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I’m still trying to process this life-changing news when the music room door creaks open again. A young girl steps inside, her hair neatly plaited and her striking turquoise eyes—my mother’s eyes—immediately fixing on me with suspicion.
“Ewan, Evita is looking for you,” she says, though her gaze never wavers from my face. I can see so much of Seraphina in this child, from her delicate features to her poised demeanor. She’s beautiful, and my heart aches thinking of all I’ve missed.
When Ewan doesn’t respond quickly enough, the girl puts her hands on her hips. “Are you the mean guy who’s making Mom’s life miserable?” she demands.
I’m taken aback by her confrontational tone. Before I can formulate a response, Ewan pipes up cheerfully, “Ary, be nice. He’s hurt. Take a look at his leg and his hand. Plus, he’s not that mean. I think we can make him nice.”
The little girl frowns slightly, still scrutinizing me. “Mom said we’re not supposed to come upstairs—ever. Not even at night.” She steps closer and lowers her voice. “You should leave before the mean man finds you. He’s scary. I’ve heard him yell at Mom, just like Grandfather used to do.”
I feel ashamed of myself as she compares me to Thatcher. But I’m nothing like him. I glance between the twins, even more perplexed. These two children are strangers to me, yet they are undeniably mine—mine and Seraphina’s.I should tell them right now. Take them with me and leave her without them for six years so she can learn how it is to . . . the simple thought of hurting her stops me. I would never do that to her. Even without intending to, I did, and I don’t plan on repeating that again.
“Where is your dad?” I ask gently, wondering what they know about me.
Ary looks at the floor sadly, nearly breaking my heart. Ewan answers in his cheerful way, “Mom says it’s complicated. He’s not in a good place.”
She’s never talked about me? I don’t know how to feel about it. They should at least . . . well, I’m not sure what to say but ask, “You don’t know him?”
They both shake their little heads.
“Mom says that he’s sick,” Ary adds somberly.
Ewan continues, “But she also promised that if he gets better, we’ll get to meet him.” It’s like they finish each other’s thoughts.
“I wish he were here, and we could be a family,” Ary says wistfully.
“But you can’t because he’s sick,” I conclude, a lump in my throat.
The twins nod in unison.
Just then, a woman, who I think might be Evita, comes running in, looking frantic. “I’m going to get fired,” she laments.
“It’ll be fine,” I assure her, though my mind is still reeling.
“Please don’t tell her they came upstairs,” Evita begs me.
Ary touches my injured hand gently, then caresses it. “It’ll get better soon,” she says sweetly. My heart melts looking at her kind face.
“Can you keep a secret?” Ary asks anxiously.
I nod and solemnly promise I won’t breathe a word of this encounter to Seraphina. As I usher the three of them out, my head is spinning. I’m a father—and Seraphina kept it from me all this time. I’m devastated, angry, and confused. Why did she keep it from me?
Then I remember they said their father is sick, just like Thatcher, which is why Zane kept that secret from Seraphina. I want to be a part of them, but I’m not sure how to do it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Seraphina
I smooth a strand of Aria’s hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering just a moment to relish its silken feel. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the park after dinner, okay?”
She nods, her sweet face lighting up at the promise that this time we will get to do something fun.
“You said the same yesterday,” Ewan pouts, arms crossed over his little chest.
“I wasn’t counting on having this emergency,” I explain, my voice soft and gentle. “But tomorrow it should work out.”
“When can we go home?” Ary asks, her lower lip trembling. “I miss my bed and my room.”
“Maybe ten more weeks,” I say, though I’m unsure if that guess is accurate.
