New York Billionaires Series

Freddie’s eyebrow rises in a silent question, so I serve up another painful slice of me, aided by the whiskey I’ve had and the kindness in her eyes. “He was just shy of turning three when Jenny and Michael died. He doesn’t remember them. All he knows about them comes from stories, things he’s been told. He knows he had a mother and a father before me.”

Her fingers tighten around mine. Go on, the gesture says. And I find the words pouring out. “Trying to keep their memory alive is impossible. I’ve tried. But talking about them is like talking about legends to him. He enjoys stories of their adventures, but they’re not… real. And if I force us to dwell on it, will I just make him sad? Do I keep reminding him of what he lost or let him embrace the life he has now?” I look back at Jenny on the bridge. She gazes boldly back at me through the void, but has no answers to give. No guidance or opinions on how I’m raising her son. The boy she’d called her greatest adventure.

“When he started calling me Dad… it was rough.”

“Was it?”

My gaze shifts to the black and white picture of Michael. His hangs higher than Jenny’s, his mouth serious but eyes smiling into the camera. Jenny took that picture, but she never told me where.

“He knows he doesn’t have a mother. I can’t take Jenny’s place. But I have taken Michael’s, in all the ways Joshua will remember.”

“You haven’t taken anyone’s place,” Freddie tells me. “You stepped in, at a time when it was necessary. Don’t you think Jenny and Michael would understand that?”

“They would.” I run my free hand over my face, all the ways I’m not good enough racing through my head. The nights I’m not home in time for dinner with Joshua and Marianne. The curious questions I haven’t answered as well as Jenny would have. A soft tug of Freddie’s hand takes us past the discarded poker table, toward the cloud couch in the corner.

We sink down onto the softness together, like we’ve done it a thousand times before. Like her body was meant to curl up next to mine.

And the words keep coming.

“I know every day that they’d do a better job, too. I know I’m a replacement. Being the best father to Joshua is something I’ll fail at.” I rest my head on top of hers, scenting floral shampoo and Frederica. “You came over for heat, and you got this heaviness instead.”

There’s a smile in her voice when she responds. “I don’t mind heaviness, Tristan. And I enjoy getting to know you better.”

My eyes drift closed at the words. Innocent, simple words, but they haven’t been spoken to me with sincerity for years. I wonder if they ever have.

Her hand drifts to the nape of my neck and fingers slide into my hair. Touch for touch’s sake.

“My last relationship ended when I adopted Joshua,” I admit.

Freddie’s fingers still for a moment, but then they plunge deeper, nails raking softly over my scalp. “Hmmm,” she says. “I imagine it was a difficult time.”

“I wasn’t a good partner in the months after Jenny and Michael died. And she… well. She apologized for it, but she wasn’t ready to become a stepmother.” I close my eyes, wondering at how a simple touch can feel so good. “I can see now that she wasn’t in it for the right reasons.”

Freddie makes another humming sound, shifting closer. Seconds later and her lips brush softly against the edge of my jaw. “The right reasons,” she repeats. “What are the wrong ones?”

“Money, prestige. Status.” I give a shrug. “Jenny never liked her.”

“You told me that’s why you go to the Gilded Room parties.”

“Mhm, so I did. At a time when I wanted to distract you.”

She smiles. “It was appreciated. And remembered.”

“Clearly.”

“You said at least women want you for your body there.”

I close my eyes at my own words reflected back at me. “Lovely sentiment.”

Freddie chuckles, and I shift us so she’s in my lap, knees on either side of me. The soft fabric of her sweater has ridden up and my fingers brush against the skin of her lower back.

“Tell me,” she insists, her dark hair falling forward like a curtain. “Do you think you could live without them?”

“Without the Gilded Room parties?”

“Yes. They’re fun, and I understand that they provide… thrilling entertainment, but… is it really want you want?”

My fingers dig deeper into her hips, hearing a question she hasn’t asked. A question I haven’t asked.

One that hovers close to defining what we are.

“No,” I murmur. “It’s not what I really want. But I don’t think I’m capable of taking care of what I do want, even if I were to get it.”

Her breath hitches, full lips falling open. But her eyes don’t stray from mine. “I think,” she murmurs, “that you’ve made it pretty clear you never give anything less than your best.”

The air warms between us, her compliment stirring inside me. It forces me to bend my head to her neck and press my lips against the sensitive spot beneath her ear. Her fingers tighten in my hair, a soft sigh escaping her.

And I know I always want to be the man she sighs like this for. The man she confides her fears in. The man she trusts and holds on to.

So I grip her tighter and pull us both into standing.

Her hands slide down my chest. “We’re going somewhere?”

“Yes.” I pull her through the living room, down the hall, passing Joshua’s closed door. Further down to mine.

“Hungry?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. “I ate earlier.”

“How long was your heater off for?”

“A few hours.”

“A few hours before you called me?”

Freddie gives a sheepish shrug. “Yes.”

That’s it. I grip her around the waist and grin as she squeals, tossing her onto my bed. She bounces once on the wide surface and spreads her arms, like she’s about to make a snow angel. Her hair is a dark halo. “You told me you were busy tonight. I didn’t want to bother you if it wasn’t important.”

“You not freezing to death is pretty important.”

She reaches for me, pulling me down on the bed. “Do you know,” she asks, her smile a beautifully wicked thing, “that I agree with that?”

“One more thing we have in common.” I brace myself on my elbows above her, and while her breasts press tantalizingly against my chest, it’s her smile I can’t look away from.

“Do you want to know something?” she asks.

“I do,” I say, bending to press my lips to the soft skin of her neck. She lets out a soft sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan.Upstodatee from Novel(D)ra/m/a.O(r)g