Chương 6
“I need to speak to Marcus,” she said.
“Be careful.”
Claire paused. “Do you think he would hurt me?”
“I think he will tell you the version that gives him the best chance of keeping you. Whether it hurts you may not be part of the calculation.”
After she left, Kesha found Ethan sitting on the carpet between the two hotel beds. Olivia was beside him, holding a decorative pillow shaped like a snow-covered pine tree.
“I don’t want him,” Ethan said.
“You don’t have to decide anything today.”
“I already decided.”
“You can change your mind later.”
“I won’t.”
Olivia pressed her face into the pillow. “I want Grandma Patricia.”
Ethan stared at her.
“You don’t know her.”
“She looks like Nana.”
Their maternal grandmother had died two years earlier. Kesha sat on the carpet, her gown from the night before hanging in the closet behind her, crystals still catching bits of light through the open door.
“You can want to know Patricia,” she said. “You can also be angry that she was gone.”
“Can we call her Grandma?” Olivia asked.
“Not until you want to.”
“I want to.”
“Then you may.”
Ethan shook his head. “That’s too fast.”
“For you,” Kesha said.
“For anyone.”
Olivia hugged the pillow harder.
Kesha let the disagreement remain. Four children born within minutes of one another had spent their lives being treated as a unit by strangers. She had tried not to make the same mistake. They did not need to feel the same thing simply because they had entered the same doorway.
At noon, Marcus arrived with his attorney.
The hotel’s security director called from the lobby. Kesha told him to allow Marcus up but not the attorney.
Marcus knocked three times. He wore the navy suit from the engagement party, though the tie was gone and his shirt collar was open. He had not slept. His hair, usually controlled by expensive products and habit, curled over his forehead.
Kesha opened the door only wide enough to step into the hall.
“My attorney is downstairs,” he said.
“Then go talk to him.”
“Kesha.”
“What?”
He glanced toward the door. “Are they inside?”
“Yes.”
“I want to see them.”
“You saw them.”
“You know what I mean.”
The echo of Noah’s words irritated her.
“You cannot borrow that sentence and make it decent.”
Marcus rubbed both hands over his face. “I am trying not to fight with you.”
“You are here with an attorney in the lobby.”
“He came because the video is everywhere.”
“He came because you called him.”
Marcus looked down the hall.
“Can we go somewhere private?”
“This is private enough.”
A housekeeping cart turned the corner. The attendant slowed, recognized him, and began arranging unopened shampoo bottles that did not need arranging.
Marcus waited until the cart passed.
“I want a paternity test.”
“You will have one.”
He seemed surprised by the answer.
“Through a neutral laboratory,” he said.
“Yes.”
“With documented custody.”
“Yes.”
“And if—”
“They are yours.”
“If the test confirms that, we need an agreement before anything else happens.”
“An agreement about what?”
“Privacy. Contact. Financial responsibility.”
“You mean a nondisclosure agreement.”
“I mean protection for everyone.”
“You mean yourself.”
Marcus looked toward the suite again. “You let one of them read private legal correspondence.”
“Noah found it in a file box while helping me move my office.”
“You told them I called you a liar.”
“I told them you disputed paternity.”
“He used the word liar.”
“So did your lawyer.”
Marcus lowered his voice. “I was told there was a legitimate possibility the embryos were not mine.”
“You were told that by a man you paid to create doubt.”
“My father had medical information.”
“What information?”
Marcus’s eyes shifted.
Kesha waited.
He placed one hand against the wall, then seemed to notice the gesture and lowered it.
“I had a fertility test before we married,” he said. “The results were poor.”
“We both knew that.”
“I was told it was nearly impossible.”
“You were told natural conception was unlikely. That is why we created embryos.”
“I never saw proof those embryos were genetically mine.”
“You signed every clinic document.”
“I signed documents saying sperm had been provided.”
“By you.”
“Under chain-of-custody procedures I did not supervise.”
Kesha stared at him. “You believe the clinic switched your sperm?”
“I believed it was possible.”
“No. You believed saying it was possible might save you from responsibility.”
His face hardened, then loosened again.
“You don’t know what my father told me.”
“Tell me.”
Marcus looked at the carpet.
“He said you had asked the clinic about donor sperm.”
“I asked what would happen if your sample did not produce viable embryos. They explained alternatives. We did not use them.”
“He said you were planning to leave.”
“I was planning to leave if you continued sleeping with your assistant.”
Marcus’s eyes snapped up.
“Do the children know that?”
“No.”
“Does Claire?”
“That is not my job.”
He stepped closer. “You have spent eight years building a version of me for them.”
“I spent eight years trying not to.”
“You gave them my last name.”
“It was my last name too.”
“You could have changed it.”
“So could you.”
The door opened behind Kesha.
Noah stood there wearing socks and a hotel robe.
“Mom?”
“Go inside.”
He looked at Marcus.
Marcus went completely still.
At the mansion, Noah had been one child among four, surrounded by noise and crystal and strangers. In the quiet hotel corridor, his resemblance became harder to dismiss. The same vertical line appeared between their eyebrows when they concentrated.
Marcus swallowed.
“Hello, Noah.”
Noah did not answer.
“You know my name,” he said finally.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Your mother said it last night.”
“She said all our names?”
Marcus hesitated. “I heard her speak to you.”
Noah looked at Kesha.
“Did he know before?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
May you like
Marcus flinched at the answer.
Noah turned back to him. “Why did you call her a liar?”
