I squeeze her knee and she immediately stops talking. “Ana, no. Emilee is not adopted. She’s mine. One hundred percent.”
“Oh. Okay. Sorry about that. Sometimes I get carried away,” she remarks, wisping the hair back from her forehead. “Not thatEmilee would care. She totally digs you. You’re an awesome dad.” Her phone vibrates, and she glances down.
I scratch my head, trying to figure out how to get her to answer my question without being too abrasive. The last thing I want to do is upset her again. I try for a less direct approach. “I guess what I’m wondering is if you’re curious about who your real parents are?”
Unfazed, she brings her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, resting her chin on top of her knees. “Why would I be? I have real parents. In fact, I have the perfect parents. And biology sucks, by the way.”
Oookay. That came out of left field.
“For instance,” she picks right up. “I want to be an artist, like Papi. But I also want to build my own empire, be my own boss, have employees and shit, like Dad.” She curls her hair behind her ears. “I’m very business savvy, you know? I’ve also thought about pursuing a career in art therapy. Ever heard of it?”
“Can’t say I have, but I’ve heard of music therapy?”
She points a finger at me. “Exactly! Pretty much the same thing. Art and music can help with a whole range of conditions… and I love helping people.”
I nod, smiling at her.
She smiles back. “See what I’m getting at, Mr. J? All of those traits come from my dads. They’re ingrained in me. I don’t need science to tell me who I belong to. I just need parents—and I already have those.”
Well, that was very matter-of-fact. And mature too. But I still can’t help but wonder... “So, you’re saying you don’t really care if you ever meet your biological parents?”
She ponders for a moment and then shrugs. “I guess what I’m saying is it doesn’t really matter who gave birth to me. Honestly, I never even think about it.” She pulls on her lower lip and smirks. “You want to know something? If Papi could getpregnant, he totally would.” She giggles. “Don’t tell him I said that though. But he really rocks the mom role.”
For heaven’s sake! I nearly fall to the side laughing, wiping tears from my eyes from laughing so hard. Her sense of humor is so refreshing. I believe I know where she gets it from, too, and it certainly is not Meera… or me.
She hops to her feet and dusts off her hands. “Well, Mr. J… as much as I’m enjoying this conversation, Ireallyneed to pee. Plus, Dad must be worried sick about us being stuck in this trap. And Papi is blowing up my phone nonstop.” She snickers, holding out her phone to show me the onslaught of missed calls and messages running across her screen—all from Gabriel.
“Like I said,drama queen. I guarantee he’s crying too. He’s the king of crying. Pretty sure it’s a gay thing.”
Yeah, it’ssomething. And I’m so relieved I could almost cry too.
38
ALEX
“Just bethankful you weren’t stuck in that elevator with Gabriel.” Elijah chuckles, selecting some bottles of booze from the liquor cabinet. “He’s extremely claustrophobic.”
Like I give a crap.
But the thought barely lands before the other one hits—harder, heavier. Ana. My daughter. The words don’t sit right in my head, like they belong to someone else’s life. I should be crying or mourning all the years I never had with her, but I don’t. What I feel is muddled—numb, disoriented, a little angry. My mind drifts to the puzzle pieces inked into my skin, the ones Meera designed. She never said why she chose that pattern. I assumed it was just one of her artistic obsessions at the time. Now I see it for what it was—a twisted little project. And the missing piece? Ana. She’s been holding it all along, pressed into the palm of her hand like fate had marked her to fit into one of Meera’s chaotic designs. I can almost feel the gap in my own skin, the hollow where she should have been all these years, pressing against the shape she completes.Almost.
But in all honesty, I feel numb. Or maybe resigned. It’s less grief than a sudden, sharp recognition of what was missing. She completes the puzzle… just not mine.
I take my glass of whatever concoction Elijah just shook up and take a heady sip, savoring the hint of coconut as it goes smoothly down my parched throat. It doesn’t go unnoticed that he’s also made one for Gabriel, which annoys the hell out of me. And I hate that it does—because it really shouldn’t.
As if the thought of Gabriel brings him into existence, he glides off the elevator, breezy and bold, and I find myself annoyed that he still has free access to Elijah’s penthouse. Even though technically it’s also his.
But still.
“Ah, Elijah,” he sings, striding into the kitchen, hair bouncing, and for Christ’s sake, even his damn hair pisses me off. He accepts his cocktail with a dazzling smile and turns to look at me. “Alex,” he greets, taking a sexy sip.
His sexiness pisses me off too.
Deciding to throw him a curve ball—to see how honest he can be after years of lying, I place my drink down and face him. “Has Ana ever asked about her biological parents?”
The smile drops from his face. “Never,” he confirms, turning at the sound of the elevator arriving.
“Hi gays! I meanguys!” Ana chuckles, slipping into the kitchen and grabbing two bottles of sparkling water. She tosses a bakery bag onto the counter. “I picked up some donuts.”
