Chapter 25 #2
"Trust me."
"Okay."
The yarn was a disaster. I tried wrapping brown yarn around the cardboard for fur, but the end got knotted tight. The more I pulled, the worse it got. Eventually, the whole ball tangled into a fist-sized mess with my right index finger trapped inside. Pedro laughed till he couldn't stand.
Half an hour later, on the carpet before us sat... a cat. One ear big, one small. Eyes at different heights. Yarn covered only half the body, the other half bare cardboard.
Pedro picked it up and examined it closely.
"Not bad!" he declared. "Looks like that orange cat Rose showed me!"
He carefully tucked the cardboard yarn cat into his backpack. Then he turned, wrapped his little arms around my neck, stood on tiptoe, and kissed my right cheek.
"Ronan." His blue eyes were inches from my face. "I wish you were my dad."
My vision blurred suddenly, a burning ache surging through my nose. I looked at this child before me—my flesh and blood, my continuation—and I desperately wanted to tell him right then. I am. I am your bastard father.
Keys turned in the lock. Ryan pushed the door open. She carried a grocery bag, probably from the supermarket.
"What are you two doing?"
"Making crafts!" Pedro jumped off my lap, ran to his backpack, and pulled out the yarn cat to show her. "Mom, look! Ronan helped me make it!"
Ryan took it, looked for three seconds. Her mouth twitched. She was holding back laughter.
"Nice." Very controlled tone.
She handed the cat back to Pedro and glanced at me. "Clean up the floor." Then carried the groceries to the kitchen.
"Yes."
I'd officially earned dinner privileges, though I still had to leave after.
Then my phone rang. Rose.
"Dad. I'm transferring schools."
"Rose—"
"I already talked to the teacher. Palo Alto public schools accept transfer applications. And I want to intern at Ryan's clinic. I know I'm only eleven and can't officially intern, but I can help. I can do crafts with the kids, help organize things at the front desk."
"Dad. I want to be with Ryan and my brother."
Hearing that, my heart softened. "Okay. I'll contact the school tomorrow."
After Rose moved to Palo Alto, she immediately latched onto Ryan and Pedro.
After school, she never went back to the apartment I'd specially rented for her. Instead, she'd come with me to pick up Pedro from preschool. The two kids walked hand-in-hand down the sidewalk, chattering nonstop. Then naturally, she'd go back to Ryan's for dinner.
First week, after dinner, she'd obediently leave with me. Second week, she'd finish eating and sprawl on the couch watching cartoons with Pedro, refusing to budge. By the third week, Pedro dragged her upstairs to the empty guest room, looked up earnestly, and asked if she could stay the night.
"I'll leave first thing tomorrow," Rose said quickly. But she didn't leave. Not the next day either. Within days, her backpack and clothes had quietly moved into the guest room closet, firmly settled in.
Ryan carefully decorated her bedroom. Except for Luna, who needed to come later because she was sick, their life was no different from the manor.
"Hey. Time for you to go." Tonight after dinner, I wanted to play with my son a bit longer, but Ryan started shooing me out.
My daughter already lived there. And I had to leave after every dinner.
Honestly, I was jealous of her. But jealousy was useless. New York kept calling. Declan was phoning three times a day.
"Boss, the property transfers in Queens are stuck at City Hall. You need to sign in person."
"Let the lawyers handle it."
"Lawyers say you have to be there for this batch. And Night Owl—I intercepted a new encrypted message from Nick. He's negotiating with an Eastern European arms channel. This can't wait."
I sat on Ryan's porch steps, watching through the living room window as Pedro taught Rose Chinese checkers—teaching terribly, making up all the rules himself.
"I'll go back," I said. "Monday through Friday in New York. Fly back Friday afternoon."
"Coast to coast every week?"
"Yes."
Declan was silent for two seconds.
"Alright." He said. "I'll arrange flights."
From then on, every Friday afternoon, I landed at San Francisco International on schedule.
Marco picked me up at arrivals and drove straight to Palo Alto.
I'd make it for dinner with Ryan and the kids, and spend weekends at the clinic and Ryan's house.
Monday at four a.m., the alarm rang, I'd dress, kiss still-sleeping Pedro's forehead—he stayed with me at the hotel on weekends now—then drive to the airport.
But this wasn't optimal. Every time I stood on Ryan's porch telling her and the kids "I'll be back next Friday," Pedro would cling to my legs, wouldn't let go.
I sat in my study till late at night, family property approvals and Declan's latest Night Owl briefing spread before me. My gaze lifted from the reports, sweeping every corner—dark wood walls, silver-trimmed sconces, the Valerius family crest hanging above the fireplace...
I suddenly felt the emptiness. This familiar manor made me feel so alone.
I called Declan.
"Find me a house in Palo Alto," I said. "Within ten minutes walking distance of 1120 Waverley Street."
"You sure?"
"Sure. Move the family's operational center there, too. Set up a permanent office in San Francisco."
"Ronan. Palo Alto is Santoro territory. Bay Area rules are different—any move you make needs their approval."
"Then negotiate."
"You think they'll agree?"
I closed the file.
"They'll agree."