“That's a diplomatic dodge.”
“It's not untrue.”
“You're my wife, Amanda. Not a COO being asked to give a report or a forecast.” He looks down, then back up at me. “That day at home, in the pool. I know you were upset that I left. You can be honest here. I want the truth.”
My phone buzzes. It's Carol.
Quick question about the North Shore nursing home account. Are we focusing more on narrative reports, and can we use AI transcription for those, directly from a dictation app? Might make it easier for seniors to explain vs. type.
“Hang on. Work question,” I tell him, giving her a quick yes.
“Role reversal,” he murmurs as he plucks an almond and an olive from a tray and eats them.
I look up from my phone and smile. “I won't need to do this for much longer.”
Suddenly, I can breathe.
Because those words feel true. Right. Open and ripe with the space I want to raise my kids. Privilege is a double-edged sword, and being married to a billionaire means I acquired a heaping dose of it when I took him as my husband.
Why not use it?
Shannon struggles with guilt about the money, but I don't. I view it as a joyful abundance I can share with others. What if I give Carol the opportunity to grow at work, to make more money to raise her kids, while I take the time to be a stay-at-home mother?
What if?
There isn't a what if.
I know what I want to do.
“Really?” he asks as the server removes our finished plate, my stomach full but still ready for more. As I shift in my chair, Lefty does a slow roll. Someday–soon–they won't be in me.
I need to treasure how this feels.
Putting my napkin over the top of my belly, I smile at Andrew. “Really. And I’m so happy you're fine with this.”
“Fine? Better than fine. But it seems so easy for you.”
“Easy?”
“How do you just walk away?”
“Because I know what I want. And fixing other people's problems isn't my role anymore.” I rub Righty. “Fixing their lives is.”
“Fix. You're a fixer. You told me that from the start, when I met you. I didn't understand it then, but I do more and more as time passes. We're different,” he says with a contemplative smile, hand on his chin again, watching me. “I don't fix problems. I find solutions that promote growth.”
“You're more ambitious.”
Something troubled comes into his expression. “Is that bad?”
“Of course not. It's who you are. Something drives you. It doesn't drive me.”
“I don't want to be like my father. I can't let work consume me.”
“Work already consumes you.”
He nods, his eyes moving slowly to the right. It’s a tell that he's thinking, hard, but trying not to be defensive. The long, slow inhale through his nose is another tell.
“It does. Are you worried?”
“No. You're a good man with a huge heart. I know you'll always put us first.”
“Us. Us means more than just us,” he murmurs, pointing me between him and me.
“We're doubling our us in one fell swoop.”
“I wish I could double my time so easily.”
I laugh and move back slightly as a dessert plate appears, covered in an assortment of panellets and two small ramekins of Crema Catalana. “Don't we all.”
Fierce eyes meet mine, the tight grasp of his hand over the back of mine jolting. “Don't let me do the wrong thing.”
“Andrew,” I gasp, surprised by the sudden tone change. “What's wrong?”
“Fathers. Fathering. My dad, your dad, Declan as a dad. Me. Vince was a street kid and old Jorg stepped in like a father for him. Vince accused Declan and me of having daddy issues, and he's not wrong.”
“Hey. At least James was around. My dad...” I let my voice drift off, unsure what to say.
“It's hard being a grown-up, isn't it?”
I eye the one and only chocolate pastry on the tray and point. “Am I being childish if I say I want that all for myself?”
Big, booming laughter pours out of Andrew as he lets go of my hand and slides the entire dessert plate in front of me.
“Not childish at all. You're eating for three.”
“Then let's flag down Connie, because I need two more.”
“You deserve it, Amanda. You deserve everything.”
The bite of creamy chocolate is in my mouth as he says this. I answer with my mouth rudely full:
“You've given me everything I need or want, Mr. Ambitious.”
“Is there anything I've missed?” He's eyeing the treats on the table.
I look him over, carefully weighing my words as I swallow and reach for his hand.
“There is one thing.”
“Name it. I'll make it happen.”
“You.”
“Me?”
“I want more of you.”
Chapter 19
Andrew
“We need to talk.”
My words make her look at me with so much fear, I instantly regret them, kicking myself for not being better at this. But how can you do better when trying to tell your wife that her deadbeat father is about to be released from his prison term for vehicular manslaughter–and wants to see her?
If someone's an expert at this, Gina would have found them for me and I'd have paid whatever price they quoted.
Balancing Amanda's health and stress levels, the babies' safety, the very real possibility that Leo could go around me, and Amanda's need to know is damn near impossible.
So I’m going to do the adult thing.
Tell her.
Questions float in her eyes as she walks over to a chair, hands on the wooden back, and begins to sway. Her hips hurt less when she does this.
Which makes me think of her pain.
Which makes me think of early labor again.
Which makes me not want to say what I need to say.
Damn Leo for putting me in this position.
Damn him.
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing's technically wrong, but I have something sensitive to tell you, and I'm trying to figure out how to do this without upsetting you. You have the whole early labor thing, and I don't want–”
“Andrew.”
I sigh. “Right. Here goes: Your dad wants to see you.”
“My what?”
“Your dad.”
“I'm not going all the way to Iowa to see him. Not now.”
“He's not in Iowa. He’s in New Hampshire. Got out a year or so ago. He lives an hour and a half away.”
“He's that close?”
I nod.
“How long?”
“You mean, how long has he been there?”
“How long have you known?”
Damn. Caught.
“Long enough.”
“Andrew.”
“A few months. Security checks on him regularly.”
“And Leo–my dad–he reached out to you? Why not me?”
“He didn't want to upset you.”
“Andrew.”
“Fine.” One hand rakes through my hair nervously as I eye her belly. “A long time ago, I wrote him a letter.”