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“Thank you, Aurelio,” she said, giving me a nod as she tried to blink the tears away. “For everything. I’ll never be able to make it u—“
“I’m gonna stop you right there,” I cut her off. “You don’t need to thank me. I’m happy to help. Uh-oh,” I said when Judah started to cry. “Better get to work on his high chair before it’s time to make dinner,” I said, getting a smile out of her before she rushed off to grab her son.
I walked out sometime later, finding her cuddling and calming Judah, swaying in the living room. And, fuck, there was that gut punch again.
That feeling like everything I ever wanted was right there in front of me.
But that was fucking ridiculous.
So I forced myself to walk away.
She wasn’t mine.
Neither was Judah.
I needed to get a damn grip.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Claire
I didn’t unwind, not fully, that first day. Or even the first full day after that.
I think my body was just stuck in fight-or-flight, some part of me sure that Warren might come bursting through the door at any moment, despite the guard sitting in his car out front of the house, likely heavily armed, and ready to make a call for back-up, if necessary.
Judah, however, settled right in. He even napped better than he had since he was a newborn. Long and deep enough to allow me time to clean up his toys, to do some straightening up and meal-prepping.
Little by little, though, I could feel my shoulders relaxing. Each time I walked out of our room and into the main area of the house to find… no one watching us, no one making sure I was feeding Judah exactly what was allowed, no one pacing the grounds with guns, so I couldn’t leave.
To an extent, I don’t think I realized just how many eyes were on me until there were none.
I mean, yeah, Aurelio was around in the early mornings, and came home in the late afternoons. But it was different. He wasn’t looking to judge. He was just looking.
And on more than one occasion, if I walked away to move the wash along or grab something, when I came back, Aurelio was suddenly on the floor—in his expensive suit—playing with Judah. Helping him with puzzles. Building with blocks. Running little wooden trucks along the floor.
Warren never played with Judah.
The extent of his interest in his son was dropping into the nursery a time or two a day to look at him. Maybe pat the kid’s head. But never, ever, actually interacting with him.
Because, I guess, interacting with kids required a certain level of selflessness and whimsy.
Warren didn’t possess either of those traits.
It was on the fifth day of living in Aurelio’s home that something unexpected happened.
I was grabbing a cup of milk for Judah, part of our bedtime ritual, and I came back to the bedroom to find Judah sitting on Aurelio’s chest while Aurelio read him one of his books.
I don’t have the right words to explain what the sensation was then.
Like a squeezing in my chest.
Like that swirly sensation in your belly you get when driving too quickly over a hill, making your tummy bottom out for a second.
What was that?
Longing?
It sure felt like longing.
