Page 15 of A Convenient Secret (Merged #3)

Declan

T he more I try to avoid Lily, the more present she is in my life. I couldn’t refuse Zoya’s request. They will have a zombie father as it is after the fucked-up night I had.

I ended up with six stitches only, and I paid for a private room to have a nap, to regroup. I snuck around because somewhere in the same hospital, my business partner was having a baby.

There is a slim chance that the events of last night could become an anecdote we would all laugh at, but that time is not here yet.

After a power nap—something I mastered as a father—I called my driver and returned home. Home where Lily is still present, and my kitchen is in disarray.

And as soon as my gaze latched onto hers, I wasn’t sure how to proceed. On one side, there is the need to distance myself—for her sake and for mine. On the other hand, there must be a reason she sleeps armed to evoke a sense of safety.

Why is that? The question has been looping in my mind, and as much as I try, I can’t park it. I should be furious—or at least alarmed. And I am, but it’s not about me. My concern lies with the woman I want to erase from my life.

A futile effort.

Lily isn’t erasable.

Lily isn’t forgettable.

Lily isn’t ignorable.

Though the last one I’ve come as close to perfecting as possible. And I leaned into it all day today.

I poured my attention into my children, going about our habitual Saturday activities as if it was just a usual Saturday. Like Lily wasn’t here with us.

Okay, Zoya wasn’t ignoring her. It was I who carried that badge proudly. And Zach mirrored my behavior.

Somehow, overnight, he seems to have changed his attitude toward Lily. He treats her like any other nanny. They didn’t hear my arrival this morning, but I saw his little stunt.

Lily and Zoya meander in front of us, chatting and eating ice cream. Lily has been guarded and quieter than usual, stealing curious glances at me. To her credit, however, she is focused on the kids.

Well, on Zoya, who is animatedly explaining something, drops of her ice cream flickering around as she gesticulates with joy, holding the small plastic spoon.

Lily’s face equally expressive, she listens and oohs and ahs like my six-year-old daughter is telling her something incredibly riveting. She may be, I guess.

“Do you want to tell me about the milk incident?” I ask Zach. My arm throbs, but I don’t want to take painkillers. I don’t want to be high around my kids.

“Accident, Dad.” Zach scoops a small dollop of his ice cream.

“I saw.” I veer us toward a bench when I see Lily and Zoya sit on another one.

Zach sighs but doesn’t say anything.

“I thought you liked Lily as your nanny.” I angle myself so I don’t see said nanny, because, for this conversation I don’t want to be distracted.

“That was before.” Zach’s jaw is set.

“Before what?”

“When she was with us for one week only.” He basketballs his uneaten cup into a garbage bin.

“I don’t understand.”

Zoya chats two benches away from us. Even without seeing her, I’m viscerally aware of Lily’s presence.

“I don’t want a nanny.” Zach folds his arm.

“Zach, I have a demanding job, and I do my best to spend as much of my time with you as possible—”

“I know that,” he interrupts.

“When I’m not around, we need help. You’re a smart boy and a great brother, but you seem to misbehave on purpose to drive the nannies away. Why?”

He stares at the ground, and then shifts his eyes to peek at me.

“You’re not in trouble, buddy. I just want to understand, so we can find a solution.” I pat his shoulders.

“You won’t get mad?”

I frown. “I won’t get mad.” I break my rule of never promising that.

As a parent, I learned that coercing that promise from me usually leads to something that makes me mad.

“If we have no nanny, Mommy might return. She would know we need her.”

His words cause another stab wound. Unlike the one in my arm, this one spreads pain through my heart. A wave of hopelessness mingles with regret and anger. At Kendra. At me. At this situation.

Have you asked them why they didn’t like the nannies? Fuck, why hadn’t I asked sooner ?

I pull Zach closer to me. “Your mom…” I peter out, unsure how to continue this conversation. I’m absolutely unequipped for it.

I knew it would come one day. That my vague response about their mother having to live far, far away wouldn’t cut it forever.

I’m not ready to address it now. Not on a day when I’m running on coffee and pain.

I look at Zach, who is staring at me with eyes full of hope and curiosity. And trust. So much fucking trust.

“Zach, if your mom could be with you, she would, I promise.” That’s not a lie. I’m just not ready to burden him with the reason why she can’t. “But her presence is absolutely unattached to you having a nanny. Even if your mother was around, you would have one.”

He frowns, contemplating. “Really?”

“Don’t your classmates have nannies?”

“They do.”

“I’m sure many of them have both parents.”

He nods.

“See. Your nanny is there to help us with a crucial task, the most important task, to care for you when I can’t be around.”

We sit in silence, Zach processing. I glance at the other half of our small group. Lily is squatting and tying Zoya’s shoe while my daughter keeps talking .

To an outsider, she may look like her mother. My kids would be lucky to have a mom like Lily.

“Why can’t Mommy be with us?” Zach’s words interrupt my unhelpful line of thought.

Give it to my son to investigate all the details. Seriously, like father like son is too literal with him.

Zoya springs from the bench and starts running.

I sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“Zoya.” Zach launches forward and rushes to his sister who whimpers on the ground. When did she fall?

I eat the distance between us, Lily already examining Zoya’s knee. I squat beside the three of them.

Zoya is sniffling while Zach keeps patting her shoulder. Her knee is scratched, but it’s nothing serious.

“Daddy,” she sobs, at least partially for effect if I know my drama-queen daughter.

Lily pulls a water bottle from the kid’s backpack and pours a little on the scratch. “Now it’s clean, and will heal soon.”

“I don’t think I can walk,” Zoya acts up.

“Could you walk for lunch if it was pizza?” I ask.

The excitement in her eyes betrays her, but she stifles it. “I think so,” she whimpers.

“Oh, come on, Zoya.” Zach grips her hand and pulls her up. “I’ll help you walk.” He pulls her forward, rolling his eyes .

“Not so fast,” Zoya protests, but it doesn’t take long before she skips forward with her brother in the direction of our occasional-treat restaurant two blocks from the park.

I’m relieved Zach’s questions about his mother and the knee scratch are forgotten, at least for the time being.

But now I’m left beside Lily. The hair on my neck stands on end, her scent immediately sparking an electrical current through my body.

We walk in silence, both of us watching the kids in front of us. The tension lingers. The silence is loaded with my stupid need. And the unanswered questions about last night.

I wish we had met under different circumstances. But that’s a useless line of thinking, so I quash it, and with the gentleman I am—not—I pick up my pace.

Unfortunately, Lily keeps up regardless, so the torture walk continues.

“How is your arm?” She breaks the silence, slightly out of breath.

On impulse, I slow down a bit. “I’m fine,” I growl.

There must be a way to scare her away. To break her streak of kindness. To get rid of her.

The idea makes me want to vomit.

My brush-off does the trick, and she doesn’t try to make conversation. I pack the rest of the day with activities, exhausting the kids and myself way too much. All because I’m trying to delay our return.

Once we’re back home, I need to decide what to do with Lily. We need to have a conversation about last night. If she needs protection, I will help her.

As much as I want her out of my life, I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to her.

And a woman who sleeps with a knife is expecting danger.

I carry Zoya to her bed. She’s half asleep as I help her change into clean pajamas. Her hair is sticky, her face is soiled with food and ice cream, but fuck the rules. It’s only seven, but the last thing I need is for her to get all riled up during the bedtime routine.

“Good night, sweetheart.” I kiss her forehead. Okay, she needs a shower, but we can burn the sheets tomorrow.

“This was a pewfect day, Daddy,” she murmurs. “I wish Lily would stay.”

The vice around my heart tightens.

I find Zach standing in his pajamas in the doorway connecting their rooms. “It’s early. Can I still play for a bit? ”

I ruffle his hair and walk with him to his bed. “Sure. Do you want me to read with you?”

“No, you go talk to Lily and ask her if she wants to stay.”

Fuck. My. Life.

We sit on the edge of his bed. “Zach, Lily has a different job.”

“People change jobs. Ms. Corrine’s husband was a teacher like her, and now he’s working in a theater.” His logic is sound.

“Okay, I’ll ask her if she wants, and can stay.” Have I just lied to my son? God, when I ask her, I really hope she says no.

“Good, hopefully she can stay.”

Again. Fuck. My. Life. I make an unidentifiable sound of commitment. “I don’t know if she can.”

“Just like Mommy.” He sighs, and something dies inside me.

“Zach, I don’t think I know how to explain it to you, but your mom loves you. Not everyone shows their love the same way. And she… Well, her love is strong from afar.” And now I’ve definitely lied to my son.

“Okay. Is that one of those things that kids my age don’t understand? Because I understand way more than other kids in school. I know all the planets. Zoya doesn’t. You can explain things to me.” He shrugs .

I nod. “I know I can, buddy. But even at my age, this is one of the things I don’t understand.”

He frowns, and then extends his arms in a rare display of affection. I pull him into an embrace, needing it more than him.