Page 67 of The Don's Secret Heir

I draw in a breath. “I just miss someone.”

“Who do you miss?”

“Papa. Remember Papa?”

His frown deepens. “Where is Papa? It’s been a long time since we’ve seen him.”

My breath hitches in my chest but when I speak, my voice comes out steady.

“He’s... on a trip.”

It’s what I wish I could believe. In the back of my head somewhere, I’m just hoping he comes back, telling stories about the bender he had.

But I know the truth.

He’s gone. But I can’t bring myself to tell my son that his grandfather is dead.

“Must be a long trip.”

“Yeah,” I say softly, ruffling his hair as he finishes beating the mix. “I guess so.”

“You just miss him,” he continues, my precocious boy. “Because he’s your dad.”

“That’s right,” I say, thinking nothing of it, but then I hear him mumble something under his breath.

“I miss my dad, too. Even though I never met him.”

I freeze. I didn’t think he was old enough to ask these questions, to realize anything was different. I squeeze my eyes shut and then open them again.

“Time to cook the pancakes!” I say in a cheery voice, and he smiles, distracted.

Thank God.

I have no idea what I’ll tell Sonny when he is old enough to press me about his father.

I guess I’ll tell him what I tell everyone else—that it was a one-night-stand. That he didn’t want anything to do with me, after.

But that will break Sonny’s heart.

“You made pancakes?”

Dario’s voice, incredulous, comes from the open doorway of the kitchen.

I stiffen but turn around.

“I did. There’s plenty, if you want some.”

“I didn’t know you cooked.”

“She doesn’t!” Sonny pipes up. “Only pancakes.”

I smile and wrinkle my nose at him. He laughs, sitting in his booster seat and digging into his pancakes.

Dario makes himself a plate and sits next to Sonny.

I sit down myself, cutting a small piece of a pancake. Sonny’s giggling makes me look up.

Dario has torn three holes hrough a large pancake and draped it over his face.