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“It’s a great song. I love the video.”
Her eyes lit up. “You’ve seen it?”
“Of course, I’ve seen it. Like lots of times.”And I’ve also wanked to it. You sexy fox in that tight little dress, gyrating provocatively.
As she went about picking items from the floor, I wanted to suggest I get her some help—a cleaner or a cook or anything to make her life easier. I didn’t, though. That suggestion would have fired her up, making me have to reach for the lube back at home.
Who would have thought a fiery redhead could be the equivalent of Viagra?
She paused. “I’ve got money. Cian’s going to have the best of everything. Not public school, though.”
That came crashing down like a ton of bricks. I personally didn’t mind. My mother, UK’s biggest snob, would go nuts, however. “Oh well, there’s a few years for that yet.”
Her eyes narrowed. I could see that she’d made up her mind about our son’s future. “I want Cian to have a family, and I’ve only got Sheridan and her mother, my aunt Hermione. They’re great and will love Cian like their own, but I want him to know his father too.” She tangled her fingers. “But I will be the one to decide where he’s going to live, his diet, and his education.”
I sprang up. I couldn’t just sit and wear it. My balls needed to make a show. Not literally, despite them throbbing that little more after I imagined unclasping her bra.
“I have a right to some say, you know. I am his father.”
Her eyes widened. She looked stunned by this sudden heated challenge. I also noticed how she looked away when I utteredfather.
“Iamhis father, aren’t I?”
She looked down at a piece of paper that sat among used cups, plates, and baby paraphernalia.
“You’ve had a paternity test?” I didn’t know why that should shock me, but it did. Cian was indisputably my son. He had to be. I’d become attached.
She went to bite a fingernail but resisted. “I had to know one way or the other.”
I opened out my hands. “Well?”
“Would it matter if he wasn’t?”
“Shit, Mirabel, stop talking in fucking riddles. Is he my son?”
She flinched at my raised voice. “Yes” shot out of her mouth. “He is your son. Just as we all suspected. But I needed to know for sure. I’m about to go to a solicitor and look into my rights as his mother.”
My brow scrunched. “Why? What do you think I’ll do?”
“Well for one, you want us to move into a posh house. And I noticed that flinch at the mention of schooling.”
“I have a right. And if you go to a solicitor, so will I. I wasn’t going to. But if you don’t give me a say, then I’ll have to.”
Cian started to cry for the first time, and we both turned sharply towards his crib at the same time.
Mirabel lifted him and cradled Cian in her arms. “He’s not used to heated discussions.”
“No.” I finished my drink in one gulp. “I guess it’s normally just you.”
I went to him, and as he cried, so did my heart. I wanted to hold him. To calm him.
Then he suddenly stopped. His wide-eyed, searching stare darted from me to his mother. I pulled a silly face and warbled, which made him smile, and sunshine poured in again.
Cian was back in his cradle with a blanket wrapped around him when Mirabel looked up at me and said, “You should go.”
Although she pushed me towards the door, I stood still. “I don’t want us to be like this.”
Her eyes were wide and filled with fire. “How do you want us to be?”
