Page 26 of Velvet Chains (The Dark Prince of Boston #2)

Chapter Twenty-One: Ruby

S aturday mornings were for pancakes. Rosie had declared it, written it down in crayon, and taped it to the fridge months ago. "Even when you’re mad at each other," she had added, underlining it twice in purple. "Pancakes are peace food."

But this Saturday, she was already bundled into her purple coat, her curls peeking out beneath a knit beanie, ready for the custody handoff.

Julian had suggested the park by the river, the one with the new jungle gym and swings that went higher than seemed safe.

I agreed because Rosie loved it, and because it was public.

Neutral ground.She spotted Julian the moment we reached the parking lot.

He stood by the benches, hands in the pockets of his peacoat, looking perfectly composed.

Rosie took off at a sprint, her backpack bouncing against her shoulders.

"Daddy!"

He scooped her up with a soft grunt. "Hey, baby. You staying warm in that coat?"

She nodded against his shoulder. I slowed as I reached them.

"Hi," I said.

"Ruby," Julian replied, nodding.

It was awkward. It always was.

"She said you two made pancakes," he added. "I was told they lacked whipped cream."

"She has a very specific definition of culinary success."

"That she does."

Rosie wriggled down. "Can I go play? Please?"

I glanced at Julian. He gave a small nod.

"Yes, but stay where we can see you," I said.

She bolted toward the jungle gym.

We stood side by side, both of us watching her in silence for a moment.

"She’s getting faster," Julian said. "Remember when she couldn’t reach the monkey bars?"

"She used to throw tantrums about it. Now she just vaults across."

“She’s finding new things to throw tantrums about all the time,” he said. He nodded toward the bench. “I bought you coffee. It’s cold.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Cold coffee is my favorite. Particularly now. Very festive.”

“I thought as much,” Julian said, biting back a smile.

We sat, a comfortable distance between us. It wasn’t exactly friendly, but more familiar than it used to be. I sipped the coffee and winced; it was too hot.

“I meant the weather was cold,” Julian said.

“I got that. You didn’t tell me this would burn me.”

“Ah, yes. Well. Watch yourself. It might burn you.”

“Thanks. Your timing is amazing.”

He laughed, rolling his shoulders back as he sat next to me. “It’s been a good weekend,” he said. “Relatively speaking. Except…she’s been asking a lot of questions. About why we’re still married. Why we don’t really live together.”

I sipped my hot coffee. "What did you tell her?"

"That grown-ups are complicated. That we love her more than anything."

“Yeah. That’s true.”

“She came home with a million more questions, but at least she was practically glowing," Julian said.

"Can you maybe siphon some of that off this time?"

He gave me a long look. "We both know we’re better at pretending to get along than we are at actually doing it."

"She doesn’t need to be part of that. I want her to feel like everything’s okay," I said.

He peered at me again, and I felt…exposed. Like he was using his damn attorney powers to delve too deep into what I was feeling, what I was thinking.

And my thoughts…they weren’t fucking clean.

“ Is everything okay, Ruby?” he asked, and it felt like an accusation.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Took another sip of coffee instead. "It will be," I said finally. This was when we usually let the conversation die, but he had just given me an opening and I was going to have to take it–no matter how much it hurt. “You need to adopt her.”

His head turned, slow and sharp. “What?”

“When we both sign the papers and the divorce is final,” I said, keeping my voice even, “you need to have adopted her. Otherwise…”

He took a long sip from his cup, eyes narrowing as he studied me. “Otherwise what? Finish your sentence.”

“…otherwise, if something happens to me, custody isn’t guaranteed.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just shifted his gaze back to Rosie, who was now hanging upside down by her knees, laughing like the world was made of joy and sunlight.

“We’ve had this conversation,” he said finally. “Your guardianship preferences are in the estate plan. I’m listed.”

“As my spouse,” I replied. “Not as her legal parent.”

His jaw ticked. “Which you said was sufficient for the duration of the marriage.”

“It was,” I said softly. “For the duration of the marriage.”

We both fell quiet.

This was supposed to be it. The park, the coffee, the safe man who made reliable choices. Our daughter playing in the sunshine. Her world whole. Clean. Simple.

But it wasn’t simple anymore.

Because I was in love with someone who would ruin everything if I let him too close. And I already had.

I glanced down at my cup, fingers tightening around it.

Julian sighed. “Okay. So nothing has changed.”

“It has. It was sufficient before,” I said. “When we had political cover. When the risks were theoretical.”

“And now?”

“They’re not.”

Julian turned to look at me fully, his tone flat. “Is there a reason you’re invoking contingency language over coffee in a public park?”

“There’s always a reason,” I said. “You just haven’t asked the right question yet.”

He studied me. The look he used to give opposing counsel—measured, dispassionate, a few beats ahead. It scared the hell out of me, at the same time that it made me feel a bit more secure. At least Rosie would be safe…from her father, damn it.

“You want me to adopt her.”

“I want to start the paperwork before we file anything. The optics are cleaner that way. No change of household. No abrupt custody shifts. We manage the narrative.”

His silence told me he’d already leapt three moves ahead.

“You're anticipating an external action?” he asked. “Or are you initiating one?”

“I’m anticipating exposure,” I said. “And if anything happens—legally, physically, politically—I want it airtight. Rosie stays with you. No questions. No family court motions. No sudden claims of biological interest.”

That landed. Julian’s posture shifted.

“Does the biological father know?” he asked, voice low.

I stared out at the playground. Picked a point on the horizon and latched onto it so I wouldn’t have to meet his gaze. “Yes.”

“Does he intend to assert?”

“No.”

“That doesn’t mean he won’t.”

“He has good reason not to.”

I didn’t go any further than that—didn’t mention that her biological father didn’t give a fuck about the law, that there was every chance family court wouldn’t be the solution when nothing would stop him but a bullet in the head.

“Will you tell me who he is?” Julian asked after a minute.

I shook my head. “Trust me. It’s better if you don’t know.”

He seemed to think about that for a few seconds. I wondered if he was going to push, but all he did was shrug his shoulders. I knew what he was thinking: She’ll tell me when she absolutely has to. “Well, what you just said isn’t the same as he won’t.”

I shook my head. “That’s not the point. When the divorce is finished, I want you to adopt her legally. File the petition as part of the property settlement.”

He was quiet for a second. Not confused—processing.

“You’re talking about a formal post-marital adoption,” he said slowly. “Under G.L. c. 210?”

I nodded once. That law covered adult and step-parent adoptions in Massachusetts, but post-marital adoption wasn’t common. It meant legally erasing the gap—making Rosie his in every possible way, even after the marriage ended.

No fallback. No ambiguity. Just a new birth certificate with his name on it instead of blank space.

It was as permanent as it got.

“Ruby…that’s serious,” he said. “What the hell is going on?”

Before I could answer, Rosie’s voice rang out across the playground.

“Watch this, Mami! Daddy! Watch!”

We both turned just in time to see her cartwheel across the grass—arms too long for her body, legs flying, the hem of her coat catching the wind like a cape.

She landed in a heap and popped up grinning, triumphant.

“Perfect ten,” Julian called.

“Solid eight,” I teased. “You didn’t stick the landing.”

“Rude!” she shouted, hands on her hips.

She turned back to the jungle gym, already plotting her next acrobatic act. “Wait. Let me try again.”

“It might be easier if you take off your coat, tesoro,” I said.

She shed her coat in the middle of the playground, abandoning it in the mulch. I darted for it, putting it on my lap as I sat next to Julian.

Rosie did another cartwheel, this time, landing a little more gracefully. “Progress,” I said. “Eight point five.”

“Mami! Daddy, tell her!”

“Yeah, that was perfect,” Julian said with a grin. “But your mom knows more about cartwheels than I do. I’m sorry. You need a less biased judge.”

Rosie crossed her arms over her chest. “Like who?”

“I don’t know. What about one of the other kids?” I asked.

Her eyes lit up and she skipped back to the jungle gym. Julian waited until she was halfway up the rope bridge before he spoke again.

“So, post-marital adoption?” Julian said under his breath.

“Yes.”

“You’re already her legal guardian,” he said. “We’ve been operating that way since day one. Why do you suddenly want—”

“Because guardianship isn’t the same as parentage,” I said, turning to look at him. “And I don’t want any ambiguity when the decree is entered. I want her name on your health insurance. I want you on every emergency contact form. I want to know that if something happens to me, there’s no question.”

“Jesus, Ruby.” His voice dropped. “Is this about the DOJ?”

I snapped my head to look at him. “What do you know about the DOJ?”

“Nothing, really. Special counsel named Lucy Darnell reached out to me to ask if you were available and if you had time to talk. I told her she could reach you at your office. My secretary has been screening her calls.”

I sighed heavily, resisting the urge to put my face in my hands. “Yeah, my secretary has been doing the same thing.”

“Are you in trouble, Ruby?”

“Not…exactly,” I said. “Not yet. But there’s a chance some legal shit goes down and I want Rosie to be protected. Above anything else, I need her to be protected.”

“From what?”

God…it was so much worse than the DOJ. Julian was still living in a world where people threatened you with legal filings. Meanwhile, I’d seen a man die, authorized his dismemberment…and now Tristan Callahan had decided I would be dead by the end of the week if I didn’t act to stop him.

Rosie needed her father.

She needed Julian, if…if I was gone.

“You were right,” I said, and the words tasted bitter in my mouth. “There is inherent risk in being a DA. I should’ve relied more heavily on you to start with. So this is me, eating my words. I need your help. I need to keep our daughter safe.”

He adjusted his gloves, exhaled hard. “Okay. You’re not wrong. The Uniform Parentage Act makes this clean. But I’ll need to update my will.”

“I assumed you already had.”

“I have. Just not with the assumption that I’d be…a parent.” He shook his head once, like he couldn’t believe we were having this conversation at a playground. He was, in every way, Rosie’s dad. We had never gotten this squared away because it hadn’t mattered. “So, you’re filing?”

“No,” I said. “Not yet. But soon.”

He gave me a sidelong glance. “You always said we’d do this when the time was right. And now you’re saying it like there’s a clock running.”

“There is,” I said.

He studied me. I could feel it without looking. “You think someone’s coming after you.”

“I think it’s possible,” I replied. “And if something happens, I want it to be easy. For her. For you. No blood tests. No custody disputes. No questions.”

Julian nodded slowly. “You’ll stay in the condo?”

“Yes. It’s what she’s used to.”

He looked out over the park, watching Rosie climb. “She won’t like it.”

“No,” I said. “But she’ll understand. Eventually.”

“And you’ll file for sole physical custody before the adoption, then relinquish afterward?”

I smiled faintly. “I knew you’d catch that.”

He looked over at me again. “You’re scared.”

I didn’t deny it.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll have my lawyer draw up the paperwork. Quietly. No filings until you say go.”

“Who do you have?”

“Sugar,” he replied, a smile on his face. “She owed me a favor.”

“You got Sugar? Fuck!” I said, quietly. Sugar’s real name was Susan O’Malley, and she’d gotten her nickname from how polite she was…all while being extremely fucking ruthless. “Oh, no. I’m screwed.”

“You snooze you lose, Marquez. Who do you have?”

“Albert Kotak,” I said.

“Oh, he’s good,” Julian replied, flashing me a genuine smile. “You’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thank you.”

“I’m not doing it for you,” he said. “I’m doing it for her.”

“I know.”

And we sat there a moment longer, pretending everything was fine, as our daughter played and my heart fucking broke. But if it meant keeping her safe…then fuck it. I would do whatever it took.