“Gael Monta is your…” Mom sucks in her lips as though she’s bitten into something bitter. “Your genitor.”
I look between her and Malachi. “Monta?”
She nods. “His last affair—the one that produced Alexander—is what finally drove Ines away,” Mom says, while my synapses’ firing becomes absolute warfare.
Gael Monta—Ines’s husband—is my…my…
It’s so preposterous I can’t even finish the thought.
My skin overheats as my brain spins and spins, like I’ve just climbed into a dryer that’s tumbling me around on its highest setting.
Gael Monta cannot be my father…
That’s—that’s…
“Gael Monta—Ines’s husband—is my bio dad?” My voice cracks loudly this time.
Confusion tills Mom’s forehead. “Sweetheart, have you been drinking?”
My mind is too busy combusting to tell her that alcohol isn’t to blame for my meltdown.
“She did go to a club,” Malachi says.
Even though I should probably be wholly focused on my discovery, or the fact that Malachi isn’t my father—thank every enchanted stone in the mine—I whirl toward him and ask, “Did you follow me?”
“You’re dating a homeless stranger. Of course I’m going to keep track of where he takes you.”
“Homeless?” Mom asks.
“Cillian Lowry’s a high school dropout who lives in his car and gives classes at a gym he’s not even employed at. He has no bank account, no credit score?—”
“He doesn’t have a work contract with his gym by choice,” I say sharply. “And yes, he might not be rolling in it and lives in his car, but at least he’s trying to make an honest living. I’d appreciate it if you stopped demonizing him, Mal. He’s a good guy.”
“You’ve known him for all of a second,” he mutters.
“Lisa and Fiona say he’s a sweet boy.” Mom gives my fingers a squeeze in solidarity.
Malachi harrumphs, clearly unconvinced. Could he be objecting to Cillian because he’s jealous?
“Text him, Elle,” Mom insists. “I want to meet him tomorrow to make up my own mind. I’ll take any time slot he has.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “As I told you, it’s really not that serious.”
“Still want to meet him. If you prefer I ask Fiona for an introduction?—”
“No. Fine. I’ll text him on our way home.” After a beat, I ask, “Since when have you known?”
“Known about what, sweetie?” Mom asks.
“That Gael Monta was…ismy father?” The term tastes off. Yosef Serran is my father.
Mom presses her lips together. Although not overly thick to begin with, they become as thin as a scalpel. “We’ve known since we found you.”
I turn toward Malachi. “How many people are part of thiswe? Besides Ines and Dad, and I’m assuming, you and Dorian?”
Malachi folds the towel I left by his sink into thinner and thinner rectangles. “Diego and Tarian. And recently, Callie.”
Hurt sears my chest. “Callie knows?” I ask, even though the question is as senseless as my hurt.
