Chapter 3 - THE PHOTOGRAPH
The picture had been taken outside my apartment.
I knew because I could see the broken red awning over the laundromat behind me.
Fern was in my arms.
I was wearing my grocery-store uniform from three months ago.
The photograph was folded twice.
My face had been circled in black ink.
Fern’s had been circled in red.
I almost threw up.
“Who took this?”
The blond man’s name was Dominic Hale.
Stellan’s second-in-command.
He answered without emotion.
“We’re finding out.”
“You’ve had enemies watching me for three months?”
Stellan’s face was carved stone.
“I didn’t know.”
“Do you expect me to believe that?”
“No. I expect you to be angry.”
“Oh, great.”
I turned on him.
“You vanish for two years, I raise a premature baby alone, and somehow your crime-family nightmare has been following us without either of us knowing?”
Dominic glanced at Stellan.
“Crime-family nightmare. That’s new.”
Stellan didn’t look amused.
“Leave.”
Dominic left.
I paced.
Fern sat on a leather couch chewing the corner of her blanket like people weren’t trying to murder us.
“She needs medicine tonight,” I said.
“I’ll get it.”
“You don’t even know what she takes.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to remember I’m still her mother.”
Something moved in his face.
Pain.
Real pain.
“I’m not trying to replace you.”
“You gave orders about where we’re sleeping five minutes after meeting her.”
“Because somebody has her picture.”
“Maybe because of you.”
“Yes.”
The answer stopped me.
No excuses.
No denial.
Just yes.
Stellan came closer.
“This is because of me.”
His voice was rough.
“And I will fix it.”
“You can’t fix two years.”
“No.”
“You can’t fix the NICU.”
“No.”
“You can’t fix nights when I had nobody.”
His jaw clenched.
“No.”
I hated how calmly he took every hit.
I wanted him to fight.
It would have been easier.
Instead he said, “But I can be here now.”
My eyes burned.
“You don’t know how.”
“No.”
For the first time, Stellan Cross looked uncertain.
“So teach me.”
Fern made a happy sound.
Both of us turned.
She was reaching toward him again.
“Traitor,” I muttered.
Stellan almost smiled.
Almost.
The paternity test was arranged that night.
A private doctor came to the estate.
Dr. Mercer swabbed Fern’s cheek, then Stellan’s.
“I want an independent laboratory,” I said.
“You’ll have one,” Stellan replied.
“And I get the results directly.”
“Yes.”
“And nobody changes anything.”
His eyes hardened.
“Selene, if anyone alters that test, I will personally—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
He stopped.
“Right.”
Fern fell asleep in my arms afterward.
A guest suite had been prepared for us.
It was larger than my entire apartment.
I hated it immediately.
There were diapers.
Formula.
Three different kinds of baby food.
A humidifier.
A monitor.
A pharmacy bag containing Fern’s exact medication.
I turned to Stellan.
“How?”
“I made calls.”
“You had somebody enter my apartment?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know the prescription?”
He hesitated.
That was enough.
“You investigated me.”
“After today.”
“How much?”
“Everything.”
I slapped him.
The sound cracked through the room.
He didn’t move.
My hand stung.
“You had no right.”
“No.”
“Stop agreeing with me!”
His eyes flared.
“Would you prefer I lie?”
“I’d prefer you act like a normal human being.”
“I don’t know how.”
The words landed harder than anger.
Fern stirred.
We both looked toward the crib.
Stellan lowered his voice.
“Get some sleep.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I have a conversation downstairs.”
“With the man who had the photograph?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t ask what kind of conversation.
He turned toward the door.
“Stellan.”
He stopped.
It felt strange saying his name.
“Did you know I was pregnant?”
His back went rigid.
“No.”
“Did you ever come looking for me?”
Long silence.
Then he turned.
“Yes.”
My breath caught.
“When?”
“Six months after the gala.”
“Why didn’t you find me?”
His expression turned lethal.
“I did.”
My heart pounded.
“What?”
“I found your old apartment.”
He looked at Fern.
“There was a man waiting outside it.”
“Who?”
May you like
Stellan met my eyes.
“The same man we caught tonight.”
