Page 50 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King

I glance at Ren, who matches her pace without matching her enthusiasm, our eyes meeting briefly. We’re too caught up in Harper’s rampant pace to fight, dragged along through the winding walkways. She crams up against a viewing fence, standing on her tiptoes.

“What’s that?” she blurts.

In the enclosure, some kind of vaguely exotic deer meander between the trees in the distance. Ren and I glance at each other. Neither of us knows. Not enoughNational Geographicin our childhoods, maybe. There are too many people in front of the sign.

Ren hefts her up to his eye level, plants her feet on the middle rung of the fence as they stand and watch. I am relegated to holding Applesauce for her.

I watch her face, the sheer giddiness from just seeing an animal going about its ordinary animal business. They really aren’t even that impressive. I’ve seen something similar enough mangled up on the side of I-87. But Harper is in love.

I hug Applesauce closer and watch as Harper coos over a deer nipping at the grass on the opposite side of the fence just a couple feet away from us. Cameras shutter and click. I realize I should do the same. Except, I don’t really want a picture of the deer. I snap a candid shot of Harper, her eyes lit with wonder. An emotion nobody has after they turn ten.

The moment frozen in time there on the screen makes my stomach lurch. I had been so focused on Harper’s face; I hadn’t noticed Ren’s. His arm hugs her back as he holds her up, his eyes on her face, his mouth twisted in that rugged, pretty smirk I remember. Almost showing teeth. Maybe it wasn’t a smile. Maybe he’d been about to speak. But a picture of the two of them, wrapped up in the moment, makes my heart do a nosedive. He has that same light in his eyes.

Helookslike her father in that picture.

I drag my eyes up from the screen and do a double-take of his face. A compare and contrast. From that gorgeous happy man on the screen to the dour, serious eyebrows and gaunt cheeks. He notices my stare, and I look away, feeling crazy.

It’s like I took a picture of a ghost.

Harper’s attention wanes and the promise of more interesting animals keeps her moving through the zoo. A constant stream of questions falls from her mouth for any and everything that we pass.

“What’s that?”

“A bison.”

“What’s that?”

“An okapi.”

“What’s that?”

“Harper, that’s a bathroom.”

While Harper falls in love with a tiger sunning itself on a distant rock, Ren and I stand back and watch her, letting her get up close with all the other kids crammed up around the enclosure’s glass.

Unprompted, Ren says, “This is what you should be focusing on,” he nods toward Harper. “Not the past.”

“That’s rich,” I comment, “coming from the man who isobsessedwith the past.”

“Not the past,” he says quietly.

I am made to infer the rest, but it’s not difficult.

I stare at the tiger, the words making my stomach flutter in a way that feels shameful. Over and over, Ren has said that we are each other’s future. I should resist that, should see it for the fucked-up, objectifying claim it is. But in some ugly way, it feels good to be wanted—even if it’s just the way a predator wants its next meal. Like it’s life or death if Ren Caruso doesn’t have me.

“She’s a good kid,” he adds. “Easy.”

“No kid is easy,” I correct. “Not that you’d know anything about that, when you all you have to do is step in and pay for her to be happy and well-behaved. Pay-to-win parenting.”

He scoffs under his breath like I’ve said something absurd.

“I’m serious. Do you think I’ve just had it easy this whole time, that everything was roses?”

“I never said that.”

“But you think you could do just as good a job as me, withnoexperience—”

“I never said that either. Why are you trying to fight, Nadia?”

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