My hand fell onto my stomach as a tear dripped down my face.
My child wasn’t a mistake. My child wasn’t dirty.
But more and more, I was beginning to see why Jace wanted to keep this hidden.
And it made me angrier that I was understanding.
I didn’t want to understand. I just wanted it to not be. And I knew that was the immature, selfish part of me talking. I knew it was. But my entire life, everything had been about someone else. The only time it had ever been about me was when my parents were pushing me into college courses that would groom me to take over the family business. And when I put my foot down, it became about Hannah. About her success, then eventually? About her drug problem. Her drinking problem.
At Lawrence Day? It was about their reputation and their donors.
With Jace? It was about protecting his children.
With Anya? It was about doing whatever she could to get back her family. Or destroy it. Or whatever type of crusade she thought she was on.
In my childhood? It was about what I could do for my family’s legacy.
With my sister? It was about how I could cover up for her with Mom and Dad so she could go party.
I was never the focus. My health and my happiness and my benefit was never the focus. That was why I had been so taken with Jace. He was so attentive in bed. Attentive to my wants and my kinks and my needs. Attentive to what I needed throughout the day and never hesitated to make himself available so we could talk. About anything and everything.
But now? When I needed his kindness and care and attention the most?
It was about someone else.
“Breaking News with Hollywood’s Fallen Angel. Official reports are stating that Anya and Jace’s adopted sons from the Ukraine are, in fact, not Anya’s legal children.”
My head whipped up at the news station and I turned the television up as loud as I could stand it.
“An official source from Jace Logan has provided us with documentation regarding the true story behind their sons’ adoption. And if these documents are verified as correct, then it would seem that Anya Petrov has no legal grounds to claim her sons. Bradley Sinclair is with us live from outside Fireside Theater for the details.”
“Thank you, Mike. Breaking news here in San Francisco. According to documents released by an unnamed source close to Jace Logan, the only signature on the adoption documents for his sons is his. Miss Petrov’s signature is nowhere to be found. And if those papers were used to file adoption records on the boys, then that would mean Anya Petrov is not their legal mother.”
“Does that mean if she were to take her ex-husband back to court, that she could only fight for the custody of her daughter.”
“Yes, Mike. If these papers were to hold up in a court of law, then that would mean the only child she could take custody of would be her daughter. Now the question is this: will Anya fight for her only child? Or will she continue to rally around the two boys she helped raise and continue fighting for all three? Only time will tell, Mike.”
“Thank you for that update, Bradley.”
I sat there, stunned. Ivan and Dmitri weren’t Anya’s children? I wanted to call Jace and ask him about it. Ask him if he was the one that leaked the documents to the media. My shoulders felt heavier than normal. I really hoped that the schools were staying diligent in keeping Jace’s children way from the television. Because I didn’t want them being inundated with all this. If the media was going to start speculating about Anya not really being their legal mother, it could rip the boy’s hearts in two.
Then, a familiar voice wafted through the television.
“What?” Anya asked.
“Are the reports true, Miss Petrov? That Ivan and Dmitri aren’t legally your children?” the reporter asked.
“Even if it was, that doesn’t stop me from fighting for my daughter. If I don’t have any legal grounds to my sons, then that’s fine. But that’s my family. I raised those boys. And the courts can have their say if they want it, but Michaela is mine. My little girl. I gave birth to her. Nursed her. Stayed up during all hours of the night with her. Yes, I spiraled. Yes, I have issues I’m sorting through. But that doesn’t make me an unfit human being. I love my daughter, and I love my sons. But if Jace is going to resort to throwing legalities at me and claiming I was never their mother when I cleaned up after them and wiped their asses and fed them food from my hands, then he’s got another thing coming. If I can’t fight for them, fine. But I can fight for my daughter. And I will. Mark my words.”
My jaw hit the floor. Mark her words? What was this, some sort of film she was making? Had Anya really become that delusional? I couldn't even begin to unpack her statement. She had no legal grounds to those boys, allegedly. So, she tossed them off to the side. She just said on national television that if she couldn't fight for them, she wouldn’t. That she was willing to split up her family if it meant fighting to get custody of Michaela. What kind of woman wanted that for her family?
Certainly not one that was looking out for their well-being.
I turned off the television as another swell of nausea crept up my throat. I dashed into Jace’s bathroom and threw his toilet open. I hit my knees as my stomach clenched, forcing up whatever few food particles I could keep down during the torrential downpour of bullshit over the past two weeks. I felt weak. Humiliated. Fearful. Frustrated. So many things I didn’t need to be feeling while growing a child inside of me.
I leaned my cheek against the edge of the toilet and sighed.
I ran through all the things I needed to get done. Laundry needed to be folded and beds needed to be made. I needed to clean down the bathrooms as well. At least Jace’s and mine. I also needed to unload the dishwasher and get the dishes from breakfast clean.
Just thinking about all of it made me exhausted.
I flushed the toilet and stood up, then splashed more water in my face. I opened the doors underneath the bathroom sink and washed down Jace’s toilet. I cleaned down his bathroom while heaving for air, my exhaustion blanketing over my body like a heavy edifice.
All I wanted to do was roll back into bed and sleep.
I forced myself to get through the day. Forced myself to keep up with the demand of the household. I washed the dishes and just barely got the laundry folded. I gave my bathroom a quick wipe, knowing I was the only one who used it anyway. I didn’t mind if it had some spots here and there. Not if cutting corners in my own space could get me a fifteen-minute nap.
I laid down in bed as sweat dripped down my brow and closed my eyes.
And it wasn’t until the doorbell rang out that I was startled awake.
Shit.
The busses.
I threw a piece of gum into my mouth and wrapped my robe around me. I ran for the door, huffing and puffing before I threw it open. The boys ran into my arms and I kissed their heads, pulling them close as another bus pulled up. I heard the small pitter patter of Michaela’s feet as she ran up to all of us, and tears welled in my eyes as their lips peppered my cheeks with kisses.
“Miss Caffy! Look.”
Michaela held out her artwork for me to see. It was a drawing of all of us. Ivan and Dmitri were labeled, and she was in the middle holding their hands. The house was in the background and there was a pool and a hot tub. But it was the drawings of Jace and I that caught my eye. She’d drawn her father with his hand outstretched, and she had drawn me, holding his hand.
And she had labeled the picture ‘My Family’.
“You like it?” she asked.
I brought her in for a kiss on her forehead as I blinked my tears away.
“It’s perfect,” I said. “Now get inside. I think it’s time for an after-school treat.”
I closed the door and made my way for the refrigerator. Then I took a magnet from the top and adhered the picture right in the very middle of the stainless steel appliance. I wanted Jace to see it. To see how one of his children saw this family. Maybe it would bring him
some peace. A bit of comfort. Because I could only imagine how all of this was making him feel. If I was this sick about it, then I knew he was as well.
I hoped the picture would make him smile like it did me, even though we were still tiptoeing around one another.
“Can we have a snack?” Ivan asked.
“I’ll do you one better,” I said. “How about some ice cream?”
“Ice cream already!?” Dmitri asked. “What did we do?”
“What do you mean ‘what did you do’?” I asked. “You guys have all gotten good reports from school lately. You’ve been going to bed on time without fighting me over it. You’ve been eating all your vegetables at lunch. I think you guys deserve a treat.”
“Yay! A treat! A treat!” Michaela exclaimed.
“So, do you guys all want one scoop or two?” I asked.
“Two sounds great.”
I looked up and saw Jace standing in the hallway and his eyes were hanging heavily on my body. The kids rushed him, but I could see the exhaustion in his eyes. The fear bubbling underneath the surface of his strong exterior. I locked my eyes with him for what seemed like the first time in weeks, and as he made his way into the kitchen Michaela guided him to her picture on the fridge.
And the second he saw it, his eyes watered with tears.
“It’s beautiful, princess,” he said as he turned to me. “It’s perfect.”
I held my breath as he walked towards me, his body closer than it had been in so very long.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Everything has been so out of control. And I’ve been so unfocused. And you’ve been dealing with so much on your-”
I threw my arms around him and pulled him into a hug. I didn't care about his apology. I didn’t care about what he had to say. All I cared about was feeling his arms around me. I held him close, no longer caring if the children saw us touching. If the children saw us caring for one another. I buried my face into the crook of his neck as my silent tears dripped onto his skin. He ran his hands up and down my back, soothing the exhaustive ache I’d had in my muscles for days.
“I’m sorry you’ve been doing this alone,” he said with a whisper.
“We have to stand together,” I said. “We’re no good divided.”
“I know,” he said into my neck. “I know.”
He breathed in my scent and it shot rippling shockwaves down my spine.
“Please forgive me,” he said desperately. “I’m so sorry, Catherine.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s okay. I understand where you’re coming from. I do. I promise.”
“You should have never slept alone these past two weeks. What do you need? What can I do for you, sweetheart?”
I melted into his arms at that name.
My first pet name.
I loved it.
“I need you to help me get these kids some ice cream. I’m exhausted,” I said.
“Done. Go sit down with the kids on the couch. I’ve got it.”
And as I pulled away from him and looked into his eyes, the smallest spark of the man I’d come to know was flooding back into his vision.
The smallest spark of the man I’d come to love was returning back to me.
Twenty-Three
Jace
Anya had been on a tirade for two solid months, and we were at a point where Catherine could no longer hide her baby bump. She was much bigger than I’d anticipated her being. Then I remembered Anya being at her stage with Michaela. Catherine was five months along and I quickly came to find that she didn’t want a lot of intervention. We only went to the doctor when it was necessary, but we hadn’t had an ultrasound done yet. I’d paid a nice price for a doctor to come visit us in our home to do everything. Take blood samples. Check her over. Get her prenatals. But Catherine had been adamant about not having an ultrasound because of all the radiation unless it was necessary.
The doctor signed off in it, given how well she took care of her body, so we hadn’t even seen our child yet.
The legal battle was raging onward. Anya did lawyer up, and he was coming at us full-force. He was arguing that Anya was sober, just not in the way we had intended her to get sober. She was producing clean drug tests despite skipping out on rehab twice, and I was growing worried. She had no legal claim to the boys. A judge had already ruled over that. But she was coming hard for Michaela.
For my little girl.
For my princess.
And as each week went by and as she produced clean drug tests, my lawyer grew more worried.
He kept telling me that it was the only contingency. That her sobriety was paramount. If she was producing regular drug tests that came back clear, then there was nothing in the custody agreement that said she couldn't fight for custody again. And that was what she was doing. I gathered evidence everywhere I could. I even talked with Catherine about the possibility of roping her sister into all of this as personal testimony. I knew Anya was still partying. Staying out at all hours of the night. I had a private investigator following her and he had a trough of pictures of her with drinks in her hands. Hanging around people in the community known for dealing the very things she had to go to rehab for.
Some of the pictures even had Catherine’s sister in them. High as hell and leaning against Anya as the two of them threw back shots. I didn’t want to do that to her, though. I didn’t want to splash these pictures everywhere. I didn’t want to use the media to turn the tide in my favor. Not if I didn’t have to. Even after everything Anya had put me through. My children through. Catherine and I through. I didn’t want to use the tactics she was resorting to in order to win this custody battle she’d thrown me into.
So I told the private investigator to keep the pictures in his possession and not do anything with them until I gave the word.
Because I only wanted to use them if it was my last resort in protecting my children.
Though things were tough and incredibly stressful for all of us, I was trying to put my anger and frustration aside. Today, Catherine and I were going to find out the gender of our child. Even though she was still nervous about the use of radiation during her pregnancy, I knew she wanted to know if we were having a boy or a girl. She was more excited than I was in some ways, and watching her happiness come to life when the doctor came to the door brought an unspeakable joy into my life.
“Are you ready to find out what you’re having?” the doctor asked.
“I’m so excited I can’t stand it,” Catherine said with a smile.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to go ahead and take the time to do a thorough ultrasound. Not just to identify the gender, but to also check and make sure the child doesn’t have any deformities or developmental issues we should know about.”
“What does that entail?” I asked. “Because Catherine is trying to keep this as natural as possible.”
“And trust me, I admire that. My wife was the same way. All it’ll require is maybe five extra minutes.”
“Are you okay with that?” I asked.
I wrapped Catherine up underneath my arm as she nodded.
“That’s fine. As long as it’s for the good of our child, I’m okay with it,” she said.
“Good. Then let’s get you set up,” the doctor said. “Are we going upstairs? Or are we doing it down here?”
“I figured I’d save you some trouble,” Catherine said. “We can go into my room. It’s at the back of the house.”
“Perfect. I’ll roll my stuff in.”
“Here, let me help,” I said.
I helped the doctor get all of his stuff in as Catherine went back to go lay down. We found her lying on the bed with her shirt rolled up, and the doctor shot me a look. I knew what he was thinking. It was the same thing I’d been thinking for the past month.
Catherine looks bigger than she should.
But I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her that.
“All right, this gel might be cold. But let me know if it’s too cold. I ca
n try to warm it up a bit,” the doctor said.
Catherine jumped as it hit her skin, but she didn’t complain. I sat next to her head, holding her hand tightly within mine. I laced our fingers together and I could feel her trembling. She had done such a great job of keeping her pregnancy as healthy as possible. She was even trying to stave off her cravings, even though I kept encouraging her to indulge at least once. I got her to eat a doughnut she kept salivating over, but that was about it.
“Ready to see your child?” the doctor asked.
“Oh yes,” Catherine said breathlessly. “I’m ready.”
The wand hit her skin and I squeezed her hand. My eyes stayed glued to the screen, knowing this would probably be the only time I’d see them before Catherine gave birth. He moved the wand around her small protrusion and I focused as hard as I could, not wanting to miss a thing in case the extra five minutes flew by quicker than I figured they would.
Then, I saw the doctor furrow his brow.
“What is it?” I asked.
“What?” Catherine asked.
“Hold on,” the doctor said.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Doctor?”
“Just give me a second…”
“Doctor. Talk to us,” I said.
“Well, we have our answer,” the doctor said.
“Answer to what?” Catherine asked. “What’s going on?”
The doctor looked over at me as his eyebrows shot up to his hairline.
“I don’t want to offend you, Miss Faust, but when I saw you at the door, the only thing I could think was that you looked more developed than a woman who was sitting at only five months pregnant.”
“What?” she asked.
“It’s why I suggested the extra five minutes for the ultrasound. But I think you’re going to want to give me a little more than that,” he said.
“Why?” I asked. “What’s wrong with our child?”
“Not child, Mr. Logan. Children.”
I looked down into Catherine’s face and watched her skin pale.
“What?” she asked.
“Do you see these four circles here?” the doctor asked.
He pointed to the screen at four very distinct ovals. Then, as Catherine groaned, I watched one of them spin around. A pair of feet came into view. And then another.
7+Us Makes Nine: A Nanny Single Dad Romance (Baby Makes Three) Page 14
