Part 3: I gripped the edge of the island.
Part 3: I gripped the edge of the island.
I gripped the edge of the island.
“All four?”
Mara almost smiled at the absurdity.
“They're quadruplets, Julian.”
“I know. I just…”
I rubbed a hand across my face.
Six years.
Four boys.
My sons.
Somewhere across the city, guests were probably still arriving at the conservatory.
Champagne would already be chilled.
Flowers would be arranged.
Brielle's parents would be asking questions.
And here I was learning that I had four children.
“Do they know?”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“They don't know who their father is?”
“They know they have one.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“No,” she said gently. “They don’t know you're their father.”
“Why?”
Her face hardened.
“Not tonight.”
“Mara—”
“You promised.”
I stopped.
She was right.
No questions tonight.
I had already broken the promise once.
I nodded.
“All right.”
She seemed surprised that I had backed down.
I took my coat.
At the door, Milo appeared.
“You leaving?”
“Yes.”
He frowned.
“You didn't eat ice cream.”
“I wasn't hungry.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“I'm learning you ask difficult questions.”
He grinned.
Then he did it again.
The gesture.
Wet hair no longer involved, but his fingers moved across his forehead, swept backward, and his left hand touched the back of his neck.
I stared.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I crouched so we were closer to eye level.
“I'll see you tomorrow.”
He shrugged.
“We're probably leaving tomorrow.”
I glanced at Mara.
“Not if I can help it.”
Her expression warned me not to make promises.
I stood.
“Goodnight.”
Micah lifted a hand from the sofa.
“Night, bathroom guy.”
For the first time that day, I laughed.
Then I went downstairs and walked six blocks through the cold because I needed air.
My mother found me before I reached my office.
Of course she did.
Evelyn Whitaker had spent her entire adult life making sure very little happened in New York without her knowing about it.
She stepped out of a black sedan at the curb.
Even in the February wind, she looked composed.
Camel coat.
Pearl earrings.
Hair swept into a perfect silver-blond twist.
“Julian.”
I kept walking.
She followed.
“You humiliated Brielle.”
“I cancelled an announcement.”
“You vanished three hours before proposing.”
“I was not going to propose.”
“You agreed to.”
“That was my first mistake.”
She stepped in front of me.
“Whatever this is, you can resolve it tomorrow.”
I stopped.
For a second, I simply looked at her.
Then I said, “I saw Mara.”
Something changed.
Barely.
But I knew my mother.
I saw it.
Her shoulders went still.
Her eyes lost focus for half a heartbeat.
Then the mask returned.
“Mara?”
“Mara Bennett.”
“I know which Mara you mean.”
“Do you?”
Her jaw tightened.
“What is she doing in New York?”
“That’s an interesting question.”
“Julian.”
“She has four children.”
My mother said nothing.
“Four boys.”
Silence.
“They're six.”
Still nothing.
“They look exactly like me.”
Her gaze moved past my shoulder toward the street.
That was when I knew.
Not everything.
But enough.
“You knew.”
She looked back at me.
“I knew she was pregnant.”
The world narrowed.
Traffic moved.
A horn sounded.
Someone brushed past us.
But all I could hear was that sentence.
“You knew she was pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She came to me.”
“When?”
“After you left for London.”
“I was gone for five days.”
“Six.”
“Why didn't she call me?”
“She had.”
I stared at my mother.
“What?”
“She said she'd called you.”
“I never got a call.”
“You were in meetings.”
“I checked every message.”
“Julian—”
“Every message.”
My mother looked tired suddenly.
Not guilty.
Not yet.
Just old.
And my mother had never looked old to me before.
“She came to the house,” Evelyn said. “She was frightened. Emotional.”
“Pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“With my children.”
“I did not know there were four.”
I stepped away from her.
“What did you tell her?”
She hesitated.
That hesitation told me more than any immediate answer could have.
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her you had made a decision about your future.”
My stomach turned cold.
“What decision?”
“That you were going to London permanently.”
“I never said that.”
“You were considering it.”
“For the firm.”
“You had been offered the European division.”
“For one year.”
“At the time, you did not know what you wanted.”
“I knew I wanted Mara.”
My mother closed her eyes briefly.
“You were twenty-nine.”
“I was not a child.”
“No.”
“Then why did you decide for me?”
“I didn't.”
I laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“You told the woman carrying my children that I was leaving.”
“I told her what I believed was likely to happen.”
“And what did you tell me?”
Her silence returned.
I remembered it vividly.
Coming home from London.
Calling Mara fourteen times.
Going to her apartment.
Finding it empty.
My mother sitting in our old townhouse study that evening and telling me Mara had come by.
She said she was done.
She said she wanted a different life.
She asked us not to contact her.
I had believed it because Mara's phone was disconnected.
Because her apartment lease ended.
Because her old college roommate said she had gone away.
Because every path to her seemed closed.
“You told me she left me.”
My mother looked down.
“She did leave.”
“After speaking to you.”
“Yes.”
“What else happened?”
“I don't know.”
I stared at her.
For once, Evelyn Whitaker could not hold my gaze.
“You're lying.”
“I am not.”
“You always touch your ring when you're lying.”
Her hand dropped immediately from the pearl ring on her right hand.
My father had taught me that.
It was one of the few things he'd ever said about her that sounded affectionate.
Your mother can negotiate with anyone alive, Julian, but watch her jewelry. The truth always reaches her fingers first.
My father had been dead three years.
Standing there, I missed him with an intensity that surprised me.
“What else happened?” I asked again.
My mother looked at me for a long moment.
Then she said, “You should speak to Mara.”
“I intend to.”
“And Julian…”
I waited.
“I am sorry your evening was ruined.”
I almost could not believe it.
“My evening?”
“I didn't mean—”
“I discovered I have four sons, and you are apologizing for my evening?”
Her face fell.
For the first time in my life, I walked away from my mother while she was still speaking.
Brielle was waiting in my office.
She sat behind my desk with her shoes off.
That detail felt so unexpectedly human that I stopped in the doorway.
Her engagement dress was pale blue, simple and expensive.
She had changed nothing.
Hair done.
Diamond earrings.
Makeup flawless except for the faintest smudge beneath one eye.
“You could have called me,” she said.
“I should have.”
“Yes.”
I closed the office door.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“No, Brielle. I handled today badly.”
She studied me.
“Did you ever intend to marry me?”
I could have answered diplomatically.
She deserved better.
“I thought I could.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No.”
She nodded slowly.
To my surprise, she did not cry.
She slipped one shoe back on.
Then the other.
“My father thinks this is a disaster.”
“I’m sure he does.”
“My mother thinks you're having a breakdown.”
“Possibly.”
That earned a quiet laugh.
Then she looked at me more seriously.
“What happened?”
I hesitated.
“You don't owe me the full explanation.”
“I owe you something.”
“Yes.”
So I told her.
Not everything.
Not Mara’s history.
Not my mother's part.
Just the truth I understood.
I had found the woman I once loved.
She had four six-year-old sons.
They were mine.
Brielle listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she leaned back in the chair.
“Four?”
“Yes.”
“Quadruplets?”
“Yes.”
“You couldn't ease into fatherhood?”
Despite myself, I smiled.
“Apparently not.”
She was silent for a while.
Then she said, “You should go figure out your family.”
“I don't even know if I have a family.”
“You have four sons.”
The certainty in her voice stopped me.
“I barely know them.”
“Then start there.”
I looked at her.
“You're taking this better than I deserve.”
“Oh, I'm furious with you.”
“Fair.”
“But not because you cancelled.”
“Why then?”
“Because we almost went through with it.”
That landed heavily.
She folded her hands in her lap.
“I think I knew you didn't love me.”
“Brielle—”
“No. It’s fine. I didn't love you either.”
I blinked.
She smiled faintly.
“We liked each other. Our families liked the idea. The newspapers liked the photographs. Somewhere along the way, everyone decided that was enough.”
“I should have stopped it sooner.”
“So should I.”
She stood.
“Maybe this is the first good decision either of us has made about our marriage.”
“We didn't have a marriage.”
“Exactly.”
At the door, she paused.
“What will you tell everyone?”
“The truth.”
“Which part?”
“That we mutually decided not to get engaged.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“That is remarkably generous.”
“I don't need you turned into the villain of a story that was never real.”
Her expression softened.
May you like
“Thank you.”
Then she left.
