Page 54 of Adonis: The Cost of a Billionaire's Heart
“You two were like brothers once, right?” she accused. “At least that’s what he said in the letter he wrote me, threatening to take my fucking son,” she whispered, eyes darting over her shoulder to make sure Mason was out of earshot.
My heart raced, mind scrambling for the right way to respond. It wasn’t a situation I could throw money at. And if I could, what did that say about me? There was a deep ache in my chest seeing the hurt on her face. I couldn’t help but feel like I failed her or let her down by not telling her about my past with Jadarius on the jet. Still, I wanted her to know that he wouldn’t be an issue for her moving forward.
I froze before my chest deflated with a slow exhale. “Sim, . . . I should’ve told you.”
“Yeah. You should’ve. But instead, you looked me in the eyes and berated me about keeping secrets when you were keeping some of your own.”
“I was trying to protect you. I didn’t want to drag you any deeper into my shit than you already were.”
“I’m a grown ass woman, Adonis. You don’t get to decide what I can and cannot handle, and you damn sure don’t protect me by lying to my face.”
My eyes were downcast. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I mean that.”
“So, it’s true? You two were close?”
“Yes, it’s true. But not in the ways that you think.”
Silence stretched between us. Then, slowly, I slid my foot away, and the door closed—but before my heart could plummet completely, I heard the chain slide free. The door reopened, wider that time. Simora stood there, beautiful even in sweatpants and a faded T-shirt, arms crossed defensively over her chest. Behind her, I glimpsed Mason peeking around a corner.
“Then enlighten me. But you’ve got five minutes. It’s already past Mason’s bedtime.”
I dipped my chin, suddenly tongue-tied. I’d rehearsed my speech a dozen times in the ride over, but in her presence, the words were scrambled like a puzzle.
I stepped inside, smelling the aroma of pepperoni from the opened pizza box occupying half the kitchen counter. The corner of my mouth lifted at the sight of the ceramic cookie jar shaped like a rocket ship beside the toaster and the fridge filled with Mason’s crayon drawings. There was a grocery list with the words juice boxes underlined three times at the top.
There were framed photos of Sim and Mason on the walls leading toward the living room—a mix of professional photographs and silly selfies of them through the years. On the sofa were mismatched throw pillows and a blue fleece blanket draped over the back. A flat-screen TV sat on top of a wooden bookshelf that was filled with children’s books and a few black romance novels she’d probably never gotten the opportunity to read.
“We met when we were teenagers on some give back to the community initiative my father was doing,” I finally managed to say while running my hand down my nape. “We clicked almost immediately, but at the same time, we were like oil and water when it came down to life and the choices we made. We were kids and shit, so I didn’t notice it at first. To me, we were having fun. But as we got older, he got more reckless. The more I tried to help him, the more trouble he seemed to get into.”
She scoffed while rolling her eyes skyward. “Sounds like Jadarius.”
“It got to the point where we lost touch when I went off to college, and after I graduated, my father wanted me to cut ties with him altogether.”
“And did you?” she inquired, folding her arms across her chest.
I dipped my chin. “I did.”
“And he just accepted it?”
“He ain’t have a choice,” I replied with a shrug.
She didn’t respond right away. The silence between us was thicker than a mouthful of peanut butter. “So, you said you met with him?”
“Yeah.”
“What did you say to him about me? Did he mention my son?”
“I made it clear to him that you both were off fuckin’ limits. And that if he ever came near you or Mason I’d . . .” I paused, my breath catching in my throat. She noticed. “Listen, I didn’t come all the way here to make excuses for what I did. I came to tell you what I should’ve said earlier on the jet before we landed.”
Her expression didn’t change. “And what’s that exactly?”
“That I lied when I said it was a mistake,” I answered, the words rushing out. “When I acted like it was just business, just the champagne. It wasn’t. It wasn’t just business with you. If I’mbeing honest, it never was. Not since the moment I saw you in that elevator.”
“Then why’d you say it was?”
“Because when I found out he was the father, I lost my shit. I saw everything I’d built, the future I wanted with you, everything put in jeopardy.”
She studied me, searching for deception. I forced myself to stand there, exposed, letting her see through me and straight to the truth.
