Keeping Her

by Holly Hart

  Oriana looks up at Dante.

  “I don’t understand,” she says. “These are adoption papers. I thought you were already our guardian?”

  Dante wraps an arm around my shoulder and smiles.

  “I am,” he says. “But these papers would make you my legal children. And they add Amanda to the mix. Basically, in the law’s eyes, we would be considered your mother and father.”

  Vito frowns. “So it’s just, like, a formality? I mean, we already think of you that way.”

  “Sort of,” says Dante. “But it’s also a little more important than that.”

  “What do you mean?” asks Oriana.

  “Well,” I say. “Technically, the legal children of the monarch are considered the official heirs to the Trentini fourtune. This would make it so that you’re officially first in what they call the line of succession. Basically, you’d inherit everything.”

  Their eyes widen. Oriana’s look quickly sours, though.

  “Well, Vito would, anyway,” she scowls. “I wouldn’t, because I’m a girl.”

  I reach across the table and take her hand in mine.

  “Actually, your uncle is talking to the councils about changing the constitution.”

  “What does that mean?” she asks.

  Dante smiles. “It means royal girls are equal to royal boys.

  “Yesss!” She turns to Vito and sticks out her tongue.

  He ignores her. “This is great,” he says. “Thank you. But I always just assumed we’d be the heirs anyway. How come you’re doing this now?”

  Dante and I exchange a look and a smile. I look around to the others and see the curiosity in their eyes. I think Maria may suspect, but I’m sure Carlo and Dad are in the dark.

  “You’re a smart kid, Vito,” I say, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “There is a reason we’re doing this now.”

  Dante pulls a small plastic stick from his pocket and hands it to my father. Dad peers at the pair of thin lines that cross the center of the stick for a long time before it finally dawns on him.

  He looks at me with wide eyes.

  “Is this…?” he asks in a hoarse voice.

  “A stick I peed on?” I say, grinning widely despite the tears forming in my eyes. “It sure is. Dante and I are having a baby.”

  I expect Dad to let loose with a “yahoo!” but instead he’s quiet. He comes over to me and folds me in his big arms.

  “Well that’s just about the greatest thing I ever heard,” he whispers. “Your mama would be so happy for you.”

  I hug him fiercely. “I love you, you old coot,” I whisper.

  “Love you too, pumpkin.”

  After a few moments, he stands up and looks Dante in the eye.

  “Took you long enough,” Dad says, pulling him into an embrace.

  “It wasn’t for lack of trying,” Dante says.

  Dad slaps him on the back of the head.

  “That’s my daughter you’re talkin’ about, Charming.”

  I turn to the twins. They look a bit confused, which we expected. I hope they’re happy for us.

  “What do you think?” I ask.

  “It’s brilliant!” Oriana grins. “We’re going to have a new cousin.”

  “Sister,” I say. “Or brother. Remember, you’re our children now. Or you will be, if you agree to it.”

  Vito looks on the verge of crying. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so emotional.

  “You don’t have to do this,” he says, snuffling back a tear. “Adopt us, I mean. It’s okay if you want your baby to be the heir.”

  “It’s not okay with us,” says Dante, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “You are our children. It’s time we made it official. If that’s what you want.”

  They glance at each other.

  “It’s what we want,” they say in unison.

  “Well, hot damn!” Dad barks. “Three grandkids in one day!”

  Maria gives us a hug, followed by Carlo. They cut the cake and hand out pieces on paper plates instead of antique china. No one seems to notice the difference.

  Later, in our bedroom, Dante holds me tight as our sweaty skin cools in the night breeze blowing in through the window. We kept our lovemaking quiet so as not to bring down the wrath of Dad.

  “I can’t believe Carlo hugged us,” Dante says. “If I hadn’t experienced it, I never would have believed it.”

  “There’s hope for him yet,” I say, stroking his chest.

  “Did you see your dad sneaking Vito a sip of his beer?”

  I giggle. “It’s funny because he thinks we don’t know. Dad knew all my tricks when I was a kid. Now I know all of his.”

  We lie in silence for a while, listening to the frogs croaking far away on the banks of the Marias river.

  “I’m so glad they agreed to the adoption,” Dante says.

  “Me, too. I suppose we should let Renaldo know. Have him put out a news release. And about the baby; we’re past the ten-week point now.”

  “Don’t do that,” he says.

  “Do what?”

  “Dismiss what you did like it’s not important. You’re the one who insisted that we adopt them. By doing so, you essentially gave up your own child’s right to be the royal heir.”

  “So what?”

  He rolls over to face me. “So what? Do you have any idea how extraordinary that is? To give another’s child the birthright of the monarch?”

  “See, that’s what you don’t get,” I say. “Oriana and Vito are my children. That stupid paperwork just confirms what I’ve known all along. I’m not just saying that, it’s the truth.”

  He shakes his head. “If only I’d known what was behind those pale blue eyes when we first met,” he says.

  “What?” I say. “What would you have done, Mr. Prince?”

  “I would have proposed to you on the spot, royal tradition be damned.”

  “Yes, you made me wait a whole two days for it.”

  We break out in quiet giggles.

  “Nothing about our life together has been normal,” I say. “Maybe this will be a first step towards something a little more ordinary.”

  “God, I hope not,” he says. “Why on earth would I want normal when I can have what we have?”

  I snuggle into his shoulder and kiss his neck.

  “You’re right,” I whisper. “Normal is boring.”

  As we drift off to sleep, I see a flash in the clear night sky outside the window. It’s a falling star.

  I don’t make a wish.

  What would be the point?

  Part IV

  Climax

  Wanna hear a dirty little secret?

  No guy has ever gotten me off!

  At least, it was a secret, until my boss saw my journal.

  Now he’s making me a promise I can’t resist...

  I won a war, lost a wife, and raised a beautiful baby girl.

  But I left the SEALs scarred and broken. I swore off women for good.

  Until Skye.

  She’s innocent, curvy, and makes my company tick.

  But I discovered her deepest secret: she’s never had an O.

  I made her a deal: You fix me and I’ll fix you…

  I’m gonna fix her, all right, right there in her own office!

  Skye’s gonna learn fast:

  There’s more to this contract than meets the eye.

  And there’s a first time for everything. It won’t be her last

  205

  Skye

  I’m lost in the glow thrown out by my smartphone as I walk past my assistant, Tyler. I know – cool, right!

  “Skye, there’s –”

  “Just give me a second, Tyler, okay?” I mutter, missing what should have been my first warning.

  I’m reading an article from one of those British psychiatry journals. I guess most people don’t find that sort of thing interesting, but I live and breathe therapy. It’s not just my job, it’s what I’ve wanted to do since I was a little kid.


  “Um okay, I guess–,” Tyler says in a stifled, anguished squeal.

  His shriek should have been my second warning.

  I push the door to my office open without looking at it, and almost bump my forehead against the frosted glass in the process. I kick off my flats and wander to my chair. I know the contours of my little office like the back of my hand. I could find my way around missing every cabinet or locating any file I needed – even if the room was pitch black and I was blindfolded.

  I guess my third warning should have been the scent of spicy cologne wafting through the air. But my brain takes a couple of seconds too long to process the smell, as well.

  The glass door closes with a hiss behind me.

  “You must be Skye?”

  The voice startles me. It sounds familiar, in a long-lost kind of way. My body searches for adrenaline and dumps it straight into my veins. The clever, self-assured, rational part of my brain switches off, and I go into survival mode. I rack my brain.

  What did Tyler say?

  I look up to see a man standing in the office – My office – and he’s reading My journal. The notebook which chronicles every last embarrassment that has happened to me, all of my darkest fears, and –

  – My secret.

  I freak out, and rush towards the man, knocking the journal out of his hands. Some of the pages crumple against the floor.

  “Who the hell are you?” I yell and recklessly ask, “and what are you doing in My office?”

  The man takes a step back. He doesn’t seem intimidated or put off by my – slightly crazy – reaction. In fact, a smile tickles his lips.

  “I think you’ll find, Skye, that this is in fact my office.”

  “Oh. My. God,” I whimper.

  Not some play whimper, a very real I’m-a-scared-little-puppy whimper. Because right now, I know that I’ve fucked up – like lose-your-dream-job bad fucked up.

  Because the man standing in front of me is Harlan Wolfe – not just the third richest man in New York – the CEO of Wolfe Capital.

  Meaning, therefore, he is my boss …

  … technically speaking …

  … because before now, I’ve never seen the man. He owns the company, it’s his name that’s plastered across the office building’s front. But people like Harlan are supposed to stay on floors a whole lot higher than mine.

  “There’s no need for that,” he grins, sticking out his hand, “just call me Harlan.”

  I just stare at the floating hand.

  I’ve got no idea how to act. How the heck am I supposed to dig myself out of a hole this deep? I just practically assaulted the freaking CEO. Worse, if you can believe it, is what he might have read in my journal. Most of it contains just embarrassing thoughts – my hopes, fears, and any problem I might have had during the day. I’m pretty sure I’ve never bitched about the company, at least…

  But there’s one secret that would kill me if anyone found out.

  “I’m – I’m so sorry,” I stammer. “I didn’t – I mean – I didn’t know it was you. I mean, that you were you.” I clam up, and clap my hand across my offending mouth. I play back what I just said in my head and cringe. I sound like an idiot.

  Harlan looks at me with an expression shaded by pity. Then he glances at his outstretched arm. When it’s obvious that I’m too panicked to shake his hand, he lets it fall to his side.

  “I should hope not,” Harlan says, still grinning broadly.

  It’s like all this is a game to him. I guess, when you’re worth twenty billion dollars, life is just one big strategy game.

  Harlan crouches down. He’s wearing a light gray, perfectly-tailored Italian suit that hugs his body like a second skin. I can’t help but watch as his muscular thighs bulge, straining against the cloth. God, the man has the body of an Olympic athlete.

  And then I realize what Harlan’s doing. He’s reaching for my journal. The one I just batted out of his hands.

  But now I am stuck. I feel like my feet are encased in concrete. I can’t possibly throw myself at the journal a second time. But I’ve got to do something, to say something, at least.

  “Why –”

  “– am I in your office?” The billionaire, hedge fund manager, completes my sentence and smiles, picking up the gray notebook. “That’s an interesting question, Skye. Not as interesting, though, as what I read in here…” He taps the side of the journal.

  I feel my cheeks heat like a runaway forest fire. “That’s –,” I croak, “Private.”

  “Unfortunately for you, Skye, if it’s in this building, then it’s not private. To me, anyway.”

  Harlan glances down at the incriminating journal, chews his lip, then hands it back to me. I hold my breath the entire time. I am uncomfortably aware of how attractive he is. His eyes are iceberg gray, his hair thick and black and virile.

  A few gray hairs betray his age – late thirties – but he shows no sign of balding. In fact, he couldn’t be further away. Besides, he has the body of a man half his age. He looks lithe and fit, and almost painfully sexual. That’s the only way I can describe him. His expression crackles with intent, with desire.

  “But I can see it’s causing you some bother,” Harlan smiles. He wraps his knuckles against the journal one last time, and then hands it to me. I practically snatch it out of his grasp.

  Harlan surveys me for a couple of seconds, the same intrigued smile tickling his lips. I do my best to fight the panic surging through my veins, carried on a tidal wave of adrenaline.

  Monkey brain off; put your adult head on.

  “Why are you here?” I ask. My voice sounds a couple of octaves higher pitched than usual, but other than the embarrassment burning my face, my reaction is tolerable. “I mean – sir.”

  “Oh, there’s no need for that. Like I said, just call me Harlan.”

  “Okay, Harlan,” I say, sucking in a deep, greedy breath, “is there something I can help you with?”

  Harlan takes a step back and leans against my desk. I notice that every couple of seconds, his eyes glance at the door, as though he half-expects someone to come charging through it, brandishing a weapon. I file the thought away.

  “I’m not sleeping,” he finally admits.

  It takes me a couple of seconds to process the comment. I feel like I’m on a bungee cord. One second, I’m ready to tear someone’s head off for reading my journal, the next I think I’m going to be fired the man who’s – technically – my boss. Now…

  … Now the CEO of Wolfe Capital is asking me for help.

  I blink.

  I know. Not exactly my finest moment.

  “Sooo,” Harlan says, biting the inside of his lip. He grimaces as if he hates having to ask, as if it somehow reveals weakness. “I was wondering if you’d be able to help.”

  “You want me to help?” I squeak, “You?”

  Harlan smiles, “Precisely. It seems we’re finally on the same page, Miss Warren.”

  Time seems to slow down.

  For a therapist, helping a man like Harlan Wolfe is the pinnacle. It’s like an artist handling a Rembrandt, a world-renowned violinist playing a Stradivarius or a basketball fan meeting LeBron James. Hell, getting into the heads of men just like Harlan is exactly why I joined Wolfe Capital as the in-house therapist. I want to be the best, and to be the best, you’ve got to treat the best.

  Or at least the most fucked up.

  “But… I can’t,” I say lamely.

  Harlan’s eyebrow kinks upward. “Oh?” he growls dangerously. “So… exactly why would that be, Miss Warren?”

  Be careful now, Skye. You don’t just say “no” to a man like Harlan Wolfe.

  “Because,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut for a second as I cast around for a reason. A reason other than the fact that I’m embarrassed to treat the man who’s read my journal, and might know my secret. “Because – it would be a conflict of interest!”

  “A ‘conflict of interest’?”

 
“Yes,” I nod, grateful to have found a plausible reason for declining. “Because – you’re my boss.”

  Harlan flicks his fingers dismissively. “I don’t care about that. I’ll sign whatever disclaimer you need. I’ve come to you because you’re the best, Miss –,” Harlan pauses, and catches himself. “I mean Doctor Warren.”

  “The best?” I say in a small voice. I didn’t even know that Harlan Wolfe had ever heard my name. Knowing that he knows who I am is kind of terrifying.

  “It’s why I hired you,” Harlan says, plowing on as though he’s unaware of my discomfort.

  “Since you joined the team here at Wolfe Capital, the traders under your care are producing an average of 7% more return. That’s statistically… astonishing. In fact, I’ve been considering requiring every trader to undergo regular sessions in this office. As for your bonus –”

  “Bonus?” I squeak. I feel like I’m on a roller coaster – one second plunging toward disaster, the next climbing to higher and higher heights.

  Harlan stares at me strangely. “Yes, Skye. You’ll find I can be a very –,” he licks his lower lip, “rewarding boss.”

  I open and close my mouth a couple of times like a goldfish. Finally I say something, though nothing clever comes out. “Oh.”

  “It’s agreed then,” Harlan says, turning to leave. “We’ll start the sessions tonight.”

  “Tonight?” I stammer. “But –.”

  Harlan wrinkles his forehead. “Well you don’t expect me to come and see you when the markets are open, do you Doctor Warren? I do have a business to run, after all”

  I shake my head. I guess not…” I whisper.

  “Perfect,” Harlan says.

  His lips graze my cheek as he passes by. It’s an uncomfortably intimate gesture. Hell, my therapist’s brain screams that it reads of a power move – a dominant alpha male laying down a marker. And Harlan Wolfe is a hell of a lot more than some summer breeze alpha male. He’s a freaking hurricane.

  And I kind of like it.