“Because I don’t know exactly when.”
“Why not?”
“It’s complicated, baby.”
“You always say that too.”
Liam shifts on the arm of the sofa. “Does Da know about us?”
The question is quieter than Finn’s, but it cuts deeper.
“Not yet,” I say.
“Why not?”
“Because…” I trail off, trying to find words that make sense to five-year-olds when they barely make sense to me. “Because sometimes grown-ups have to figure things out before they can tell each other important things.”
“But we’re important,” Finn says. “You said so.”
“You are. The most important thing in the world to me.”
“Then why can’t you just tell him?”
I pull Finn closer, and Liam slides down from the arm to lean against my other side. They fit against me like they always have, small and warm and trusting that I’ll give them answers that make everything okay.
But I don’t have those answers.
“When we meet him,” Liam says quietly, “will he like us?”
My throat tightens. “He’ll love you. Both of you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re his sons. And you’re incredible.”
“Can we have the cookies now?” Finn asks out of nowhere, and I take a breath of relief.
“Yes. But don’t make a mess.”
They’re gone before I finish the sentence, thundering back through the library door and down the hall toward the back yard.
I sit there alone with the book I’m not reading and the weight of their questions sitting heavy in my chest.
Cassian texts me three days later:Let’s have dinner tonight. I’ll send a car.
I should say no.
Instead, I text back:Where?
You’ll see.
The car arrives at seven with a driver who doesn’t speak to me. We drive for thirty minutes through Manhattan before pulling up outside a restaurant in the West Village I’ve never heard of.
Cassian is waiting at a corner table. He stands when I approach, and for a second, we just look at each other. He’s in dark jeans and a sweater, no suit, and the casual look makes him seem younger. Less dangerous.
It’s a lie, but an effective one.
“You came,” he says.
