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“How old are they?”

She pauses before she answers.

“They’re seven.”

Everything inside me goes still.

Seven.

I look at them again, and this time there is no way to separate what I’m seeing from the number she just gave me. Blaire sees it happen.

The boys are watching both of us now, clearly aware that something has changed. She kneels in front of them.

“Boys, go find Auntie Erica for me,” Blaire says.

“I need to finish a conversation.”

One of them looks at her.

“Are you okay, Mom?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” Blaire says.

“Go on. I’ll come find you.”

The boys hesitate for another second, then turn and head back toward the lawn. I wait until they are far enough away that they can’t hear us. Then I look at Blaire. I step closer to her, my heart pounding out of my chest.

“Are they mine?”

Her jaw tightens.

“They’re my sons.”

Anger cuts through the shock.

“I asked you if they’re mine.”

Blaire holds my gaze.

“Yes.”

The words hit hard enough that I actually stop breathing for a second. I look toward the lawn, then back at her.

“How could you not tell me?”

Blaire glances toward the reception.

“Not here.”

She leads me toward the side of the house, far enough from the terrace that no one can hear us clearly. The moment we stop, I face her.

“When did you know?”

Blaire takes a breath.

“After I got back to the States.”

“And you still said nothing?”