Page 127 of Misdeeds of a Billionaire
“Mommy, can I have little soldiers to ride on trains?”
I cocked my eyebrow. “I didn’t know you liked soldiers?”
He shrugged. “Byron said he had soldiers when he was little, and they rode trains to get to war.” He put the train against the car window, holding it up. I assumed so the train could see where it was going. “Did you know Byron was in a war?” He shot me a look and widened his eyes as if to drive his point home. “A real war.”
I smiled. “Yes, I did.”
I turned to look at the busy streets of D.C. out the window. The residents of this city always seemed to be rushing to get somewhere, rain or shine.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, buddy.”
“Can Byron be my daddy?”
I froze, my eyes widening. Slowly, I turned to look at my son. His expression told me he was dead serious.
I couldn’t say that it surprised me. Byron had a way with Ares. And then there was the little fact that hewasAres’s father. I sighed. I needed to tell him. I should have told him. Yet, the words refused to leave my lips.
Why?
I had no fucking idea. Maybe I didn’t want to ruin the moment. Maybe I feared he’d hate me for keeping his son away from him. I did try to tell him, but Nicki and his father had gotten in the way. Then the accident happened, and he thought I’d lost the baby.
“Maman?” Ares’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts and I sighed.
“Yes, of course. You can call him daddy.”Because he is your daddy.God, I’d have to talk to both Byron and Ares.
My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out.
I read the message.*Bouillabaisse for dinner and crème brûlée for dessert.*
An incredulous breath left me. It was the last thing I expected. Bouillabaisse was a French dish. My sister and I grew up on it. We loved it, but I didn’t think Byron would. It was a classic French fish soup with seafood, but if not prepared right, none of us would be eating it.
I typed a message back.*Are you sure? We’re starving. Bouillabaisse and crème brûlée are tricky to prepare.*
The reply was instant.*Have some faith.*
I chuckled. “Okay, then,” I murmured under my breath.
As we made our way back home, my thoughts reverted back to the five-year-old-boy-sized secret. The knot in my stomach twisted. It felt like—unintentionally or not—I’d stolen something precious from my husband, and just as things were starting to improve, I was about to ruin it with my admission. But there was no way around it. I had to tell him.
The car came to a stop, and before Bernard had a chance to open the door, Ares was already out the door, running up the stairs. I shook my head, trailing behind him.
“Thank you, Bernard.”
He nodded and gave me a small smile. Making my way reluctantly up the stairs, my stomach twisted at the thought of sharing my secret with my husband. I had to do it. Had to!
Voices drifted through the home as I walked into the house. My heart thundered as I followed the sounds of Ares’s and Byron’s voices.
“Oh my gosh, can I have some?” I heard Ares ask.
“I don’t know,” I heard Byron mutter. “It looks kind of mushy. I’d never seen it mushy before. Where is the cook?”
I walked into the kitchen to find both of my men standing there, staring at the pot. Byron had a wooden spoon in his hand and was frowning.
Every so often, he’d shake his head, muttering, “This is wrong.”
“It looks like puke,” Ares remarked, his face slightly twisting. I didn’t think he’d eat that dessert if his expression was anything to go by.
