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He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. “The time I found out, Ellington was halfway across the world, dragging your sorry ass out of a Cairo prison. By the time we got you back, you were shipped straight to rehab.” He shakes his head ruefully. “The timing . . . it was all wrong.”
I slam my fist on the piano, the discordant note punctuating my rage. They knew I had children and kept it from me? Unforgivable.
“I deserved to know.” I snarl. “I missed six years of their lives.”
Sibelius holds up a hand. “I’m sorry, but I was protecting them.”
His words are a red rag to a bull. “Protecting them? From their own father?”
He nods. “You’re a fucking mess.”
Ellington’s voice cuts in, his tone tense. “Why did you call us here?”
Bartók, clearly riled up, his jaw set in a hard line, pounds a fist on a nearby table. “We can easily take them from her.”
“It’s Fifi. You protect Fifi, even from our fucking brother,” Joplin reminds him. “I do want to meet the twins, though. Especially if they’ve got my good looks.”
Ellington chuckles, trying to defuse the situation. “Dude, we were all carbon copies as kids. Keep that ego in check.”
“Can we bring this back to me?” I interject, my voice strained. I recount my recent talks with my therapist, my intensified rehab schedule, and other support measures I’m taking. “Right now, my goal is simple: convince Sephie to let me be part of their lives.”
Joplin studies me, eyes narrowed.“So, let me get this straight. You don’t want Fifi back?”
A lump forms in my throat, the thought of not being with her is almost unbearable. “Of course, I want her back. She’s the love of my life. But I’ve got to prioritize. Building a relationship with my kids seems like the first step.”
“How will you do that?” Ellington stares at me, and I don’t like his skeptical look. That’s okay. I have to earn their trust, too. I have to show them that this time, I’m serious about getting better. Ready to do the work.
A small, determined smile tugs at my lips. “That’s where you guys come in,” I say, looking at each of them. “I’ve got a plan, and I’m gonna need all of your help.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Seraphina
Something about Brahms’s brothers’ visit just isn’t sitting right with me. It’s nearly eleven, and I can still hear them in the music room, playing and being rowdy as they always have been. I hope Brahms isn’t overexerting his hand trying to keep up—those Ehrenberg boys have always been competitive to a fault.
With a sigh, I set aside the book I’ve been trying unsuccessfully to focus on. It was foolish to think I could relax enough to sleep. My mind is too preoccupied, thoughts spinning.
Why are they really here? It’s just strange that they don’t visit at all, and suddenly, they’re here late at night for an impromptu family reunion. I wrap my arms around myself, feeling cold despite the cozy pajamas and my warm blanket. Why am I shivering? Maybe it’s just fear making me tremble.
He’s asking too many questions about guests and . . . what if he finds out about the kids before I tell him?
Should I just do it?
I was rejected by Roger so many times that I just assumed I would never have to tell Brahms about them. I squeeze my eyes shut, fresh heartache swelling. They want to meet their dad badly, but what if he only breaks their hearts when he lets them down.
Maybe I’m being paranoid, but where Brahms is concerned, I can’t afford to let my guard down again. Not when two precious, innocent lives depend on me.
I have to get through the next few days. Whatever Brahms is planning, I’ll be ready. I might even leave an hour early with some excuse about the house. It’s the only way to be sure they don’t find out about the kids.
The music continues, and I decide to remind Brahms about his hand.
Sephie: Sounds like you guys are having fun up there. Don’t overdo it, though. Your hand is still healing.
Brahms: I’m behaving. But you can come to supervise . . . unless your boyfriend objects?
Sephie: (:rolling-eyes: emoji) There’s no boyfriend.
Brahms: But you have other people staying over, right?
