Page 62 of Shame

She shakes her head. “Never got to it.”

“Good on you,” I mutter.

“You’re not a happy mother?”

I keep my eyes intent on the little one, not sure what to answer. No, I’m not a happy mother. I have the right instincts in the right places. I do what I have to. Feed him. Comfort him. Keep him clean. But I’m not his mother. There’s no love in my heart. I hope we’ll find a good family. That’s as far as my affection goes.

“What did you name him, or her?”

“I haven’t named it,” I mutter.

Matron darts up and walks around the table, pushing the blanket a little to the side, freeing his black tuft of hair. As she does that, he opens his dark eyes and peeks up at her. Matron gasps and takes a step back.

“That’s not Lucas’ child.”

I grit my teeth and stare at the mug in front of me, a chafed Disney princess decorating it, the handle broken. Then I shake my head.

“Is it his child?” she whispers.

“Yes,” I say, barely audible.

She gasps and takes a step back. I jerk and look up at her. The little one loses his grip on my nipple and the milk drips on his cheek in a steady flow. He grunts and flails, but I barely notice.

“Carmen, you clever girl!”

“What?” I don’t feel particularly clever. I feel like the biggest loser walking the earth.

“Right there, you have the key to saving your lover.”

I frown and look down at the little boy who is trying to find his way back to his food. I push the nipple to his mouth, both of us sighing with relief as he starts sucking again.

“I— I don’t understand.”

“How attached are you to this child?”

I scoff bitterly.

“Salvatore’s only regret in life is that he doesn’t have an heir. Is that a boy or a girl?”

“It’s a boy.” Something in her voice makes me sit up straight. My heart pounds harder as I wait for her to continue.

“You and Lucas are so unbelievably lucky.”

“What are you saying?”

“That’s how you get him off the hook, Carmen! We let Salvatore know he has a son.”

My chest clenches at the mere thought of letting him know anything at all. Especially anything regarding me.

“Why? How?”

“He’ll want this child. You want Lucas to go free. You’ll give him his boy, but you’ll have terms.”

I lose the ability to breathe for a few moments. My mouth goes paper dry.

“Would that work?”

“We’ll make it work. Trust me.”

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