Chapter 2 A Son’s Choice
A Son’s Choice
Reaching over, I gently remove the TV remote from my son’s hand.
He sits next to me in my king-sized bed as we watch The Tonight Show featuring the Alpha Princess Jessica Langhlam.
He leans back, mirroring my posture, propped against the headboard with a couple of pillows against his back.
His jet-black hair is smoothed down to perfection, and tonight, he sports a button-down, deep blue, pinstriped pajama set, instead of his usual favorites with cartoon characters.
I smirk at his effort to dress up to watch a show on TV.
As the show is about to end, someone from the audience yells, “Sing a song!”
“Yeah, one of your songs!” a few more shout the same request.
“Sing?” the Alpha Princess asks.
The host suggests with his hands that the stage is hers. “Sure. Everyone’s excited now that they know you are the masked singer ‘G’. Go for it.”
The Alpha Princess approaches the band and whispers to them.
As they play the opening chords to a song, she closes her eyes and starts to sing.
I’m instantly enraptured by her beauty and her voice, and when the lyrics of the song resonate, a deep ache envelops my heart.
The camera shows the audience, capturing them swaying to the music, and the host offers a wide grin as he watches her perform.
The camera focuses on the Alpha Princess, and it catches a single tear falling from the corner of her left eye.
Clearing my throat, I push down the building emotions and glance over at my son. He is also mesmerized by the princess, even though he doesn’t quite understand the meaning behind her beautiful melody. When they cut to a commercial segment, signaling the end of the show, I turn off the TV.
He looks at me and says, “She’s beautiful, Daddy.”
I lean forward and kiss his head. “She really is, son.”
He smiles. “Inside and out?”
“I guess you would have to be to write songs like that and sing with so much emotion that everyone around you feels precisely what you feel when you sing.”
He nods before confessing, “I met her.”
My smile flips into a frown. “What do you mean you met her?”
“Panny took me to watch her funny story. Panny’s friend let us go behind the curtain to meet her.”
“Penny,” I correct him. Sometimes, I forget that he’s six years old because he speaks like an old man. My fault, I’m sure. I speak to him like he’s an adult.
“Penny,” he repeats. “I told her, Dad.”
“You told her what?”
He sighs, like I should already know the answer. “I told the Alpha Princess that if she meets you, she will know that she’s your true mate.”
Not this again. Ever since he saw her on the news, that’s all he talks about. “She’s the one, Dad! She’s your true mate. I know it!” He crosses his arms and pouts.
I lean forward and tickle him. “Is she now?”
He squeals and giggles. “Yes! Yes!” he shouts.
“You know what I think?” I ask, gently hitting him over the head with the pillow. “I think it’s time for you to go to sleep. It is way past your bedtime.”
I lift him up and swing his upper body over my shoulder, carrying him to his room. Once he’s in his own bed, I cover him with the comforter after he calms down and scoots lower in the bed. He groans.
“No! No negotiating. You agreed. We shook on the deal. I let you stay up past your bedtime to watch The Tonight Show. You said you would go to sleep as soon as it was over.”
He scrunches his tiny nose. “Ugghhhh, fine.”
I kiss him on the cheek. “Good night, son. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Dad.” He rests his tiny arms around my neck and hugs me. Then, he whispers, “She’s the one, Dad. I can feel it. I felt it when I met her.”
I pull back and search his pale blue eyes. “Son, I just don’t think it will work. It’s complicated. It’s an adult thing. Don’t ask any more questions, alright? Go to sleep.”
“You have to fight for her. She’s the one, Dad. Please.”
I shake my head. “Go to sleep. We can talk about this later.”
He mumbles under his breath, turning his back to me.
Still, I don’t want to have this conversation, especially with my six-year-old son, who shouldn’t even understand the concept of true mates.
Note to self: talk to my mother about limiting her rom-coms or whatever dramatic romance movies she watches in front of my son.
I make my way to the kitchen, where my nanny removes the dishes from the dishwasher.
“What the hell do you think you are doing taking my son to a late-night show hosting the Alpha Princess?” I demand.
She almost drops the dish in her hand. I scared her…
Good. Honestly, what the fuck was she thinking?
“I’m sorry, Alpha. Your parents bought the tickets. I assumed you knew about it,” she replies, looking down at her hand, trembling now.
“My parents bought the tickets?” She nods. Is that who put this whole stupid notion of the Alpha Princess being my true mate in his head? What the fuck are they thinking? I still want to ream the poor girl, but the truth is this wasn’t her fault. I’ll deal with my parents.
Pointing my finger at her, I instruct, “The next time my parents buy tickets to anything or tell you to take him anywhere, you clear it with me first. I don’t care if you think I already know about it. He is my son! Is that clear?”
“Yes, Alpha. This won’t happen again.” Her eyes remain cast down. Shit, her face is red, like she’s about to cry.
I turn to leave to check on my three-year-old daughter when my nanny says, “She’s nothing like how I thought she would be.
She was sweet, down to earth. She was good to Jackson, gave him attention, and made him feel…
important, like the honor was hers meeting him for the first time.
” Fuck, fuck, fuck! Not her, too. “They bonded… I think Jackson is right,” she blurts in a single breath.
With my back still facing her, I reply with a lethal edge in my voice, “I won’t discuss this shit with my employees. Is this clear? We are not friends. If you want to remain an employee, I suggest you stay out of my personal affairs, including my conversations with my son.”
“Y-Yes, Alpha. My apologies for overstepping.”
Good, I think as I storm down the hall.
I need to talk to my parents. I know they treat their employees like family, especially the pack.
I don’t mind what they do, but I don’t like it.
It sometimes gives the employees and pack members the impression that they can talk to us like friends, give us personal advice, mind our fucking business, betray us. Like they have the right.
I’m a private person. I like to keep my life and my identity confidential. I don’t want to be friends with everyone who works for me, including our pack. I’m their boss, their Alpha, and that relationship shouldn’t have blurred lines. It’s safer that way.
I sit heavily down in my office chair and lean forward, placing my elbows on my desk and my face in my hands.
Growling into my hands, I flip open my laptop and take a deep breath.
I open my itinerary for the next three days.
What the fuck am I thinking? Why am I doing this?
After that little rant in my head, I’m a walking, talking, fucking contradiction.
This isn’t who I am. I’m going against everything I believe.
I’m going against everything I stand for.
I’m taking an extended vacation from work.
I can’t remember when I last went on a vacation.
I’m leaving my father in charge of the firm and the pack.
I turn my head and catch a glimpse of the photo of my partner and me, taken on our wedding day.
It’s one of the few pictures where I’m actually smiling.
Our union wasn’t based on love—well, romantic love anyway.
It was an arranged marriage, but I was lucky to end up with my best friend in the whole world.
The day she died, I almost lost myself entirely if not for my son and daughter.
I almost reverted to how I used to be—an uncaring, heartless bastard.
Looking at the picture now in my hands, I recall that Emily never wanted me to give up on reuniting with my one true love. She always believed I still had a chance.
“I fucking hope you’re right, Em. I hope you’re right because if not, I will be making an ass of myself in front of millions of people.”