Page 22 of Cruel Kiss

I want all of it so badly.

I am no better than my six-year-old, is the truth of it.

I just hide it slightly more competently.

For now.

It's a couple nights later, at dinner, when Isabella asks the question.

We're eating spaghetti. Ronan made it, of course, because apparently the man can cook anything, and Isabella has marinara sauce spread from ear to ear like clown makeup. Hayden is telling a long story that I've mostly stopped following. It's a good night.

Then Isabella puts down her fork, looks up at Ronan with her whole open face, and asks, "Are you gonna stay forever?"

The conversation dies at once.

I know how this goes. I've seen it. I was there at the lake, in the dark, with the window open and the cicadas going, when this man told my daughter he'd do his best to stay forever and looked like he meant every syllable of it.

I felt what it did to me then.

Now, he's going to do it again.

He's going to make her a promise he has no right to make, a promise neither of us has any way to keep, not with feds circling and Lev out there and my whole life balanced on a knife's edge.

He's going to say the beautiful thing, and it's going to undo me, and I'm going to be furious and moved and helpless all at once, the way I always am with him.

I brace for it. I grip the edge of the table.

Ronan sets down his fork.

He doesn't look at me first like I thought he might. Instead, he looks at Isabella. He gives her his whole attention.

And then he says:

"That's your mother's decision."

Isabella blinks. "But do youwantto?"

"What I want doesn't come first here," he tells her, gentle. "This is your mom's house. You're her kids. Whether I stay isn't up to me, and it isn't up to you, either, brave girl. It's up to her." He picks his fork back up. "And whatever she decides is going to be the right thing. She's the smartest person I know."

Then he goes back to his spaghetti like he didn't just utterly ruin me for any other man forever.

Hayden and Isabella are satisfied. My son resumes his story and Isabella asks for more parmesan.

But I'm not moving.

Because he just handed me the pen to write my own ending.

You decide.

I'm not even sure how long passes before Isabella pokes me in the leg.

"Mommy?" Isabella says. "The parmesan?"

"Right," I manage. "Yeah, baby. Here you go."

I pass her the cheese. My hand isn't quite steady. Ronan sees it, but he doesn't say a word. Just smiles and twirls more noodles on his fork.

Bastard.