The drive back to the estate gives me time to process the day and what it revealed about the kind of father I want to be. Holding Leo while he was sick, helping Danielle navigate his care, and being included in decisions about documentaries and bedtime stories all felt more meaningful than any business deal I’ve ever negotiated.
23
Danielle
Tuesday morning arrives with crisp clarity that makes everything feel sharper. Leo’s fever broke completely this morning around five a.m., and he woke asking for pancakes and wanting to know if the space dinosaurs had visited while he was sleeping. They were normal, wonderful three-year-old concerns that make my heart lighter.
I drop him off at Aunt Molly’s house with his backpack full of coloring books and dinosaur figures, listening to him chatter about his plans to build a space station out of couch cushions. The ordinariness of it makes me smile as I drive to the estate, though my stomach churns with nervous energy about the conversation I need to have with Radmir.
Yesterday changed something between us. Watching him care for Leo when he was sick, seeing the natural way he stepped into the role of concerned father figure, made it impossible to keep pretending this situation can remain casual or undefined. He held my son for hours while fever made him miserable, andwhen Leo finally felt better, the first thing he asked was whether Radmir would come back today.
I arrive at the estate and go through my morning routine, concentration proving impossible when I know I need to tell Radmir about the baby. The conversation weighs on me like a stone, waiting for the courage to share news that will change everything between us permanently.
Around ten o’clock, I’m organizing supplies in the east wing when I hear footsteps approaching. I turn to find Radmir walking toward me with purposeful strides and an expression that suggests this isn’t a casual encounter.
“Good morning.” I set down the cleaning supplies and face him directly. “Thank you again for yesterday. Leo is feeling much better.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Was he well enough for Molly’s today?”
“Yes, his fever stayed down all night before finally breaking around five a.m., and he was asking for pancakes and wanting to play when he woke up. Definite signs of recovery.” I pause, noting something formal in his demeanor that puts me on edge. “Is everything all right?”
“We need to discuss something.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out an official-looking document, holding it between us like evidence. “I had Leo’s hair tested for DNA comparison.”
The words make anger and resignation war in my chest. Part of me is furious he took genetic material from my son without permission, but a larger part acknowledges I’m not in any position to feel indignant about deception. “When did you take his hair?”
“At the restaurant when I helped him in the bathroom. I told him I was getting a soap bubble out of his hair.” His voice carries no apology, just matter-of-fact explanation. “The results confirm what we both already knew. Leo is my son.”
I stare at the document in his hands, seeing official letterhead and scientific terminology that makes our situation feel suddenly legal and permanent. “Are you angry I didn’t tell you sooner?”
“I’m disappointed, but I understand why you made the choices you did.” He folds the paper and tucks it back into his jacket. “The question now is whether this knowledge changes anything between us.”
“Does it change things for you?”
“No.” His response is immediate and certain. “I wanted to be part of his life before I had scientific proof, and that hasn’t changed. If anything, it makes me more determined to be the father he deserves.”
The simple declaration makes my throat constrict with emotion. “Radmir?—”
“What were you going to tell me Sunday night? Before Andrei called about Rodriguez?”
I take a deep breath, knowing this is the moment I’ve been building toward for weeks. “I’m pregnant.”
He goes very still, studying my face with intense focus. “How far along?”
“Almost fifteen weeks.” I watch his expression for signs of shock or anger, he appears more thoughtful than surprised. “I found about five weeks.”
“You weren’t planning to tell me.” It’s not a question, and the quiet disappointment in his voice makes me feel small.
“I was scared. Your world is dangerous, and I couldn’t imagine voluntarily bringing children into that. After what happened with that man breaking into your house...”
“I understand your concerns.” He steps close enough that I have to tilt my head up to meet his gaze. “You’re carrying my child, Danielle. Our child. That changes my responsibilities and my priorities.”
“How?”
“It means I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you both safe. You and Leo and the baby.” His voice carries absolute conviction.
The promise should comfort me, but uncertainty still churns in my stomach. “What if keeping us safe isn’t possible? What if being connected to you puts us in more danger than staying away?”
“Then I’ll change what needs to be changed to protect my family.” He reaches out and touches my face gently. “This isn’t negotiable, Danielle. You’re having my child. Do you know if it’s a boy or girl?”
