Page 193 of Wicked Proposal
“Whatever. I hate her.”
His words break my heart. Hisfacebreaks my heart—into a thousand tiny little pieces. He’s red, teary, and so nervous he could burst.
I shouldn’t have asked. I shouldn’t have put this on him.
“Baby—”
“But when Yulian’s there, you’re happy.” He looks at me again. “You get all pretty and go out and have fun, and then you take me for fancy pizza and ice cream. And in the morning, you sing while you’re making pancakes.”
Tears start welling at the bottom of my eyes, too. All this time, I’ve been trying to protect him from the harshness of our lives. To keep it hidden as long as I could.
But I never fooled him, did I?
And maybe—just maybe—I was never the one protecting him.
Hewas the one protectingme.
“I don’t want you to leave Yulian because of me,” he sniffles. “I like him. You like him. Why didn’t you say yes already?”
A watery laugh bursts out of me. “I told you, I wanted to talk to you first!”
“And now, you have!” He crosses his arms, all angry-looking and reproachful. Like he’s the parent, scolding an unruly child. “So what the heck are you waiting for?!”
I gather him into my arms. He doesn’t resist, letting me hug him tight and stroke his head as he breathes harshly, working hard to school his feelings.
“You shouldn’t say that word,” I whisper.
“Waiting?”
“Heck.”
“Oh.” He blinks. “Marcus says it, though.”
I don’t tease him this time. I just hold him close to my heart, thanking the stars for sending him to me.
My son.
My treasure.
“Okay.” I press a kiss to his head. “I’ll marry him. But don’t think for one second I’m doing it because I’m not happy being your mom.” I squeeze him a little tighter. “It’s the best heckin’ job in the whole world.”
He doesn’t say anything for a while. Then, with the smallest voice I’ve ever heard: “… Will he be my dad?”
Guilt mixes with hope in my chest. “He’d like to. But only if you’re okay with it.”
“I’m okay with it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Mhmm.” He burrows further into my embrace. “I’d like to have a dad, I think. I’ve never had one before.”
Don’t cry, Mia. You’ve only just stopped.
Seriously, enough with the waterworks already!
But I can’t help it. This time, I’m crying mixed tears—happy because of my son, sad for all the pain I’ve put him through. For that one horrible lie hanging over our heads.
Your dad died.
