24. Chapter 24
Chapter 24
Lily
"I don't know, Dad," I say, struggling to control my emotions.
We’re sitting on the patio of a quiet restaurant, our breakfast untouched. For the past half hour, Dad’s been pressing for answers about what happens next with Noah—now that the truth is out. The affair and the questions of paternity have cast a heavy shadow over everything. I’m trying to stay objective, to remind myself that Dad didn’t know Marian was married, but who am I kidding? This isn’t going to be easy for any of us.
"Was Noah okay with you last night after you told him?" Dad asks, placing his hand over mine. "I hope I didn't ruin everything."
"Noah and I are okay, Dad," I say, hoping my calmness reassures him. "We love each other, and our plans to marry are moving forward."
But even as I say it, I can feel the weight of Marian's words pressing down on me. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll wish you'd never met Noah."
"Dad, can I ask you something?" I say, my voice curious. "Why Marian?"
"She's beautiful," he says simply as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.
"This world is full of beautiful women, Dad," I counter. "What made her so special?"
"Marian has this... quality," he replies, his gaze distant. "She’s seductive, intriguing."
The exact opposite of me. The thought settles like a stone in the pit of my stomach.
"How did you meet her?" I ask, hoping he might open up.
"I was meeting a client at the hotel she was staying in," he says, his gaze drifting off as if caught in a memory. "We met in the elevator. She was coming back from the pool, wearing this—" He clears his throat. "Mija, I don’t think we should be talking about this."
"Is she prettier than me?" I ask, the words slipping out, showing my insecurity.
"You're the most beautiful young woman my eyes have ever seen," he says, his voice filled with the pride only a father can have.
I smile, but it’s faint. "You're just saying that because you're my dad, and I look like you."
"Lily," he says, squeezing my hand gently, his eyes soft. "You're beautiful, inside and out. That’s something no one could ever say about Marian."
"Then why did you sleep with her, Dad?" The words escape like a sharp reproach, hitting him squarely.
His gaze falters for a moment before he sighs. "Because I knew a one-night stand wouldn’t hurt either of us and I thought it would end there."
The bluntness of his admission jars me. "I can't believe you, Dad," I say, shaking my head, disbelief tightening in my chest.
"I never claimed to be a perfect man," he says, shrugging slightly, his voice tinged with resignation. "But I've been a good father."
"You have, Dad," I nod, my expression softening as I give him a small, appreciative smile. "You really have."
"There’s something I have to tell you, Mija," he murmurs. The tone in his voice is sobering, and I immediately sense something unpleasant is coming.
"What is it?" I ask, placing my hand over his, bracing myself.
"Before Marian left Mérida," he murmurs before clearing his throat, "we exchanged phone numbers. Four years ago, she came to visit me."
"What?" I whisper, the word sounding foreign to my own ears. "No, no, no. This can't be happening."
"I know I keep saying this," he begins, "but I had no idea she was married. As soon as I found out, I ended things for good."
My mind struggles to process this new revelation. Where was Noah? Where was Davey when all this was happening?
"How long was she in Mérida with you?" I ask, fighting back tears that threaten to spill over.
"I'm not sure," he says, his voice rushed.
"How long, Dad?" I press, my tone clipped, teetering on the edge of hysteria.
"Three weeks, maybe four," he replies, worry flooding his eyes.
"A month?!" I exclaim, the word bursting from me like a dam breaking.
"Calm down, Mija," he says soothingly. "You're going to make yourself sick."
"You're making me sick, Dad!" I shriek, my voice trembling with anger and hurt. "You're making me sick."
"Lily, please," he begs, concern etched deeply on his face.
As the tears begin to flow, I quickly swipe them away, desperate to regain control. I grab my purse and bolt from the restaurant. I climb into the car and let the sobs escape—a long, frustrated cry that feels like it might tear me apart. My mind races, and I suddenly realize that this clandestine meet-up between my father and Marian happened when Noah was in Florida, taking care of his sick mother.
Noah's words echo in my ears: "After Mom died, I went home and found my wife was two months pregnant—with another man's baby."
That other man was my father. A wave of nausea surges in my throat, threatening to choke me. I pull out of the parking lot, leaving my father behind. I don’t care. He can walk home.
I don’t know how much more of this I can endure. The thought of having to tell Noah yet another horrible truth involving my father feels unbearable. I’m sick to my stomach, and my heart aches with a deep wave of shame.
***
Walking into the kitchen back at the house, I’m greeted by the rich aroma of beef cooking in the crock pot. Also on the counter is a bouquet of flowers, freshly picked from the garden and tied together with a delicate ribbon. The vibrant colors stand out against my overwhelming sadness. Next to the flowers is a neatly folded note with my name written in elegant cursive.
Sweetheart, I have an appointment with Bethany Adams to discuss Davey's custody. I put a roast in the crock pot for sandwiches. I should be back by one. See you then. I love you, Noah PS: You are my destiny, my heart's desire. I can't wait to make you my bride.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until the warm drops of tears mix with the ink on the paper, smudging some of the words.
I pick up the flowers and bring them to my face, inhaling deeply, but my nose is so stuffed from crying that I realize I can't even draw a breath through it. The sweet scent of blossoms is lost to me, much like the warmth of the moment feels overshadowed by my dark mood.
I fill a vase with water, adding a splash of vinegar to help preserve the blooms. Then, I carefully separate the flowers, slipping them into the vase one by one, whispering, “He loves me, he loves me not,” with each delicate stem. As I place the last flower in, the final whisper hangs in the air, uncertain: “He loves me.” I can’t help but wonder if that love will endure when I deliver the next unexpected blow.
***
First, I hear the tires crunching on the gravel, then the soft click of the key turning in the lock. The moment he steps into the house, his presence envelops me, filling the air with a love that both comforts and shatters my heart. I know what I’m about to tell him will break his heart just as surely as it has broken mine.
"What's wrong?" he asks as soon as our eyes meet.
All I can do is look away, avoiding his gaze, and slowly shake my head.
He steps closer, wrapping his arms around me, offering warmth and safety. "I take it your talk with your dad didn’t go too well."
I love him so much that the thought of remaining silent is tempting. I’d rather sink into the deepest ocean than face the truth I have to share—one that feels so devastating it could tear us apart.
I don’t want to do this; the words sit heavy in my throat, begging for release but feeling too painful to utter.
When I look up at him, he smiles—the smile that captivates my every thought. The smile that melts my heart and makes it soar to the heavens. The very smile I’m about to extinguish with a cruel reality.
"Can we sit?" I ask, my voice trembling as I realize my legs might give way at any moment. He takes my hand, his grip reassuring, and guides me to the sofa.
As soon as we sit, he takes my hands, cocooning them in his. "Your hands are cold, Sweetheart," he murmurs, lifting them to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on my knuckles.
I feel a tear escape, rolling down my cheek. "Whatever it is," he whispers, his voice gentle, "you can tell me."
"I don't even know where to begin, Noah," I murmur, looking away, unable to hold his gaze any longer.
I pull my hands away from his and nervously twist the ring around my finger. "Do you remember when you told me Marian had an affair while you were in Florida, taking care of your mom?"
He nods, but confusion clouds his eyes, a subtle frown forming as he tries to understand where this is going.
"While you were here," I begin, my heart somersaulting in my chest. "Marian saw my father again in Mérida. She was there for at least three weeks. Maybe four."
His reaction is instant. He steps away so fast that it sends a jolt through me, leaving me frozen in shock. His fingers rake through his hair as he paces, his eyes darting everywhere but to mine. The distance between us feels like an abyss, and I can’t find the words to close it.
I wait in silence, afraid that anything I say could shatter what’s left of his composure. I can't even begin to understand what he's going through as he tries to process everything. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, filled with a pain I can feel in my bones. "Where was Davey?"
I know he doesn’t expect an answer, but I offer a weak defense for my father anyway. "I don’t think Dad ever knew she had a baby."
"Davey was six weeks old when Mom took a turn for the worse, and I flew to Florida," he murmurs, almost as if he’s speaking to himself, the disbelief thick in his voice. "Where did Marian leave our newborn son for a month?"
I try to respond, but all I can do is shake my head, the words caught in my throat, refusing to surface.
I thought this would all be about Marian’s betrayal, with my father’s role at the center of it. But it’s Davey that weighs most on Noah’s mind. The fear of what might have happened while Marian was gone—his safety, his wellbeing.
The tension in the room thickens as I glance at Noah. He moves around the room like a panther, sleek and dangerous, his anger barely restrained. He’s always had a formidable presence, but now it’s different—charged, simmering, like he’s one wrong move away from losing control.
“Noah,” I finally whisper. His head snaps toward me, eyes locking onto mine as if he’s just now realizing I’m still in the room. For a brief moment, his anger falters, replaced by something raw, something unguarded. He drags his fingers through his hair again and walks over, sitting beside me, leaning forward as he clasps his hands together.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice low and strained. “I don't think I’ve ever been this angry.”
“Is there anything I can do?” I ask, hating how small and useless the words sound. What could I possibly offer other than the risk of making it worse?
“You’re already doing something, Sweetheart,” he says, forcing a slight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re here.”
I reach for his hand, and he immediately threads his fingers through mine. The warmth of his touch floods me with relief. He might be angry—furious even—but not with me.
“Are we okay, Noah?” I ask, my voice betraying the fear I can’t quite hide. The possibility that what we have might be too fragile to survive this blow teeters on the edge of my thoughts.
"We're more than okay," he says, his voice steady. "Remember, we're in love and getting married."
"I love you, Noah," I whisper, my heart tightening. "I don't want anything to come between us. Not even my father."
His brown eyes lock onto mine, filled with a tenderness that steals my breath. "You know what I’m thinking?" he murmurs. When I shake my head slightly, he adds, "Two months might not be long enough for most, but for me, it's been more than enough to know you're the one , Lily. My dream come true. I want to spend the rest of my life loving you."
I smile as my pulse races. "I honestly can’t decide what I love more—your handsome face or how you have a way with words because they both leave me speechless."
He leans in and kisses me softly, sweetly, reminding me of yet another reason he leaves me speechless, breathless. When he pulls back, his expression sobers. "I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around all this," he confesses.
"I'm sorry about my father being involved with Marian," I whisper.
"It's not your fault," he says, gently squeezing my hand. "None of this is."
"She was pregnant with his child," I whisper, the overwhelming sense of loss gripping me. "She was pregnant with my sibling."
His eyes soften with sympathy. "You and Davey would’ve had a brother or sister in common."
"Can someone mourn a baby that never was?" I ask, though I already know the answer—because I mourn the children I’ll never have.
"I believe so, yes," he says, his hand sliding comfortingly up and down my arm. "Does your dad know about the pregnancy?"
"No," I say, shaking my head. "I stormed out of the restaurant. I didn’t give him much of a chance to explain after—"
"You left him stranded?" he asks, his tone a mix of surprise and amusement, a smile tugging at his lips.
I nod, grinning. "Don’t feel too sorry for him. The hotel’s within walking distance."
"You need to tell him," he says gently. "He deserves to know. If I were in his shoes, I'd want to know."
"You’re kind, Noah Linder," I say, my eyes filling with tears. "I’m so sorry this is happening." The pang of guilt and shame twists inside me, wrapping around my heart like a stubborn weed that won’t wither, no matter how much happiness I try to pour over it.
"You never have to be sorry," he whispers, his voice tender. "Not about this."