Modern Romance October 2016 Books 1-4. Julia James
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already knew I was his father,” Dario heard himself say. He hadn’t meant to speak. He’d meant to get out of here, in fact—to stand up and leave her here and return to his office, maybe to actually do some work this time. He had no idea why he hadn’t done it. “He knew when I found him at his school. He said you kept a picture next to his bed.”
Anais didn’t say anything for a long time. Dario stopped thinking she would. It was enough, he thought, that they were both here, keeping this strangely peaceful vigil over a sick boy together. Silence was fine. It was more than fine.
It felt a lot like intimacy and, for once, he didn’t balk at the notion.
“His best friend is a little girl named Olina,” Anais said eventually, her voice sounding scratchy. She was propped up on an elbow next to Damian in the bed, her attention on him as he slept fitfully beside her. “Her father is a fireman on the island, which the kids agreed was very impressive and heroic. Olina told Damian that when she gets scared, her father promised her he’d always be there to fight the monsters or chase away the bad dreams. That she could just call out and he’d come. That was what fathers did, he told her. That was what they were for.”
Anais shifted then, her dark gaze finding Dario’s in the dim light, and he felt everything inside of him go still.
“Damian asked me how he could call out for his father when he didn’t know where you were.”
Dario was stricken, held fast in some awful grip that he thought might crush him to dust where he sat—but he couldn’t bring himself to look away from Anais. Not even to blink.
“I told him that you knew where he was and that all he needed was the reminder of you to fight off the bad dreams and bad things that sometimes turn up in a little boy’s closet.” She didn’t drop her gaze. “I said you were magic. That all fathers were, but especially you.”
“Anais.”
But she didn’t seem to hear him.
“So together we picked out a picture of you from the photo album I have from our wedding day, and then we went to the store and found a frame he liked. He wanted double protection, just to be sure. So it’s a Batman frame with you in it looking very magical and fierce and capable. It sits by his bed, and sometimes I catch him talking to it like you’re real. To him, you always have been.”
Dario couldn’t speak. He ran his hands over his face and wasn’t entirely surprised to find he was shaking.
And she wasn’t finished.
“This thing you did—flying him across the world and whatever you’ve been doing these past few days? Playing daddy games and indulging yourself? I knew you wouldn’t hurt him. I knew he’d be okay. That he’d think it was all a grand adventure with a character he already thinks he knows. You’re as real to him as anything he’s seen on television, that’s all. This won’t hurt him. He’s a resilient kid.”
And her gaze seemed to get darker then. Harder. She seemed to reach across the bed and tear him wide open when he knew she hadn’t moved an inch. He could see she hadn’t moved at all.
“It’s when you get bored with this game. When you remember that you’re Dario Di Sione and you have computer accessories to build and adoring customers to wow. When you throw him back where you found him and forget all the dazzling promises you made him. That’s what concerns me, Dare. Because that’s when you’re going to break his heart.”
“I’m not going to break his heart. I’m not going to break anything.”
But he didn’t believe that even as he said it.
“You swooped in and spirited him away. You’re mysterious and fancy and you haven’t disappointed him yet,” she said.
And she didn’t look fierce any longer; that was the part that punched at him, like a fist to the gut. She looked sad. Terribly sad.
“But you will. He’ll think it’s him, that there’s something he could have done to make you stick around. That’s what children always think.” She shook her head, and looked even sadder, if that was possible. “It would have been kinder to let him keep imagining you as the perfect hero who saves him from bad dreams. Not the real, live man who hates his mother and doesn’t have time for him. That’s a very common, very boring story. I think he’d prefer to keep you magic. Keep you his.”
“Are you talking about him, Anais?” he asked softly. “Or you?”
The way her mouth curved then made him feel scraped raw.
“I gave up on magic a long time ago,” she said in the same tone he’d used. “And you were never mine.”
He should never have said such a thing. He should never have opened that door, because he didn’t like what was behind it. At all.
“I’m not going to do any of those things.” He gritted it out, not sure why he felt so defensive. So...exposed, as if he was the one with the dirty history of letting people down instead of her. “None of that is going to happen.”
And Anais laughed softly then. Still so sadly, as if it had happened already. As if she knew the bleak future before them, no matter what he said.
“Come on, Dare,” she said quietly, piercing him straight through. “You can’t help it. It’s who you are.”
DAMIAN WOKE UP the next morning fully restored, as if he hadn’t had any kind of fever at all.
“He was sick,” Dario said flatly over coffee, while Damian chased his own shadow around the expansive roof deck that surrounded the penthouse’s lowest level. “I felt his forehead myself.”
“Children are mysterious,” Anais replied with a shrug.
And so was everything between the two of them, she couldn’t help thinking. She expected him to throw her out. She’d been expecting it since she’d woken up this morning, curled up with her squirmy child in a narrow twin bed. But Dario merely sat at the outside table where his housekeeper had served breakfast as if he had nothing on his mind at all. He read the stack of tabloids that had been waiting for him, with ancient pictures of the two of them splashed all over the front pages right there in front of her, but aside from directing a particularly blue look at her now and again, he said nothing about them.
So Anais said nothing in reply, and told herself it wasn’t avoidance, exactly. It was strategy. She drank his excellent coffee and she sampled his housekeeper’s miraculously fluffy omelets, and she told herself it didn’t make her weak or compromised that she didn’t try to beat his head in with the serving utensils after what he’d done. Damian was fine, and she was with him again. That was what mattered.
She told herself that was the reason she held her tongue.
When Dario left for work later that morning he asked her where she’d been staying and she braced herself to be tossed out—but he only nodded when she told him the name of the unremarkable hotel in Midtown she’d found at the last minute, then was on his way.
And he wasn’t even there an hour later when a courier arrived at his front door with her bags. Or when the housekeeper very efficiently whisked them away and set Anais up not in a room in the guest wing near Damian, but in the room directly opposite the master suite on the top floor.
She should protest all of this, she knew. She should have taken Damian and raced off the moment Dario had left the house this morning. Or at least she should have demanded that they discuss things now that they were all together instead of hurling insults at each other in a conference room or through the papers. She told herself she’d do so the moment he returned from the office. But the nanny took Damian out to the park and left Anais to her work. She made her usual calls and caught up on all the things she’d let slide since Dario had turned up on the island. And when Dario came