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Brahms: They want their father.
Sephie: How do you know?
Brahms: I already met them, Seraphina. You think you can contain them—but they’re your children, baby. They can’t be told what to do.
I hope that’s not too forward. I do want her back, but I’ll be happy with just becoming a family, whatever that looks.
Brahms: I’ll fly to the East Coast soon, be ready.
Chapter Thirty
Seraphina
My stomach is a mass of nerves as the helicopter gets closer to New York City. When Ellington showed up unannounced saying Brahms wanted to meet, I almost refused. But he urged me to hear Brahms out for the sake of my kids, if nothing else. So here I am.
From this height, Central Park resembles a painter’s patchwork quilt, a vibrant splash in the midst of urban steel and glass. The thrumming of the helicopter’s blades creates a rhythm that underscores the wild tempo of my heartbeat.
I smooth my sweaty palms over my jeans, watching the city grow larger beneath us. What does Brahms want to discuss that is so important I need to be there today? He said he wouldn’t hurt me, but it’s hard to believe when everyone who loved me seemed to do that without caring how much my heart would break.
“Are you okay?” Ellington asks from the pilot seat. I just nod tightly, my throat blocked with a lump of emotions.
As we near the landing pad, my pulse kicks into overdrive. I try to muster a confident smile, but it’s more of a grimace. I’m not sure I’m ready for this confrontation. “I got a free ride to the city, I’m peachy,” I manage to say sarcastically.
The helicopter touches down smoothly. It’s been ages since I’ve flown with Ellington and it seems like he’s now a professional pilot. I take a deep breath and accept Ellie’s hand as I step out on shaky legs. There’s no way to run or hide, is there? I’m here to . . . Why did Brahms summon me here? He could’ve come to me.
Almost immediately I spot Brahms, who stands tall, waiting for me, looking healthy and strong again. More assured, firmer in stance, all six foot four of him radiates a newfound energy that he didn’t have when he came to the center almost a year ago. Our eyes meet, and in an instant, I’m transported back to the time when we were together, and he was my entire world. I have to remind myself that things are different now.
I don’t know this man, and it’s been six months since he disappeared from me without a goodbye or an explanation.
“Seraphina,” he murmurs, the sound rich and deep, stirring something within me. Making me ache for his arms, maybe even his lips.
With a slight tilt of his head and a subtle shift of his eyes, he gestures toward the elevator doors nearby. I hesitantly step forward, the heels of my shoes echoing slightly in the landing area. The elevator dings softly as we approach, and Brahms extends his hand, pressing the button with a deliberation that only heightens the tension.
Inside, the confined space of the elevator wraps around us, amplifying the awkward silence.
My palms grow clammy, and I clutch my purse tighter. Every second that passes amplifies my anxiety. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly parched.
After what feels like forever, there’s a soft chime, announcing our arrival. As the sleek doors part, the splendor of the Ehrenberg’s Associates floor reveals itself. High ceilings cradle impressive light fixtures that illuminate the space, while expansive windows grant a view of New York’s midday rush.
People move purposefully, some immersed in their conversations, others glued to their screens. The floor’s design is a blend of glass and steel, wood panels and minimalist décor.
As I step out, the soft carpet cushions each footfall, and the faint scent of coffee, expensive perfumes, and tobacco floats through the air, mingling with the subtle undertones of polished leather and ink. I find myself absorbing everything from the soft hum of machines to the occasional murmur of hushed conversations.
Brahms moves ahead, leading the way through a maze of cubicles and open-concept desks. He stops before an imposing pair of glass doors etched with the Ehrenberg logo. Pushing one open, he gestures for me to enter. The room is spacious, dominated by a long, mahogany table. Chairs with high backs and plush seating line the sides, and at the far end, a massive window reveals a panoramic view of the city. The magnitude of everything is overwhelming.
I take a seat close to the window. The door closes with a soft click, and the weight of the impending conversation settles on top of my chest.
Brahms clears his throat, looking at me with those mesmerizing blue eyes that are unreadable. “Seraphina,” he begins, his voice steady, but with an undercurrent of detachment that’s foreign to me. “Thank you for coming. I realize this isn’t easy.”
“More so when I don’t know why you summoned me. Why are you doing this and being cryptic? I need answers,” I whisper the last three words.
He nods slowly, his gaze lingering on the table’s polished surface. His jaw tightens. “And you deserve them. Every single one of them.”
A flutter of apprehension touches my chest. I tilt my head, studying him. His brows are drawn together, his lips pressed into a thin line—a clear sign that something’s weighing heavily on his mind. “Should I be concerned about what you have to tell me?”
His eyes lift to meet mine, they’re so intense my anxiety spikes. “Zane was an amazing friend, a great man. But above all,” he pauses, swallowing hard, “he was the best brother anyone could ever have.”
I can’t help but smile at the memory of Zane. “He was the best.”
