“She is! She knows everything.” He leans even closer. “Even more than Daddy.”
“I heard that,” Ronan says dryly, but there’s amusement in his eyes.
Before I know what’s happening, Maggie herds us all to the dining table. I try to hang back, feeling like an intruder on this family moment, but she’s having none of it.
“Sit, sit,” she insists, practically pushing me into a chair. “Any friend of Ronan’s is family at our table.”
If only she knew. I’m not a friend. I’m a charity case he bought at an auction.
Ryan scrambles into the chair right beside me, placing his toys carefully beside his plate. “This is Godzilla,” he explains,pointing to the largest monster. “And this is Rodan, and this is Mechagodzilla. He’s a robot.”
“They’re very cool,” I say, genuinely impressed by his enthusiasm.
“Do you like monsters?” he asks, eyes wide and hopeful.
I consider this seriously. “Kind of. I think they’re misunderstood. Everyone thinks they’re scary, but maybe they’re just different.”
Ryan’s mouth drops open. “That’s what I always say! You all heard it, right? Daddy, she gets it!”
Across the table, Ronan watches us with an expression I can’t quite read. He’s quiet, passing plates and pouring juice, but his eyes rarely leave my face. Every time our gazes connect, heat floods my cheeks as I remember his hands on my skin, his mouth on my?—
“Syrup?” Thomas asks, breaking my inappropriate train of thought. He holds out the bottle, his expression neutral but somehow knowing.
“Thank you,” I say, accepting it with shaking hands.
“What books do you like?” Ryan asks, mouth already full of pancake. “I like dinosaur books and monster books and space books.”
“Ryan, chew and swallow before you talk,” Ronan says.
I smile at the boy. “I like all kinds of books. Stories about adventures and magic and brave people.”
“Do you read bedtime stories?” He stabs another piece of pancake. “Daddy reads the best bedtime stories. He does all the voices.”
I nearly choke on my coffee, trying not to picture Ronan, intimidating billionaire, doing silly voices for children’s books. It’s an oddly endearing thought, and it tugs at something inside me. Something I’d rather not unspool right now.
“I bet he's very good at that,” I say, and when I glance up, Ronan’s watching me with heat in his eyes.
“What’s your favorite food?” Ryan continues, seemingly determined to know everything about me. “Mine’s pizza and ice cream and pancakes and dino chicken nuggets and?—”
I chuckle. “Sounds like you have lots of favorites.”
He nods vigorously. “What’s yours?”
“Hmm. My mom makes this amazing pasta with garlic bread. I think that’s my favorite.”
“I love pasta! Daddy, can we have pasta tonight? Can Rayne’s mom come make it?”
My smile falters. “My mom’s not feeling well these days. That’s why I’m ... visiting your dad." Not technically a lie.
Ryan’s face falls. "Is she sick? My friend Ethan’s grandma got sick and had to go to the hospital."
“Something like that,” I say softly, guilt already eating at me. Mom’s at the hospital, and here I am, enjoying breakfast as though I have no care in the world. As though everything’s normal. As though I deserve this.
“I hope she gets better,” he says with such sincerity that my heart twists.
“Thank you, Ryan. That’s very kind.”
“Are you staying forever?” he asks, leaning against my arm as he reaches for his juice.
