Page 27 of Secret Heir

Progress. I’ll take it.

That afternoon, we work in the garden.

The estate has a vegetable garden near the greenhouse.

It was something my mother loved to do, and after she died I kept it up.

Even though the growing season has just begun, there’s already produce to be picked.

Daniel kneels in the dirt beside me, his hands muddy and his face serious as I show him how to pull up the ripe baby carrots.

He works carefully, making sure not to damage the roots.

“We grew tomatoes once,” he says suddenly. “In our apartment. On the fire escape.”

I still, wanting to learn more about his life prior to me discovering him. “Did they grow well?”

“Two of them did. The rest died.” He pulls up another carrot and sets it in the basket. “Mama said the fire escape didn’t get enough sun.”

I think about their cramped apartment, the narrow fire escape probably shaded by taller buildings. Aria trying to grow food because they couldn’t afford to buy enough. The two tomatoes that actually grew probably felt like a victory.

“You can grow anything you want here,” I tell him. “There’s plenty of space and sun.”

He nods, considering. “Maybe strawberries. I like strawberries, but they’re too expensive.”

My heart clenches at that statement and I force down the rising anger. He couldn’t even have his favorite fruit regularly. I make a mental note to tell the gardener to buy as many strawberry seeds as possible. If Daniel wants strawberries, he can have them.

“We’ll plant strawberries then,” I tell him. “As many as you want. Then Mrs. Ivanova will make you her strawberry shortcake. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

His face lights up and that fleeting expression of joy feels like I’ve just won the lottery. But then the wariness returns. “Really?”

“Really.” I ruffle his hair, leaving a smudge of dirt on his forehead. “You can have anything you want, Daniel. That’s what it means to be home.”

He goes back to pulling carrots, but I catch him glancing at me every few minutes like he’s trying to decide if he can trust these promises.

Later, when we’re washing our hands at the outdoor spigot, he asks, “Why do you and Mama fight so much?”

I should have expected this question and prepared an answer, but I’m caught off guard by the directness of it. Nikolai would be delighted by him.

“We disagree about some things,” I say carefully. “Adult things that are complicated.”

“About me?” he asks timidly.

“No.” I crouch down so we’re eye level and tip his chin up so he looks at me. “Never about you. We both love you very much. We just…we have different ideas about what’s best for you.”

“Mama thought what was best was Philadelphia.”

I dip my chin in confirmation. “Yes. And I think what’s best is here.” I pause. “Do you like it here?”

He considers this seriously, his muddy hands still under the running water. “The food is good and I have so many toys. And the pool. I like Ranger a lot.” Another pause. “But I miss Mama being happy.”

God, this kid knows just how to make me feel like a piece of shit.

“She’ll be happy again,” I promise, even though I’m not sure it’s true. “She just needs time to adjust.”

“Do you love her?” The question is abrupt, those gray eyes boring into mine.

My heart nearly gives out from the shock of that question.