The smallest boy twisted in my arms and looked directly at Blake.
Blake stopped breathing.
I watched recognition move across his face slowly, almost painfully.
First confusion.
Then calculation.
Then something that looked very much like fear.
The boy in my arms had Blake’s dark hair.
So did his brothers.
One had the same slight cleft in his chin that Blake tried to hide whenever photographers caught him from the wrong angle.
Another had the Harrington family’s unmistakable smile—the crooked one Blake’s mother used to say appeared in every generation.
Blake took another step toward us.
“Emma,” he said quietly.
I shifted my son higher against my hip.
The oldest of the three moved closer to me.
He had always been observant.
He studied Blake with the solemn suspicion children reserve for strangers who are suddenly paying too much attention.
“Who is that?” he asked.
My throat tightened.
Blake heard him.
His eyes snapped to mine.
“How old are they?”
It was the first question he asked.
Not who they were.
Not whether I had remarried.
How old.
Because Blake Harrington was arrogant, cruel when wounded and catastrophically stubborn—but he was not stupid.
“Four,” I said.
His expression changed again.
The divorce had been finalized five years earlier.
The math did not require a billionaire’s education.
“Four?”
“They turn five in six weeks.”
He actually swayed.
The driver had come around the Bentley by then, but I gave him a small shake of my head.
He stayed beside the car.
Blake stared at the boys as if the entire airport had vanished.
“No.”
It came out barely louder than a breath.
I had imagined this moment before.
More times than I cared to admit.
In some versions I screamed at him.
In others, I slapped him.
Sometimes I gave him a speech so perfect and devastating that he had nothing left to say.
Reality was quieter.
One of my sons tugged my sleeve.
“Mom, can we go home now?”
“Yes.”
Blake stepped into our path.
“Emma, wait.”
I looked at him.
“You had five years to learn how to say that word.”
His face tightened.
“Are they mine?”
The oldest boy looked between us.
I lowered my voice.
“Not here.”
