important!

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  Also By Winter Renshaw

  THE NEVER SERIES

  Never Kiss a Stranger

  Never is a Promise

  Never Say Never

  Bitter Rivals

  * * *

  THE ARROGANT SERIES

  Arrogant Bastard

  Arrogant Master

  Arrogant Playboy

  * * *

  THE RIXTON FALLS SERIES

  Royal

  Bachelor

  Filthy

  Priceless (an Amato Brothers crossover)

  * * *

  THE AMATO BROTHERS SERIES

  Heartless

  Reckless

  Priceless

  * * *

  THE P.S. SERIES

  P.S. I Hate You

  P.S. I Miss You

  P.S. I Dare You

  * * *

  THE MONTGOMERY BROTHERS DUET

  Dark Paradise

  Dark Promises

  * * *

  STANDALONES

  Single Dad Next Door

  Cold Hearted

  The Perfect Illusion

  Country Nights

  Absinthe

  The Rebound

  Love and Other Lies

  The Executive

  Pricked

  For Lila, Forever

  The Marriage Pact

  Hate the Game

  The Cruelest Stranger

  The Best Man

  Trillion

  Enemy Dearest

  All Books Available here!

  Free Content Available here!

  Description

  All I wanted was a baby. No daddy? No problem.

  That’s what anonymous donors are for …

  But when the fertility clinic accidentally sends me a letter addressed to a man whose ID matches my paperwork, I discover my child’s father is none other than world-renowned tennis champion Fabian Catalano—famous for his gorgeous face, chiseled abs, and broody, wildcard reputation.

  Only everything changes when the clinic calls us in for damage control—and Fabian drops the bombshell of the century. Turns out the intense Adonis wants to get to know his daughter.

  So I invite him to stay with us—temporarily.

  Ground rules and all.

  And our arrangement is simple … until it isn’t.

  Between 2 AM confessionals and stolen kisses, my sweet little simple life has taken a very complicated left turn.

  But oh, baby … what happens next—is a game changer.

  To all the baby mamas—past, present, and future. ;-)

  Prologue

  Two Years Ago

  * * *

  Rossi

  * * *

  “Hey, what about this one?” My sister, Carina, slides a piece of paper across my dining room table. “Donor A77462J. Trilingual Sailor.”

  I cringe. “When I think of a sailor, I think of a hot guy screwing beautiful women all over the world, and then that makes me think of STDs.”

  “The agency isn’t going to give you a sperm donor with STDs.” She rolls her eyes.

  “I know. I’m just telling you those are my connotations.”

  “Ooh.” She plucks another from the pile. “Eager Engineer.”

  I wince. “Makes me think of a socially awkward genius.”

  “Smart is good though. You want smart. The father of your child should be a freaking prodigy.”

  “Yeah, but what if he’s one of those guys who are so freakishly intelligent they lack common sense and street smarts? Like your last boyfriend?” I wink. Reminding her about the time the poor guy got mugged in New York City and thought he could use intelligent conversation to convince his attacker to drop his knife and run away isn’t necessary.

  My sister crumples the page before hurling it across the room. “Moving on. Okay, what about this guy … Donor K87338L … This donor puts God above all else and is always willing to help those in need. In his free time, he volunteers at local nursing homes and youth clubs, as well as fosters homeless elderly cats—”

  “—stop.” I lift a palm. “He clearl
y has a saint complex. And he sounds too good to be true. Pass.”

  My sister chuckles, retrieving the next page from the stack. “Pile’s getting thin here …”

  “Who’s next?”

  “Donor W44321G … Ambitious Athlete … Tall with chiseled cheekbones, dimples, and a sun-kissed bronze complexion, this donor is not afraid to stand out in the crowd. Naturally athletic, physically fit, intellectually gifted, and driven, there’s nothing he can’t do once his mind is set. He would describe himself as adventurous and well-traveled, with a focus on collecting experiences, not things. Heritage: Italian and French.”

  “Let me see that.” I feast my eyes on Donor W44321G’s profile. “Athleticism is good because we definitely don’t have that on our side of the family … and ambition is never a bad thing. Dimples are a bonus.” I purse my lips, studying the rest of the limited details. “He’s six two. Black hair. Brown eyes. It says his closest celebrity lookalikes are Eddie Cibrian, Eric Bana, and Benjamin Bratt.”

  “So basically he’s hot as sin.”

  A strange flutter tickles my chest, but I remind myself that I’ll never see his face, that he’ll be nothing more than the other half of my future child’s DNA. And then I quiet the palpitations and get back to business.

  “You know, Dad was full-blooded Italian and Mom’s mom emigrated from Normandy,” she says, sharing things I already know. “Maybe it’s a sign?”

  I lift a brow. She isn’t wrong. But she’s also been combing through these with me for the past six weekends. I’m sure a part of her is ready to be done with this exhaustive search. I know I am. But this isn’t the kind of thing I can take lightly. This is the biological father of my future child we’re talking about. I can’t pick someone who’s good enough.

  He has to be perfect.

  “There’s no such thing as the perfect match.” My sister waves Ambitious Athlete’s profile like a white flag in front of my face. “But this is pretty damn close.”

  I examine his paper, reading through the sparse information as if I could possibly glean something extra, something subtle, something hiding in plain sight. Closing my eyes, I picture his face, a mish-mash of handsome actors with the kind of fist-biting, knee-weakening physique you only see on giant billboards in New York, Paris, and Milan.

  “You said Dr. Wickham matched you genetically to these donors?” Carina asks.

  “He has some kind of state-of-the-art algorithm that pairs us genetically,” I say. I read all about it in the brochure months ago when I first embarked on this single motherhood journey. A week after I met with the doctor’s team and signed the contract, they mailed me a mountain of questionnaires focused on genetic history, psychological tendencies, and personality traits, and once I’d finished, they brought me in for bloodwork. After months of analysis, they sent me a semi-thick manila envelope of prospects.

  And now here we are.

  “Well, my vote is for Ambitious Athlete.” She leans back in her chair, finished. “Don’t think it gets better than that.”

  I read his description once more.

  “You’re smiling.” My sister points at my face. “Did you make your decision?”

  Laughing, I clutch the page against my chest. “Yeah. I think so. He’s the one.”

  Chapter 1

  Present Day

  * * *

  Rossi

  * * *

  I read the letter three times.

  * * *

  Dear Fabian Catalano—

  * * *

  Per your request, we have destroyed the remainder of your frozen donation. Please know that your specimen has been utilized successfully in the past. For your records, your donor number is W44321G. Please also know that your donor number is registered on the National Donor Sibling Registry in accordance with the Hemlock-Patterson Act of 1997. Should you choose to connect with any offspring in the future, you may do so via the aforementioned organization.

  If you have further questions, please contact our clinic manager, Rhonda Bixby, and she would be happy to assist.

  * * *

  Respectfully,

  Dr. Wickham and Team

  Wickham Fertility Clinic

  Chicago, IL

  * * *

  “Carina,” I call to my sister in the next room. A second later, she appears in the doorway of my home office, my nine-month-old daughter, Lucia, on her shoulder. “Read this.”

  I hand her the letter. Her nose wrinkles and she squints. “What’s this mean?”

  “Why would they send that to me?”

  “Clerical error.”

  “Clearly.” I take the letter back and scan it once more. “Why does that name sound familiar? Fabian Catalano. I swear I’ve heard that before.”

  “Wait.” Hoisting the baby on her other hip, she slides her phone out from her back jeans pocket and impressively uses her thumb to tap his name into Google. “Oh my god.”

  “What? What?”

  Flipping the screen toward me, she all but shoves it in my face. “Fabian Catalano—the tennis player. He beat Rafael Nadal last year in the Spanish Open, remember? And then they got into some kind of fist fight after their match in Paris?”

  “I literally don’t watch tennis. You know that,” I remind her before feasting my eyes on the muscled Adonis in the images before me. He’s a beautiful man, I will admit. His thick black hair is shoved back carelessly with a Nike sweatband, his shirtless torso glints with sweat, and his generous hands are wrapped tight around the base of a neon-yellow tennis racket. Sports—or anything involving competition—has never been my thing, but I’m sure I’ve heard his name in passing before. Maybe in a news clip or on a billboard somewhere.

  “What if he’s your donor?” she asks, covering my daughter’s ears despite the fact that she’s still very much a baby and wouldn’t be able to comprehend any of this. “Remember his donor name? Ambitious Athlete? And he was half Italian. Isn’t Catalano an Italian surname?”

  “There’s no way.” This kind of thing doesn’t happen. For starters, it’d be a careless and expensive move on the clinic’s part. And one as advanced as Wickham surely has a system in place to prevent this kind of privacy breach.

  I steal her phone and scroll through the images again.

  Lucia came out with a head of thick black hair when she was born—a far cry from my God-given chocolate-dirt locks. My dad called her Priscilla Presley the first week and thought it was the funniest thing in the world.

  But lots of people have black hair. It’s not like it’s rare or anything.

  “Did you save the sheet?” she asks.

  “What sheet?”

  “The Ambitious Athlete one? With his donor number and description?” Carina points to my filing cabinet. She knows damn well I save everything. I’m an informational pack rat.

  Rising from my desk, I head over to the cabinet where I keep all of Lucia’s medical records—and every piece of paper the fertility clinic ever sent me home with. Bloodwork. Test results. Appointment confirmations. Follow up schedules. Sliding the drawer out, I pluck out Lucia’s file and flip to the pack, where I kept the original sheet describing Ambitious Athlete.

  “Let me see.” Carina reaches for it, but I swipe it away.

  “If it is him,” I say, “and it isn’t. It’s not going to change anything.”

  She bounces Lucia on her hip, eyes wide and impatient. “Come on. Let’s see.”

  “I don’t know if I want to know though.” I chew my bottom lip. “The whole point of this was for it to be anonymous. And then what, when Lucia gets older, I’ll have to make the decision of either telling her who he is and explaining that even though we know who he is, he’ll never be a part of her life—or lying to her and acting like I don’t know. I don’t want to be put in that position.”

  “Don’t you think the cat’s already out of the bag?” she asks. “Either it’s Fabian Catalano or it’s not. From here on out, you’re going to hear his name and think of this moment. Thi
s question. It’s going to haunt you and you know it. Don’t you want to put your mind at rest? It’s not like it’ll change anything. He’s not going to suddenly have parental rights or be a part of her life. Your day-to-day isn’t going to change. You’re still going to be a single mama doing your thing with the most beautiful baby girl this world has ever seen. Whether or not you know the name of her father won’t change that.”

  I place the sheet of paper next to my laptop and fold into my chair, tugging fistfuls of hair and exhaling.

  “I’m happy to compare the numbers for you … I could keep that information safe until you decide you want it someday,” she says. It’s not unlike the gender reveal we did last year. Carina accompanied me to my twenty-week scan and the technician wrote the baby’s gender in an envelope, sealing it and giving it to my sister for safekeeping until we could reveal at a small friends and family gathering at my parents’ house.