Page 31 of Secret Heir

He processes this. “Like a bad guy?”

Christ. I guess in the traditional sense, yes. “More like…someone in between. Not completely good, not completely bad.”

“Oh.” He turns back to his fishing line. “Mama always said there were good people and bad people. But maybe there are in-between people too.”

“Maybe.” I’m surprised by his acceptance. “Does that scare you?”

“A little.” He glances at me. “But you haven’t been mean to me. So maybe you’re more good than bad.”

My lips quirk up in a brief smile. If only it were that simple.

“I try to be,” I tell him. “Especially with the people I love.”

Daniel glances at me. “Do you love Mama?”

He’s asked this before, but he needs to hear the answer again. And will probably keep asking until he feels settled in his new world. I just have to be patient for him.

“Yes,” I say. “Very much. Even when I’m angry with her.”

“Then why don’t you tell her that? Instead of fighting? Mama always says we should tell the truth.”

Out of the mouths of babes.

“Because it’s complicated,” I say again, knowing it’s a weak answer.

Daniel scowls. “Adults always say that,” he says in frustration. “But it doesn’t seem that complicated. If you love someone, you should tell them.” He fixes me with a look that’s reminiscent of Nikolai. “And be nice to them.”

He’s right, of course, but he doesn’t understand the weight of betrayal, the sting of stolen years, the fury of watching your child suffer when you could have prevented it.

He doesn’t understand yet what Aria’s choices cost us both.

My line jerks, and I feel the tug of a fish. “I’ve got something.”

Daniel’s eyes go wide as I reel it in—a decent-sized bass, silver and fighting. When I pull it out of the water, he gasps.

“That’s huge!”

“Want to try?” I hold out my rod. “I’ll help you.”

He takes it eagerly, and I guide his hands, showing him how to feel for the pull and how to reel steadily without jerking the line. When his bobber dips under the water, he yelps.

“I got one! I got one!”

“Reel it in,” I encourage. “Steady. Don’t pull too hard.”

He fights the fish with intense concentration, his tongue sticking out slightly as he works.

When the fish finally breaks the surface—a small sunfish, rainbow scales catching the light—his face splits into the biggest smile I’ve seen from him.

It’s a real smile with genuine joy lighting up his features, making him look like the happy child he should be.

My throat closes up.

This is my son.

My boy.

And he’s smiling because of something I taught him, something we did together.