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“First, we establish paternity and a parenting plan with a family lawyer. We tell Jamie together, with someone available to help us if he needs it. We protect his routine and make room for me without taking anything away from you or Brittany.”
I let out a shaky breath. “And where do we all live?”
“We do not decide that tonight. Eventually, you could move in with me. I could move in with you. We could keep both homes or find a new one together. It is whatever works for you and Jamie—and for Brittany too.”
I look down at our joined hands. “And work? Isn’t it messy if the director of events is dating the CEO?”
“The firewall we established before the gala is still in place. Your compensation, performance reviews, and job security remain with Elena Torres, Ashford’s COO. You work with me on events, but I do not control your career.”
“And whether we still have a relationship to disclose?”
“That remains your choice.”
I study him for a moment, then nod. “Good. Because marriage is not going to be an HR solution.”
A hint of his usual smirk returns. “Noted.”
He leans in slowly enough to let me decide the last inch. I close it, kissing him softly. It is not a promise that everything is fixed.
It is a promise that we are going to try.
Two weeks later…
“Why are you both looking at me like I broke something?” Jamie asks.
He’s sitting cross-legged on the living-room rug with Isaac the giraffe tucked under one arm and three Hot Wheels lined up perfectly in front of him. Marcus is sitting on the floor across from him. I’m next to Marcus.
His therapist helped us figure out how to do this. Keep it simple. Keep it honest. Let Jamie ask the questions.
The honest part feels particularly important.
“You didn’t break anything,” I tell him. “We just need to tell you something.”
Jamie looks between us suspiciously. “Am I in trouble?”
“No,” Marcus says immediately. “Not even a little bit, buddy.”
“Okay.” He picks up the blue Hot Wheels car and rolls it back and forth. “Then what?”
I take a breath.
“You know how I told you your dad was a man named Matteo?”
“The poet,” Jamie says.
God. Of course he remembers the details.
“Yes. The poet.” I swallow hard. “I wasn’t honest with you about that.”
His little car stops moving.
“You lied?”
The word punches harder coming from my five-year-old than it ever did coming from Marcus.
“Yes,” I say. “I did. I was scared, and I made a bad decision. But being scared doesn’t make lying okay, and I’m really sorry.”
Jamie thinks about that for a second. Then he looks at Marcus.
