“Tomorrow.”
I expected joy or perhaps a tinge of gratitude. Definitely pleasant surprise. I couldn’t think of a more appropriate gift or way to celebrate the day.
Yet the emotions that pass through her haunted green eyes aren’t joy, gratitude, or surprise. She seems to be crushed under the knowledge that she’s forgotten her own birthday. And instead of making it special for her, I ruined it.
I cup her slender, pale hand where it lies small and fragile in her lap. “I thought you’d be happy.”
Her smile is tremulous. “Thank you.”
They’re the right words, but they’re not the words I want to hear. The smile on her pink lips isn’t the smile I want to see. I should’ve known this isn’t how Tatiana would’ve chosen to celebrate. She’s never been about money and business. That’s not what makes her tick. It’s not how her heart works.
Tatiana belongs to me and me alone. She’s my responsibility, mine to protect and to take care of. It’s my job to understand her, to provide for her, and to predict her needs long before she knows them herself. I should’ve fucking known.
Furious with myself for my shortsighted vision, I lift her hand to the table and, just as that day when I forced her to sign over her shares, wrap her fingers around the pen.
My order is harsher than I intended. “Sign.”
She jumps at my tone, and with a flinch instead of a smile, she signs.
Chapter
Thirty-Five
Tatiana
* * *
When we arrive home, a small welcoming party awaits me. Noah, Jazz, and Emily are gathered in the dining room. A crème brûlée cheesecake—my favorite—with a single birthday candle in the center stands on the table.
“Surprise,” they call out when I walk through the door.
“Mommy!” Noah runs to me and throws his arms around my legs. “Emily made you a cake. I helped her.”
He’s getting too heavy for me to pick up. My heart squeezes. He’s growing up so fast.
Crouching down, I hug him. “Thank you, sweetheart. It’s beautiful.” I give him a conspiratorial wink. “Did you sneak in a taste?”
He nods vigorously. “Emily let me lick out the bowl.”
I meet her gaze over his head. My mom used to let me do that when I was Noah’s age. She blinks and looks away quickly.
“You have to blow out the candle.” Noah takes my hand and pulls me to the table. “And you have to make a wish.”
Dante catches up with us. “Slow down, buddy.” He grabs Noah around the waist and hoists him into the air. “Let your mom say hello to everyone first.”
Laughing, Noah cries, “Again!”
“It’s only tomorrow,” Jazz says in a soft voice as she hugs me, “but I wanted to be the first one to wish you a happy birthday.” Overcome with emotion, she pulls away a little. “Well, after Noah, of course.” She adds with a tad of stiffness, “And Dante and Emily.”
I study her when she lets me go. “How are you?”
She flushes. “I’m great.”
Emily moves toward us, so I resign myself to leaving the questions for later.
“We wanted to do it tomorrow,” Emily says, “but Noah couldn’t wait.”
“Thanks for the cake. It looks delicious.”
