Chapter Twenty-Seven
T he drive to the engagement party was awkward, but at least we weren’t being followed anymore. The silence sat between the four of us like a ten-ton elephant.
Finally, Cal sighed. “Please, can we move on from this little oopsie? Row and I once did it on his prep station in Descartes. He was lucky he closed the restaurant voluntarily or it’d have been shut down.” She bit down on her lower lip.
Row narrowed his eyes at Tate. “That was in my kitchen, my station. Tate is welcome to do whatever the fuck he wants on his property. Preferably drop dead.”
“Gonna live till I’m a hundred and twenty just to spite you.” Tate smirked wolfishly, one arm slung over my shoulder. “Also, may I remind you that time in my Montauk Jacuzzi three months ago?”
Row scowled. “How do you even know that? You weren’t home.”
“CCTV.”
“You were spying on us?” Row shrieked.
“I only watched the first five seconds before I added it to a PornHub compilation as retaliation. Nobody wants to bathe in your jizz, Row.”
Row unbuckled quickly, ready to pounce on him, before I yelped, “He’s kidding! He’s kidding.”
At least I hoped he was.
The exchange did break the ice, because afterward, the three of them slid into conversation about how Row didn’t really even cook for the event, only helmed the staff that was working there.
“Taylor’s handling the entire operation and pocketing fifty percent of it.
The kid’s a wiz,” Row said warmly about his sous-chef.
My mind drifted elsewhere. A few minutes passed before I felt my husband shift toward me.
“What’s going on in that hectic mind of yours?”
“If we were to have children—and we won’t, but if we did…” I trailed off.
“Yes?” He tilted an eyebrow.
“Our kids would be biracial,” I said, gnawing on my lip.
He stared at me flatly. “I’m well aware of that.”
“Are you sure you’re prepared for that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because it’s…well, different .” I clutched the trimmed hem of my dress, fumbling with it.
“No matter how intelligent, beautiful, well-spoken, filthy rich, and powerful they’d be, sooner or later, they’d face prejudice and difficult moments.
We’d have to have the gut-wrenching, frank conversations. ”
“I am nothing if not fucking truthful.” He scanned me, then added, “Does it bother you?”
It didn’t. I was proud of my heritage and was excited for my children to be a part of it. But I wanted to make sure he knew what he was getting into. “And you?”
“No. Then again, I’ve never had to walk a day in your shoes.”
This simple acknowledgement encouraged me. Tate’s childhood seemed far from perfect, and I knew he had a humble beginning, but he never looked different.
“Diversity is not very common in your circles,” I said matter-of-factly.
“It’s becoming more common than you think. Even if it wasn’t, ignorance is a terrible reason not to do something.” He was quiet for a moment. “Besides, they’ll have you.”
“One person is not enough.”
“One person is more than enough, when it’s the right one.”
Liquid heat filled my chest, and something dangerously close to deep affection took over me.
“I reckon any woman—any mother —of a child who is a person of color needs to come to terms with the fact that she must be a lioness. You have to advocate for them more, always have your finger on the pulse. I think, for a lot of children, evil is an abstract concept. But for children who must know history well, whose grandparents experienced atrocious inequalities, evil is just another facet of human nature. The world can be a very unkind place.”
“If the world is cruel to them,” he said wryly, finding my fingers across the seat, lacing them with his so I’d stop fumbling, “I will be crueler. You can quote me on that.”
Row and Cal were now talking animatedly between themselves, paying us no heed. I dropped my voice to a whisper, “Do you think if we had kids, you’d be able to love them?”
He considered my words. “If I could feel love…I think I’d love the hell out of our kids.”