There it was. My dirty little secret. One of them at least.
“It’s no one’s fault.”
“It’s why he hates reading.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. He’s never been diagnosed because he’s still so young. Most of the professionals say to wait until at least the second half of first grade to actually diagnose dyslexia.”
“Meanwhile he remains picked on by shithead kids at school.”
“Meanwhile, his father can help him.”
“How?” I demanded, feeling hopeless.
“Aaron, Kyle’s not broken. And neither were you,” she affirmed, her grip tightening around my sides. “Y-your father was a jackass, and made you feel ashamed of being a poor reader. You weren’t even diagnosed until after his death. You were a child. He was the adult. It was his responsibility to take care of you. Do that for your son. Show him how you learned to read.” She got on her tiptoes and pulled my face between her hands. I stared down at her. “You run one of the most successful businesses in this country. And you didn’t learn to read until you were eight years old. You don’t think that’s something to be proud of? Show our son what he’s capable of because you’ve already done it. He’ll listen to you.”
I lowered my forehead to hers, wrapping my arm around her waist, pulling her to me.
“How do you always do that?” I asked, nuzzling her neck and pressing a kiss there.
She shivered. “Do what?”
“Make me feel like I’m ten feet tall.”
“Youareten feet tall. To me.”
I groaned and spun us both, moving us to the bed, while tearing at the short, silk gown she wore. I loved the way the silk laid against her walnut skin. I made a mental note to order some silk scarves the following day.
“Ah!” she yelped as I pushed her down onto the bed. “You’re so damn rough!”
A devious smile spread over my lips. “Just the way you like it.”
“Hmph!” came her response. “You know,” she began, breathless as I ran my teeth along the column of her neck, “it’s not nice to call eight year olds, shitheads.”
I paused, then remembered calling the boy who’d picked on Kyle those words. “He is a shithead. And so is his father,” I answered in between kisses to her breasts and belly.
Patience snickered. “You called him that the first time we ever met.”
I stopped, moving over her to peer down into her face.
“You don’t remember. Dinner at my father’s. Wallace stole myHarry Potterbook and when I kicked him you grabbed him by the throat much like you did today. You’d think he would’ve learned back then.”
“He’s not particularly smart. His company has shrunk in value by nearly half since he took over. And he is a shithead, just like his father and just like his son is destined to be. Andyougot saucy with me after I kicked Wallace out.”
Her eyelids sprang wide.
“I remember.”
“You called me a little girl! That pissed me off.”
“I’ve pissed you off a lot more since then,” I retorted at the same time I eased my pajamas down and slipped inside of her. I covered her mouth with mine. That was enough talking for one night.
****
“Kyle, wake up,” I whispered, lightly shaking him by the shoulder.
It was four-thirty in the morning, and I had barely gotten an hour of sleep. But it was worth it for what I had planned. Ever since that first day, Kyle came down with me for my early morning workouts. Most times he would fall back asleep while in the basement, but others he stayed up with me throughout the entire workout.
“Morning, Daddy,” he said groggily.
