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"The boy is eighteen," Edward answers for me.
"He's scrawny for his age," Carter declares. "I want to take his DNA before you go. I'd like to be sure."
"Please not. I am not wanting a father."
"You need to rule Mr Turnbridge out," Edward insists, his hand gripping my arm. "Your mother once told me your father was some cartel lord. She wanted to find him so you would get a decent life. I wasn't the man she was looking for, but I obliged her financially once she was gone."
"I do not understand." Or maybe I just don't want to.
Edward's grip eases and he guides me to the sofa, turning back to Carter. "His mother wanted to find the boy's father and ask for money. She didn't know his name. Gavriil had promised to set her up with me, who he considered a good candidate, but I am not the boy's father. I was never in Romania; I was never unfaithful."
"But if he is eighteen, I was not in Romania when he was born. I was there twenty years ago."
"He is eighteen and a half, plus the nine months his mother carried him. That puts you in Romania almost twenty years ago."
"I concede it could be possible," Carter shrugs. Finding another bastard child isn't the same revelation as it is for me. "I'll need confirmation through a DNA test."
Today has been quite the day for unpicking my life. I thought telling Knox about my relationship with Gavriil being purely financial was enough, and now my mother's sins are laid bare.
"I do not need help from anyone. I not need a father. Mama not say we coming for a father. She just say we hurry and she couldn't wait. They said little children could not travel on the train as cargo carriage had no heat. Youngest that travel that way was twelve, so that is how long we wait." I do not want to be Carter's son.
"I always said you looked younger when you clung to your mother's dress." Edward addresses me directly once again. "I supported you after she died. It was the best you could hope for until you found your real father, and it was a financial commitment I could easily afford."
"I have no money."
"I paid it into your account."
Tiffany said that too. But I don't have a bank account.
"I don't have."
"You don't have a bank card?" Carter frowns, forking a small rectangular from his wallet.
"Ah. That thing come in letter. It make good scraper of mould."
"You didn't-" Edward stops himself with a groan. "That is a debit card so you can spend all the money I gave you."
I did wonder why the letter had arrived with the scraper, but I can't read English and I didn't bother showing Gavriil, knowing he didn't read it either. I feel relieved that I didn't show him. He would have recognised the card, but knowing his frequency of gambling debts, I doubt he would have told me. At least using the card as a scraper means the money is safe.
"Can I get new card? And lesson in how it do thing?"
Both men look at me, and I recognise their expressions. They would both throw money at me, but that is where their obligation ends. They don't actually want to do anything for me, and I have grown up with no expectations of help. I know Porter would help.
This situation is nothing more than a business negotiation. It’s about Edward having something for Carter to negate the fact he killed his daughter.
Gregory enters with a very different expression. He smiles at me, sitting beside me on the sofa. I may not need anyone, but I like it when people smile at me - I like the way Porter smiles at me. Being his brother would change that. That sleepy kiss… That caring smile… All of that will be gone.
"Open your mouth, little bro." Gregory sits beside me with a cotton wool bud, and when I obey him, he wipes it across the inside of my cheek. "Well done. We'll call with the results when we have them."
"My wife will hear of none of this," Carter insists.
"Of course not," Edward agrees. "I guarantee my silence, and that of Knox, Porter and Nico."
He will guarantee my silence over the identity of my father. He will guarantee I won't reveal Porter as his son.
Because Edward owns me.
I was hoping Knox would claim me. I liked him calling me Pet and living in his big posh house. My future happiness depends on the results of a piece of cotton Gregory is packaging up.
