Page 64 of Holly, Jolly, and Oh So Naughty

It was an innocent slip of the tongue. Emma didn’t even notice she said it. But James did.

I did.

Hearing that word come from her was like getting punched in the gut, and my entire world shifted off-axis. James was worried, asking me if I was okay, and no matter how I tried to rearrange my face to hide how I was feeling, it didn’t seem to work.

He kept a concerned eye on me for the rest of the night, even as we went to visit my parents so they could bury Emma in kisses because of her performance.

Is this happening?

Is my secret out?

For the rest of the night, everything around me seems slightly fuzzy. James sticks by my side, doing what he can to help, but each interaction he has with Emma just makes my heart ache more.

Does he suspect?

Does he know?

I can’t tell. We head home, and I take Emma up to bathe. She plays in the bubbles while my mind loops on that single word.Dad. As I tuck her into bed, she asks if James will be here tomorrow so they can go ice skating again. I tell her I have no idea and read her a story until she falls asleep.

Back downstairs, James is waiting in the kitchen with a half-drunk bottle of wine and two glasses, one full and one empty.

As I enter, James refills the empty glass while sliding the other toward me. Without a word, I take the glass and head out onto the snow-covered patio, as if the cold will keep my emotions in check. And I don’t want Emma to hear.

“Lily,” James says as he joins me. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not really,” I sigh, wrapping my arms around myself and balancing the glass in my hand.

“Why did you look like you’d seen a ghost when Emma called me Dad? Is that what happened? Is her father dead?”

It would be easier that way, I think, if her father were some nameless person, a distant memory who didn’t matter. Dead to me would be easier. But I can’t keep this up. Sooner or later, James will learn the truth and it has to come from me.

He has to understand.

I sip my wine and stare out across the white garden, right to the edge where darkness swallows up the world.

“You haven’t guessed?” I say softly.

“Guessed what?” James asks. He stands to my left, a few feet away, and I can’t bring myself to face him. I don’t want to see the pain on his face, or the anger.

“Emma’s father. He’s…” The words catch in my throat, and I close my eyes, hugging my glass to my chest. When I open them, James stands before me.

“Talk to me, Lily.”

“He’s you,” I say hoarsely. “You are Emma’s father.”

All color drains from James’s face. “What?”

“You are Emma’s father.”

He takes a half-step back. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Is it really so ridiculous? She’s six years old, James. You never did the math when you saw her?”

His eyes dart back and forth. “But Mark… I thought…” His frown deepens as he trails off.

“I know. But you thought wrong.”

“I don’t understand.” When James looks back up at me, there’s anger in his eyes. “How could you keep this from me?”

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