Love Unwritten (Lakefront Billionaires, 2)

My son’s resolve is admirable. I’m sure I’d be impressed by the lengths he has taken to make me reconsider Ellie’s position if I wasn’t so frustrated by his silent treatment.

First, he canceled his birthday party and asked my aunt to contact the amusement center a few towns over to refund my original deposit. Then, he called my assistant, Ariel—a number I gave him for emergencies only—and requested our family trip to be postponed until further notice.

According to my aunt, he called Ellie too, but she didn’t answer.

People say we shouldn’t negotiate with terrorists, but what happens when the one causing terror is my eight-year-old son? Do I give in to his demands, or do I stand strong despite feeling uncertain about my original choice to fire Ellie? Is there a point where I swallow my pride, throw in the towel, and say screw it, Ellie made a mistake, and I should forgive her for it?

As tempting as that option sounds, I can’t give in. My trust issues run deep, and Ellie’s secret tore through old scar tissue like it was cheap wrapping paper.

“¿Papi?”

Hearing Nico’s voice after his self-imposed silence startles me. I drop the paintbrush I was using and look up from the miniature villain I was working on.

“What’s up?” I keep my tone casual as I lean back in my chair.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Really?” Excitement bleeds into my voice, giving my emotions away.

He doesn’t smile or have that special spark in his eye as he nods, but I hold out hope.

You knew he would come around.

“Let’s go over here.” I step away from my desk and head toward the couch on the opposite side of my recreational room. Nico drags his feet behind me before taking a seat on his favorite chair. His feet dangle above the ground as he sits all the way back, and his sneakers light up when the heels smack together.

No matter how mature he tries to act, he will always be my little kid.

I take a seat. “What’s going on?”

He stares at the folded piece of paper on his lap. “I’m sorry.”

I blink. “What for?”

“Keeping my eyes a secret.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” He unfolds the paper. Bile crawls up my throat as one of Nico’s tears splashes against the photocopied page Ellie made of my high school yearbook. There is a rip down the center of the page, splitting my face in two.

I was so focused on hating Ellie’s stupid smile tracker that I missed how much it meant to my son.

Another way you failed him.

“I just wanted you to be happy.” The paper shakes in his hand.

“I am happy.” I ditch my seat and kneel in front of his so we can be at eye level.

“No, you’re not.” He shakes his head. “You’re sad and angry and scared, but never happy. Not really.” He points at the picture of me smiling after I won the soccer state championships during my junior year. “Not like this.”

My heart has been broken before, but it never felt remotely close to this. The ache is unbearable as my gaze bounces between the photo on Nico’s lap and the look on his face.

In some ways, he is right. I’m not that kind of happy anymore, but only because it wasn’t real to begin with. I believed it was at the time, but life taught me better. True happiness—the carefree kind that doesn’t require any overthinking or second-guessing—isn’t something that comes naturally to me. It never has, and maybe it never will, but I know one thing for sure.

“I’m my happiest when I’m with you.” My voice cracks. “Never doubt that.”

“Are you really?” His bottom lip trembles.

I tap a finger against the photo. “Just because I don’t show it like this anymore doesn’t mean I’m not.”

“Even if I make you cry?”

“Huh?” I question if I heard him right. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard you,” he whispers to himself. “I saw you.”

A chill shoots down my spine. “When?”

“At the doctor’s. In January.”

Oh fuck. I’ve had plenty of low points in my life, but that day made it into the top three. I thought we were going in for a routine visit for his retinitis pigmentosa, so at worst, I was expecting a new glasses prescription, only to find out Nico’s condition was progressing at such a rapid rate that he is likely to go legally blind by the time he’s twenty. While his vision most likely won’t go totally dark, he will struggle for the rest of his life.

I always felt guilty about unknowingly passing the RP gene onto my son, but on that day, I hit rock bottom.

I swallow despite the acid in my throat. “You told Ellie about that?”

He nods.

Mierda. Is that why Ellie didn’t want to tell me about Nico’s worsening vision? Was she trying to save me from further embarrassing myself?

God. I’m ashamed and disgusted with myself for appearing so damn weak in front of both of them.

I grab hold of his hand and give it a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry you saw me like that.”

Mierda: Shit.

The apology feels insufficient, especially now that I know Nico has been carrying this heaviness with him for over five months. No wonder he kept his distance and avoided me at all costs.

I can’t emotionally support myself, let alone help him, so he found someone better.

He takes a deep breath. “And I’m sorry I’m all messed up.”

“You’re perfect just the way you are. Retinitis pigmentosa or not.”

“But if I was perfect, then you wouldn’t cry. And then Ellie would still be here because she wouldn’t have kept my secret.”

I’ve never hated myself more. “None of this is your fault. Not a single thing, you hear me?”

His grip on the paper tightens. “Yes, it is. She wanted to tell you, but I made her stay quiet.”

It hits me just then that I will never win this battle against my son, no matter what I say or how many times I try to reassure him. I can’t expect an emotionally invested eight-year-old kid to understand my logic, so he and I can go back and forth for days—hell, maybe even weeks or months—and Nico will always blame himself for what happened with Ellie.

I’m sure if I were in his position, I’d do the same.

I need to put my trust issues aside and learn to forgive Ellie, or I can continue fighting my son on this issue, knowing I’m only hurting him more in the process.

It will be hard for me, but I’m going to try to give Ellie a second chance for Nico’s sake since he is all that matters.

My only problem?

She might not want to come back.

Later that night, once Nico goes to bed, I pull up Ellie’s contact information and give her a call. The ringing goes on for what feels like forever, only to be cut off abruptly by a generic voicemail system.

Instead of leaving a message with all my jumbled thoughts, I text her instead.

ME

Hey. Can we talk?

It feels like five hours before I get a response when it was really only five minutes.

ELEANOR (NANNY)

We don’t have anything to talk about, so please delete my number.

I don’t bother playing mind games by waiting her out.

ME

It’s about Nico. He’s not doing well.

Ellie’s name flashes across my screen, and I answer immediately.

“Is he okay? Did the ophthalmologist have an update?” Her concern seems genuine, which only makes me feel more guilty. Regardless of my personal feelings toward Ellie, she cares about Nico even when it isn’t a job requirement anymore, and that’s the kind of loyalty money can’t buy.

I would know, seeing as I pay his mother hundreds of thousands of dollars, and she can’t be bothered to fulfill her part of the custody agreement.

“He’s fine, and no.”

“Did he see his doctor yet?”

“Not yet. The soonest we could get an appointment was tomorrow.”

Her exhale makes the speaker crackle. “That’s good. Are you keeping his chin clean?”

“Yes.”

“And are you washing it twice a day?”

I don’t notice the small smile on my face until it’s too late. “I’ve been triple-washing it every day since he’s a messy eater.”

“Even better. And you’re not using hydrogen peroxide or alcohol, right? That’s bad for stitches.”

“Yes.”

“And did you schedule an appointment to get them taken out?”

“I did.”

“Good. Hopefully it heals before his trip.”

“About that…” I hesitate for a moment and don’t hear anything on her end, so I ask, “Are you there?”

“Huh? Yeah?”

“Actually, on second thought, I’d rather have this conversation in person.”

“No.”

“Ell—”

She doesn’t let me finish. “I’m glad Nico is okay and all, but I’m not interested in talking.”

“What if it means getting your job back?”

She goes silent.

“Eleanor?” I ask before checking if the call dropped.

“I’m not working for you again.”

“Not even if I apologize for firing you the way I did?”

“Not even then.”

“Why not?”

Her sigh doesn’t bode well for me. “Listen. Although I don’t agree with how you fired me, you had every right to do so. I might not be a parent, but I can only imagine how I would react if my kid got hurt because of someone else.”

I take a few moments to process her statement. While I didn’t expect her to acknowledge my feelings of overprotectiveness, I’m grateful she did because I feel slightly less guilty for my reaction.

She continues, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for keeping the secret from you. I know I should have told you, and while I don’t regret not breaking Nico’s trust, I do wish it hadn’t affected the little trust you gave me in the process.”

She hangs up, leaving me to spend the rest of my night contemplating how the hell I’m going to convince her to come back.