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I can’t believe she’d do this to him. I can’t believe she walked in here and set off that emotional bomb without any warning. Typical Shiloh, never one to consider how the repercussions of her actions would affect our son.
I turn on her. “Tell us everything. Don’t hold anything back, you hear me?” I snap.
She nods, then swallows hard. "Felix was born six weeks premature." She addresses this comment to me.
I frown. "How does that—" I join the dots in my head. "Are you telling me you knew you were with child the time I visited you between tours? Which was the only time I was home, and which is when I assumed you fell pregnant?"
She nods, then lowers her chin to her chest. "I… I couldn’t tell you."
"So, you let me believe I was the father?" I clench my jaw.
"I didn’t know what else to do. I was confused. No one else knew. It seemed best not to bring it up."
"All this time"—Felix shakes his head—"you let me believe he was my father?"
"I am your father." I glare at him. "You’re my son, whether we’re blood-related or not. This doesn’t change anything, you understand?"
Felix’s lips are set. He runs his fingers through his hair. There is a serious look about his eyes, one that suddenly makes him seem more mature. My son is turning into a man in front of my eyes. "That’s very decent of you, but it doesn’t change the fact that I need to find out who my biological father is." He jerks his chin in Shiloh’s direction.
"Who was he?"
"He was a chef. I met him when I went to his restaurant with my friends. It was supposed to be a one-night stand, but lasted a month. We broke up when he moved away."
I squeeze the edge of my desk with such force, the wood cracks. "Why are you telling me this now?"
"I thought"—she squares her shoulders—"I thought I owed it to the two of you to know the truth." She moves toward me. "I thought"—she reaches out to cup my cheek, and I’m in shock from what she revealed, so I don’t move away—"I thought we could try again, to be a family."
A tremor of disquiet ripples down my spine. Something draws my attention to the doorway. I glance up to see Raven standing there.
49
Vivian
Ohmigod! Who is that woman? Why was she touching his face? Is she... is she someone he slept with? And how dare he let her put her hand on him? And why didn’t he pull away?
How could he do this to me?
My heart plummets to my stomach. Anger tightens the band around my chest.
He must see the play of emotions on my face for he jumps back. He heads in my direction. No, no, no, I’m not doing this now. I can’t face him. Not after that scene.
I turn and dart away, down the corridor. I hear his footsteps behind me. Oh no, he’s right behind me. I reach the elevator and slap the button to open the doors. Come on come on. The elevator door slide open. I jump in. Then press the button to close them.
He skids to a stop in front of the elevator and shoves his leg between the doors. They spring back, he steps inside. My pulse rate shoots through the roof. My guts churn. I step back to put space between us until I hit the back of the cage.
"It’s not what it seems."
He faces me with his back to the elevator doors. I ignore him and stare at the indicator above his head. Except my body is very aware of him. He seems to suck the oxygen out of the small space, so when I draw in a breath, my lungs burn.
"Raven, give me a chance to explain, please."
Tears prick the backs of my eyes. There’s no mistaking the concern in his voice, but I can’t unsee that scene. He’s my husband, mine.
"She touched you," I say in a low voice. "She had her hands on you, and you weren’t doing anything about it."
He stiffens. "I was too shocked by what happened. If you hadn’t entered, at that moment?—"
"I’d have never seen it, and you wouldn’t have told me about it," I choke out.
