by Selena Kitt
I wait for the rest of whatever she’s about to say, but her door suddenly flies open and a child darts out, quickly followed by an apologetic-looking girl in her late teens or so.
Nina jumps out of the car.
“Mommy!” the kid says happily as she wraps herself around Nina’s legs and it feels like everything stills inside me.
I climb out of the car too.
“I’m sorry, Nina,” the young girl says, “I had to pee and was just flushing the toilet when she must have heard you pull up and…”
I don’t what the hell else she said to Nina—I can’t take my eyes off the child.
The age, the face shape, the eyes—she looks like she could be mine.
I haven’t seen a lot of photos of my mom as a kid, but this child looks like a tanned version of her with golden ringlets.
All of Nina’s weirdness suddenly makes sense, and for a moment, I’m stuck in processing mode.
If this is my kid, I need to go to her.
I practically want to pat her head and see if she’s real because, well, this can’t be real, right? I can’t possibly have had a child on this earth for almost five years and not known about it.
I try not to jump to conclusions; after all, who says Nina didn’t ‘have relations’ with someone else the night after we slept together? Who knows how many other candidates are out there?
I stroll toward the girl and bend until I’m about her height.
“Well, hello there,” I begin. “What’s your name?”
“Bianca,” she says. “Bianca Colton.”
Now it feels like the earth itself has suddenly stopped spinning—the pressure between my ears has changed.
The child has my last name. Why would Nina give her my last name?
My eyes go to Nina, who is watching us with trepidation, twisting and fiddling with her fingers.
I know my gaze is anything but friendly or forgiving.
How the hell could Nina keep something this huge from me?
With tremendous effort, I shove my anger down and turn back to the child.
This isn’t the place—not in front of her.
Bianca is watching me with intelligent eyes.
I form a smile.
“I’m Brent,” I say. “Brent Colton.”
She sucks in a breath and her eyes widen.
Then she says, “Like me!” with a radiant smile, and something in me begins to crack.
Then the child turns to Nina and says, “Wait, is it him?” She turns back to me. “You’re my dad, aren’t you? You found your way back! What took you so long?”
Emotions continue to choke me, cutting off my words, so I grab the child to me and hold her against me as I wait for my throat to open back up.
Bianca’s little arms hugging me back completes the break and a few tears escape as the moment impresses itself on me.
I have a daughter.
Not only do I have a daughter, but I also missed everything about the first years of her life.
I will never see her baby face smile a gummy smile at me.
I will never watch her first tooth emerge.
I will never get to rejoice in her first words or see her learn to walk.
All of those years stolen from me and no chance of getting any of it back.
Talk about something money can’t buy.
How could Nina do this to me?
“Welcome home, Daddy,” Bianca says warmly, and my heart suddenly lifts.
Nothing like the first time hearing her call me Daddy. At least there’s that.
* * *
When I stand back up, the joy of meeting and holding my child is fading and quickly being replaced by fury.
I’m so angry with Nina, I don’t know what to do with myself; I feel like I might blow my top.
I’ve never been this mad my entire life.
I can’t trust myself around her, and I can’t let the child see me in this state. No way I can let Bianca see how angry I am at her mom—I can’t give her the impression that her dad’s the Tasmanian devil.
I don’t know a thing about raising kids right now, but I suspect fighting in front of them is a bad idea.
It’s time to go.
“I’ve got to go,” I say to Nina without looking at her.
“Where’re you going?” Bianca asks in her adorable little voice, making it harder for me to do what I need to do.
“Oh, I’ll be back, sweetheart,” I say, ruffling her hair. “You and Daddy will be hanging out a lot from now on. I have so much to learn about you.”
“Yay!” she says with another radiant smile. “Will you be back tomorrow?”
Now that I know she exists and I’ve seen that face and heard that voice, knowing how much time I’ve missed with her and how much time Nina continued to let me miss with her by not telling me about her right away, how can I not find a way to see my daughter every day?
I don’t want to lose another minute, but the way I feel right now, I have to take a moment before I act.
“Soon, baby,” I say.
I have to force myself to be patient and think before I do or promise anything.
I finally shoot Nina a laser gaze, and she has the nerve to suddenly look defiant.
Excuse her?
The way I feel right now, she’ll be lucky if I don’t sweep this child away from her.
* * *
It takes a whole day for me to calm down a tiny bit and come to a sensible decision regarding the next step.
Nina and I obviously have to find a way to make this work, and she’s crazy if she thinks my kid’s going to stay in that neighborhood or that I won’t see my child every fucking day—as soon as we figure out where to go from here.
Nina’s in my life to stay now, and I’m pretty happy about that overall. Even when she’s pissing me off, she adds something to it.
Right now, I’m thinking I’ll move them into my mansion and probably pull Bianca from whatever school she’s in and get her into a better one.
Granted, I don’t know anything about where she is now, but I’m sure we can upgrade her.
I get one of my assistants to begin research on pre-schools and kindergartens in the area. Plus we’ll have to consider where to put her once she begins elementary.
I’m glad Nina had the sense to use my surname for her—it’ll make everything a bit easier.
I start thinking about which room to turn into Bianca’s room.
I’ll get some input from the child before I go redecorating one, but I can start ordering in some toys at least.
Nina can stay in any of the other bedrooms—she has nine to choose from.
As mad as I am at her, though, I only want her in mine.
I continue working on ways to get the mansion ready for them.
I don’t care what Nina has to say—they’re both moving in with me.
I start putting calls in and making arrangements.
At some point, it occurs to me—what the hell am I supposed to tell my dad? How do I tell him I knocked up some girl in college and have a kid?
I was so goddamned careful every other time, but this one time I messed up and forged ahead without taking precautions and here we are.
Apparently, I forgot that’s how things worked out sometimes because it didn’t even cross my mind that Nina could have gotten pregnant.
I must’ve just assumed she was on the pill or something, even after it became clear she wasn’t exactly experienced.
With some effort, I push the heavy thoughts of the past away and continue planning my future with Nina and Bianca.
* * *
Nina’s calling me again.
Seventeen missed calls and counting. It’s only been a few days!
I remember staring at the number of calls I’d missed from her after our college graduation.
I couldn’t keep track—I lost count after forty-eight.
All I could do was stare at her name in my call log, and as much as my fingers itched t
o dial her back, I couldn’t.
I had life plans that couldn’t involve her too deeply, a relationship I was trying to salvage. A father to please.
Back then, I figured a clean break was best for us and eventually changed my number.
I was so caught up in guilt for cheating on Stacey—the daughter of one of my father’s friends—that I soon put the whole incident with Nina out of my mind.
I wasn’t all that into Stacey and had planned to break up with her before sleeping with Nina, and I know that was no excuse to do what I did to her, but she sure as hell used it as an excuse for a lot that came after.
I’d never cheated before or after her, and when I tried to break up with her, she was horrified at the idea.
“Wait, you cheat on me and then you try to break up with me?”
By the time she was done ripping me a new one, I figured I owed her; I owed our relationship another shot.
Being with her became a matter of duty to her and to my dad.
At some point, it became clear to both of us that we weren’t going anywhere, but not before she guilted me into a lot more things—including shutting out my best friend.
How could I possibly deny her that request considering what I’d done?
Now, as I watch my phone light up, I realize there’s a chance Nina could have been trying to let me know the news of her pregnancy with all those calls to me, and it finally hits me—I can’t let something like that happen again.
What if she’s calling me about Bianca right now? What if something’s happened to my daughter?
My sense of duty and heavy guilt fucked me over before—I can’t let my anger screw me over this time.
I finally call her back, my heart pounding as my thoughts are suddenly flooded with the worst.
I hear her let out a breath before she says, “We need to talk. And not over the phone.”
There is a weight to her words I can’t ignore.
Something dire has most certainly happened.
“It’s not Bianca, is it? Is she okay?”
“Bianca’s fine—physically anyway. Listen, I got a weird visit the other day. From your dad.”
A ball of dread starts to form in my stomach.
* * *
We arrange to meet up at a café on her lunch break, and as I sit waiting for her, I’m nervous and I don’t like it.
My dad didn’t mention having plans to pay Nina a visit, and I can only imagine what choice things he might have had to say to her.
All nervousness evaporates once I spot Nina heading toward me, and I’m flooded with so much affection and joy at the sight of her, I feel like whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. Nothing can be terrible when Nina’s near me.
She seems to be on the verge of biting fingernails herself, and when her eyes finally flutter to me, she looks a bit struck and takes me in quickly before regaining composure.
I’m glad to see my effect on her.
She lets out a huge breath once she sits opposite me.
“Long or short version?” she says.
“Long.”
I’m keeping her here as long as I can.
“Okay,” she says. “Here goes: two days ago, as I headed to my rental, I saw a black stretch car with tinted windows pull up near me, and I immediately thought it was you because who else would show up at my job in such a vehicle? Then when the driver hopped out and opened the door a little as if to invite me in, I happily walked toward the open door, glad you were finally ready to talk again. Of course, once I got inside I realized immediately it wasn’t you—it was an older guy who didn’t exactly look happy to see me.
“‘I’ve heard about my granddaughter,’ he said, and then I realized who it was—especially since he bore a slight resemblance to you. ‘And I would love to meet her,’ he continued. I wasn’t sure what to say so I stayed silent. Plus, there was something ominous about him, so although his words sounded innocent enough, I felt a sort of catch coming. ‘Not a woman of many words, huh? Wonderful quality indeed,’ he said.”
Nina rolls her eyes, and I just know she wanted to call Dad a name, but she held her tongue for my sake, I guess.
“Then he said, ‘I have a proposition for you. Our family values our name, our reputation. No one needs to know the bastard’s a Colton. I realize she already bears the name, but there’s no need for her to be connected to our branch. We’ll take care of all the needs of you and your daughter as long as you keep your mouth shut about it. Pick anywhere in the world to live, and your daughter will have everything she could ever want—access to the best schools, a solid trust fund. Think of all the benefits she’ll have as a wealthy child once we fatten your accounts. And once she’s of age, she’s guaranteed to be matched with one of the wealthiest men on earth since she’ll have access to those circles. A life of luxury till the end of her days—this is what I offer you for your silence.”
Nina lets out a breath.
Rage builds in me, and I can tell Nina’s getting mad again having to recap it to me.
“I didn’t appreciate the offer, as you can imagine, but I had to think carefully—I was in some stranger’s car. What if I said no? Would he drive off with me and have me killed and my body disposed of? Obviously you guys have a butt-ton of money; he could probably get away with anything, especially disappearing a woman like me—someone not many people would bother looking for.”
I’m rendered speechless by horror and rage.
The thought of anything happening to Nina, and the thought of my dad having anything to do with it, plus the idea that she thinks I wouldn’t scorch the earth searching for her—everything’s fighting to get out of me at once.
“Needless to say, I started to feel a bit scared. Before I could say anything, he said, ‘If you don’t agree, I’m afraid I’ll have to disinherit Brent, and the three of you will have to figure things out on your own. I know you care for Brent—think about what it would be like to fall from where he is. I know you’re used to the life you live, but Brent isn’t cut out for it.’”
Now, I know Dad probably just said that as part of his manipulation tactic, but my blood still boils.
I can’t read Nina’s expression as she watches me. It is stormy yet soft, and I wonder what else is going on in her head.
“Anyway,” she continues, “I said, ‘So you want to pay me to go away, never contacting Brent again,’ and he said, ‘Brent has better matches lined up for him, and he is set to choose one any day now. The scandal won’t be as disruptive for him, as there are still plenty of women willing to marry a wealthy man with a bastard child, but think of your daughter feeling on the outside looking in once they have kids of their own—proper legal Colton heirs. How do you think your child would feel if she knew you had a chance to make her life very, very comfortable and you refused? How do you think she’ll feel when only the children from his legal union are acknowledged publicly? Surely you don’t want her to grow up feeling like the proverbial red-headed stepchild?’
“‘But she already knows Brent’s her father,’ I said. ‘She’ll feel that way any way you slice it—whether we’re living it up in Bermuda or fighting it out where we are now.’ Either way, something wasn’t adding up about what he was saying. Why would he pay me to leave you alone if you were set to marry some high-class debutante or whatever anyway? The problem would take care of itself—it’s not like I’d go after a guy who’s taken. Then I figured, maybe he thought I’d run straight to the Enquirer with the story or something, but even that seemed silly; I doubt I have a billionaire’s love child! starring a nobody would sell many mags, and how on earth could it hurt your family name? The girls always look like the losers in those situations—like gold-digging skanks—and I wasn’t about to do that to myself. Then I realized it really was just about making sure no one knew Bianca’s biologically connected to you, and the most obvious reason of all presented itself to me.”
She gives me a sort of furtive look that tugs at my heart.
“Maybe it’s a race thing, I figured. Maybe the old bastard doesn’t want anyone to know he has black family members now, and paying me off means he gets to erase us from his legacy—a small price to pay to keep things pure.”
I really don’t know how to respond to that—I can’t exactly tell her she’s wrong; in fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize she’s probably right. There’s a definite pattern to the women he encouraged me to date and the ones he frowned upon.
