Page 89 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

I quickened my steps. Tried, and failed, to stop my shoulders hunching. The fact I was sort of used to this didn’t mean I liked it. “I said ‘no comment.’”

“I know. I’m sorry. The thing is, I’m not a journalist. I’m…” Another pause. The same uncomfortable mix of uncertainty and eagerness in his voice. “That is. I’m Jonas. Jonas Jackson. Does that mean anything to you?”

I came to a dead stop. Clarity like a blade to my throat.

“Arden, I’m your—”

No way was I ready for him to say that to me. “I know.”

Maybe I’d known from the start. There was a dull inevitability to the sense of recognition. Turning, I faced the man who’d…who’d what? Provided some of my genes. Loomed with incomprehensible menace over my childhood. Nearly destroyed my mother. And he gazed anxiously back at me with his plain brown eyes. Eyes as plain and brown as mine.

“You stay the fuck away from me,” I said. Which would have been tough as all hell if I hadn’t sounded so trembly.

To be fair, Jonas didn’t move. Just put his hands in the air like I had him at gunpoint. I wished Ididhave him at gunpoint. “I’m not here to cause trouble. I just had to find out if it was really you.”

We were on a public street. The office was less than thirty seconds away. My phone was right in my pocket. I was okay. Totally okay. Totally safe. “Well, you’ve found out. What now?”

“That’s entirely up to you, Arden.”

I should have left right then. I knew I should. But…I didn’t.

And Jonas—my father, I guess—went on, “I’m not here to make excuses to you. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. I’ve done a lot of bad things, and there’s still more I regret.”

“Wow.” I settled my bag more comfortably on my shoulder. “So great you came to see me, then.”

“It was selfish. Don’t think I’m hiding from that either. But when I saw you in the paper last month, I knew I had to come find you. You see, of all those mistakes, all those regrets, the one that haunts me is that”—his voice wavered, then steadied—“I lost my son.”

I shrugged. “Well, I did fine without you.”

“You did better than fine.” He smiled, a fucking dimple glimmering his cheek. “You’ve made a wonderful life for yourself, anyone can see that. Oxford education, interesting job, lovely girlfriend. I’ve no right to say it but you’re…I’m proud of you.”

Hedidhave no right to say it. And I didn’t need to hear it. I’d met him less than five minutes ago. So what did it matter if he was proud? Except…something inside me twisted with the word. A thorn buried so deeply and for so long I’d forgotten it was there finally coming loose. “Ellery’s just a friend. That whole story was bullshit except”—I tipped my chin up—“the bit about me being queer as fuck.”

“I’ve got a lot of faults,” said Jonas mildly. “But I wouldn’t think less of you over something like that.”

Nope nope. I wasn’t relieved. I wasn’t relieved because I didn’t care. It made no difference to me if someone whose contribution to my existence had basically been some sperm turned out to be judgey and homophobic and not proud of me at all. “Congrats on not being a bigot.”

“I’m not here to pressure you, Arden.” He adjusted his glasses by the corner—the gesture, habit, whatever it was, oddly disarming. And why the fuck did he have glasses anyway? Monsters weren’t supposed to wear spectacles. “But I’d like to give you my number. You don’t have to do anything with it.”

“Then why give it to me?”

“You can call me if you ever want to. You’re my son. I want to know you.”

That was when I realised just how little information I actually had about…about my father. Including the fact he’d been in the same city as me and I hadn’t had a clue. “Are you living in London?”

“No, I’m here for work. Leaving at the end of the week.”

I let out a breath. That was good, right? He’d never been close by, and he’d be gone soon.

“I travel a lot,” he went on. “I can always come back.”

“What even do you do?”

“I sell library software.”

Oh, come on. “Seriously?”

“It’s been a long time.” He gave me another of those tentative smiles. “I’ve changed.”