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She shakes her head again. “I hope so. I want to help her. Amaya was finally happy with the three of you. And she said you guys were getting along great with Mikey, too.”
“He’s a sweet little boy,” I sigh deeply. My son. Knowing it for a fact hits different than the mere suspicion that I’ve been carrying with me for the past couple of months. “Like I said, Mira, it was going well. Sure, we may have hit a few snags along the way, and we’ve got some unsavory elements hovering around us at the estate, but it’s nothing that we couldn’t resolve, nothing that we couldn’t handle together.”
“She’s scared, that much I’m sure of.”
“Scared of what?”
But that’s not something that Mira is able to help me with. I’m willing to bet it’s got something to do with her future, with Mikey’s well-being, with her life in the long term.
“She mentioned something about Ramada Chesterfield putting in a bid for the estate,” Mira says.
I shake my head. “We would never sell. Amaya should’ve known better than to heed that woman’s nonsense,” I scoff, crossing my arms as I lean back into my chair. “And she could’ve asked us about it before handing in her letter of resignation.”
“I told her the same thing when she first mentioned it. I know from Elias that the estate is meant to be your legacy. You would never sell. Your hearts and souls were poured into that place. I tried to get her to tell me more, but she said she had stuff to do. That she’d think about everything and make a decision. Low and behold, I called her earlier to check up on her and she tells me she handed in her resignation.”
I nod slowly. Mira is just as baffled as the rest of us. Mira did, however, provide me with important information, a crucial piece of the puzzle—the confirmation that Mikey is my son. It changes everything between us, whether Amaya is ready for it or not.
I’m not letting her struggle, not even if she chooses to never return to the estate. I’m not letting my son suffer or go without in any way.
“Please, for the love of God, don’t tell her,” Mira says, as if reading my mind.
“You will not be involved in this, I promise. I know how important it is, and I am nothing but grateful for your decision to share that secret with me.”
“You’re a decent man, like Elias,” Mira concedes softly. “And Amaya is letting her fear get the better of her. I had to do something, dammit.”
She gave me one more reason to not give up on Amaya. To fight even harder for her and for Mikey. Despite this nonsense, despite the confusion and the vultures circling over our heads, I will win her back.
There’s no other option.
20
Amaya
Idon’t know if I’m doing the right thing. It should be crystal clear.
It seemed like the right thing to do when I was angry enough. But now that the anger has subsided, doubt has taken its place. What was I even angry about? That they considered doing business with Derrick? I warned them about him.
It wasn’t my place to insist nor to judge them over it. It’s their money. They’re grown men. They know what they’re doing. But they said they wouldn’t work with him. Ever.
I guess it felt like a betrayal.
But that wasn’t the main reason for my decision to resign. It wasn’t the prospect of them selling the estate, either. Mira made a good point of reminding me that they love that place too much to ever let it go.
And they certainly wouldn’t sell to the likes of Ramada Chesterfield. The board of directors would be unable to proceed with the sale without Kace, Elias, and Finn’s signatures, anyway. So, that feels like another storm in a teacup. Enough days have passed for my thoughts to finally settle coherently.
I resigned because I’m pregnant. It’s bad enough that I’ve yet to tell Kace about Mikey. I’m pregnant again, and he may or may not be the father. No matter how many times I repeat that to myself, it doesn’t stop sounding insane. Because it is insane. I’m in love with three men, and now I’m carrying one of their children in my womb.
I did what I had to do in order to protect myself on an emotional level.
In hindsight, I realize now that it borders on stupid.
“Momma, I’m hungry,” Mikey says as he comes out of the bedroom. I’m renting a nice little place in downtown Sacramento. We got lucky to find something relatively cheap and with functional air conditioning. “What’s for lunch?”
His blue eyes would usually soothe me, but they remind me too much of Kace. I’m still dealing with unresolved emotions—fear and uncertainty—with an insatiable kind of longing. “How about I make us some pasta?”
We’re on a tight budget until I find another job. I’ve done the math, and with what I saved so far by living on the estate, I can keep us in relative comfort for the next two to three months. Though I need to be active in my job search efforts.
“Pasta is good. Tomatoes and cheese?” my little guy lights up like a firebug.
