Page 18 of Interview with the Billionaire

“Good point. Your call. I do want to come see you and Nikki. And my brother and sisters,” he added. “Maybe next weekend? After she’s out of your hair?”

“I’ll tell the kids. They’ll be thrilled. In the meantime, can I help get her off your back?”

“I’ve got it under control,” he said, in a way that made Damien think there was no control whatsoever.

“Ash … you know you don’t have to handle things alone now.”

“Still getting used to that. Thanks. But seriously, I think she’ll run down soon. Bottom line, I shut the door. She’s just trying to push it open. But it’s locked tight.”

“Well, I’m here if you need me.”

“I know. And Dad? That feels pretty good.”

A Letter to Ashton

Dear Ashton,

I hope I don’t regret sending this. I hope you don’t feel awkward receiving it. But I ran across this journal entry from last year, and am enclosing a photocopy.

I wrote it the day after I learned the truth. And long before you trusted me.

Come visit soon. We miss you.

Love,

Journal Entry:

How many years ago was it that I said I would no longer keep a journal. Rather, I would simply record key events as an aid to memory.

There wasn’t enough time in the day to take the time to examine what was happening around me. To me. Or so I thought.

Perhaps I was a fool then, thinking that the events in my life were worthy only of a mention. A one-line notion with the sole purpose of helping to recall some event, but not enough to rouse the emotions those events stirred.

Perhaps with some things, that is that is a blessing.

With Ashton, though, I think I want the full memories. The full emotions. Bittersweet and wonderful. Challenging and exhilarating.

Ashton Stone. My son.

But even this entry may be useless when I read it at some future time. It’s been over a day now, and I’m still not sure all of what I’m feeling. Joy? I can’t deny it. Fear? Absolutely. Confusion? Most definitely.

There is anger, too, because Ashton exists only because of what Merle Richter did. What he forced me and Sofia to do. The way he bound us together, more than friends and not really lovers. Too young to fight back, but not too young to want to. Old enough to know that what he had us doing was wrong, but too reliant on him to do anything about it. And old enough to know that despite the wretchedness, there was some comfort there for the both of us.

And Sofia … did she even know Ash existed? That he’d grown inside her?

I don’t know. She carried him, of course, but she was so young. So broken. And there are women who go full-term in a pregnancy and never understand what is happening. Women who block the memory of giving birth and the child altogether.

As sad as it may be, I can see that path for Sofia. And, of course, the other tragedy is that I cannot even ask her if she knew. Or if she hated me for it.

I regret so much what she went through. What we both went through.

But the horror of that time gave me another son, and while I know this must be hard for him, I can’t help but feel joy. And hope that one day he understands that I didn’t abandon him. On the contrary, I had no idea he existed. Now that I do, all I want is to get to know him. To make up for lost time.

And yet the joy I feel is tinged with guilt and with fear. The guilt has no basis. I know what Richter did. I know the maze that bastard had thrown Sofia and I in. I know that it is not my fault that Ashton believes I turned my back on him.

So I’ll let myself feel it and then move on.

But what I can’t move on from is Nikki. The feeling that somehow I’ve betrayed her.