She looked at it as if it were a sleeping snake.
He sipped his brandy. “You should know that, initially, Sophie didn’t want Luca to know David was his father. That was a specific clause in the contract.”
The pulsing heat washed through her. “But David wanted children more than anything.”
“I was not privy to their discussion, but I think that because this is a very small town, and Sophie is well known, she didn’t want everyone to think that she and David were lovers. Eventually, Luca began asking about his father. Sophie asked David, and they decided to tell him, despite their original agreement.”
Claire pulled back. She searched for the power to speak, but her words jumbled, sticking in her mouth. “David…met…Luca?”
He nodded. “Luca was only a few months old the first time David met him. He visited many times, during which Luca didn’t know that David was his father. But when Luca learned David was his father, he was overjoyed.” Gilbert downed the rest of his brandy. “He calls him ‘Papa David.’” Pride sat in Gilbert’s eyes.
A whooshing sound filled Claire’s head. The room closed around her. David had known and loved his child for seven years and never told her. How could he leave his son? Why did he keep her out of their relationship?
Gilbert cleared his throat. “Luca lost his mother nearly a year ago, on Christmas Eve. I cannot tell him he’s also lost his father. That is why I wanted you to leave yesterday. I wanted to discuss this with you, without Luca present.”
Sparks of light swirled. Why hadn’t David told her? He’d kept the birth of his son, the boy calling him Papa David, this enchanting little seven-year-old boy—someone he loved at least as much if not more than he loved her—a secret from her for nearly eight years? She hunched over as her lungs caved around her aching heart.
She grabbed her coat and pulled it over her shoulders. Gripping the chairback, she struggled to stand. “I’m sorry. I…can’t…I need…I can’t be here right now.”
She grabbed her purse and fled out the door, down the alley, across a square, sliding on the icy cobblestones, searching for her hotel. She crossed a wooden bridge but couldn’t remember if they’d crossed it coming to the patisserie. She ran along the quay, sliding in the snow. How could she not remember the address of the hotel where she spent her honeymoon? It was near the river.
She hid behind a brightly lighted Christmas tree and pulled out her phone. She had saved the hotel address and requested directions, but she couldn’t decide whether the app was telling her to go right or left.
The way to the left was across a bridge. Nope, she wasn’t going anywhere near water.
She ran a block to the right and was wrong. She retraced her steps and stood at the foot of the bridge. Roiling water rushed along, shelves of ice clinging to the quay. She inhaled, squeezed her eyes shut, and bolted across the wooden bridge. As her feet hit cobblestones, she opened her eyes to the hotel shimmering in the distance. She spun around, making sure Gilbert was not near, and ran all the way to her room. Why did David keep his son a secret?
Chapter 12
Slammingthedoorbehindher, Claire ripped off her coat and stabbed her phone’s speed dial for Marti, praying she was still awake.
“Claire! How are—”
“David met his son, at least a dozen times!” Claire moaned and fell onto the bed, trembling. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Take a deep breath and push out the air slowly.”
Claire inhaled but erupted in sobs.
“Try again. Do it with me.” Marti counted as she slowly exhaled.
The shaking subsided as Claire slowed her breathing.
“Start from the beginning.”
Claire dragged the sheet across her wet face and stared up at the wooden beams crossing the ceiling. “Sophie wanted a sperm donor, but she had trouble finding a man with a good heart. No one was more good-hearted than David.” She swallowed against tears. “So, David volunteered, but they had an agreement, a contract that specified that Sophie would take full responsibility for the child and neither of them were to let the child know that David was the father until the child turned eighteen.”
“They drew up an agreement?”
“Yes, her brother gave me a copy.” She bolted up, searching for the envelope. “Damn, I forgot the envelope Jeel-Bear gave me.”
“Jeel-Bear? When did you start speaking French?”
“We say, Gilbert, but he taught me how to say it in French.”
“It’s so beautiful in French. And romantic.”
“Right, so they signed an agreement, David made the donation at a fertility clinic, and she gave birth to Luca.” A sob escaped. “We were right—he didn’t cheat.” She sucked in air and slowly pushed out her exhalation. “He met Luca when he was a few months old, and he visited him on every one of his business trips. Finally, Luca began asking who his father was, and they told him. He calls him Papa David.” A cry escaped, a cry of sorrow and appreciation of the child’s affection for her husband.
