Chapter 25

Iris

I must look like a wreck as I stare at the three tickets in Arthur’s hand, my mouth hanging open and the front of my shirt splattered with pancake batter, but I don’t care. I’m trying to figure out what Arthur’s angle is.

After everything that I said to him yesterday, why would he show up here? And why would he try to take us out to the amusement park, of all things?

But before I can answer, Miles whirls to face me and grins, his lips and cheeks stained purple from the blueberries he was just eating.

“Can we, Mommy?” he pleads, clasping his hands together. “Oh, please, can we go?”

I’m not sure what to say. It’s almost impossible for me to tell Miles ‘no’ under normal circumstances, and considering the fact that he was so upset during our weeks apart, I want nothing more than to give him the best time while we’re settling in here.

Plus, with Arthur staring at us, no doubt judging every little thing I do, it’s even harder to deny Miles.

Finally, my shoulders slump with defeat. I want to tell Arthur to piss off and leave us alone, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. Not with Miles looking so hopeful.

“Alright,” I say with a soft sigh. “Eat your breakfast, and then we’ll go.”

Miles cheers, excitedly running back to his seat. I shake my head and turn around, flipping the pancake in the pan.

I can sense Arthur still standing behind me, lingering in the doorway. I almost consider letting him stand there awkwardly while we eat our breakfast, just to spite him, but even that is more cruel than I’d feel comfortable with.

“Come in,” I call over my shoulder without looking at him. “There aren’t enough pancakes, but you can help yourself to some coffee if you want.”

I’ll let him come in briefly, but I’m certainly not going to serve him.

“I’m good, thanks,” Arthur says, clearing his throat. He shuts the door behind him and hesitates in the entryway. When I finally plate the pancakes and turn around, I find him still standing there, looking around at our apartment.

“Not the hovel you expected, is it?” I bite out as I place the plate down in front of Miles, scooping a dollop of homemade whipped cream on top.

Arthur’s jaw ticks, but he calmly replies, “I never expected a hovel.”

Right, I think bitterly. Fat chance of that.

Still, I keep my expression neutral, leaving Miles to eat his breakfast while I make my way toward my bedroom. I can’t exactly go out wearing pajama pants and a shirt with pancake batter on it, so I slip away to get changed.

As I rifle through my closet, picking out a suitable outfit for the warm weather we’ll be having today, I curse myself inwardly for caving so easily. I was proud of myself for refusing Arthur’s offers before, for sticking to my guns.

And yet here I am, folding at the first sign of him actually trying to be a halfway decent father.

However, I push the thought away, picking out a comfortable floral sundress and a pair of flat shoes. After dressing, I wash my face in the adjoined bathroom, throw on some mascara and lipstick, then comb my hair into loose waves and take one last look in the mirror.

Much better. Although I hate the way my heart flutters ever so slightly, as if a part of me actually gives a shit how I look in front of Arthur.

When I emerge from the bedroom, Miles has already finished his breakfast and I can hear him getting dressed in his own room. Arthur is standing in the hallway, his head tilted back, staring up at a large painting that’s hanging on the wall.

I hesitate in the bedroom doorway, allowing myself a brief moment to take him in. His expression is… thoughtful. There’s something softer about his face, something more contemplative.

And for a moment, he almost looks like the man I once loved.

Almost.

Arthur glances at me then, and something flickers in his gaze that makes my heart skip a beat. Briefly, he drags his gaze across my outfit, lingering first on the soft blue of my dress, then my bare legs, then my loose hair.

I hate how the way he looks at me makes butterflies flutter around in my stomach.

“This one of yours?” he asks, jerking his chin toward the painting. He finally pulls his gaze away from me, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“Yes,” I say, nodding. I step up beside him, looking up at the large painting of a little green-eyed toddler sitting in a field of flowers. “I painted it when Miles was two.”

Arthur stares at the painting in silence for a few moments longer, and I stare along with him. I still remember the day I painted this, the summer sunshine warming my shoulders as I worked. Miles was quiet then, his tiny fingers contentedly playing with the flowers.

But the memory is bittersweet, too, because it was the day after I found out that Miles was behind—developmentally. I’d noticed that something was off when he wasn’t babbling and trying to form words like most toddlers, and while Brian and Liam and I first tried to brush it off as Miles simply being introverted, we couldn’t ignore it any longer.

The doctor said that he might be on the spectrum. Not that it bothered me, of course, but it was still a lot to take in.

He didn’t start talking until he was four. Now, aside from a mild speech impediment, Miles is developing at a perfectly normal rate. He still goes nonverbal at times, and has his own hyperfixations and particularities, and sometimes I swear he’s older beyond his years, but to me, that’s just what makes him ‘him’.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I wonder, though, what Arthur would think if I told him. He’d probably just view Miles as even more of an ‘other’. For all I know, he’d just blame his development on having a human mother.

But I push the thought away when Miles emerges from his room, wearing a completely mismatched outfit consisting of one dinosaur sock, one pink sock, a pair of plaid shorts, and a t-shirt with a cartoon character on it.

He grins up at us, displaying the one missing canine tooth in his mouth. “I’m ready!”

I can’t help but laugh as I hold my hand out to him. “You look fabulous, kid.” But I can’t help but glance at Arthur, wondering if this might be a further embarrassment for him.

To my surprise, he’s smiling, and it softens me. With that, we head outside, where Arthur’s car is waiting. A little while later, we’re pulling up to the amusement park, Miles swinging his legs and humming happily in the backseat.

As Arthur pulls into a parking spot, I can’t fully hide the smile that’s tugging at my lips. This feels… normal. Like the sort of thing a family might do.

But the feeling quickly dissipates when Arthur reaches across my lap, opens the glove compartment, and pulls out two more baseball hats—one adult size, and one for a child. “Can you put these on?”

“What?”

Arthur taps the brim of his own hat. “I can’t be seen… I’m sure you understand.”

My jaw clenches tightly as the realization settles over me. Of course. Of course he can’t be seen with me, with us—with his sordid, forbidden human mistress and his half-blood son. If I had thought of this beforehand, I would have refused coming here at all.

It’s too late now, though. So I snatch the hats away, but make no effort to hide my annoyance as I jam one onto my head. If Arthur notices my frustration, he doesn’t say anything as he slips his sunglasses on and gets out of the car.

And yet, as I watch him help Miles out of his car seat and lift him onto his shoulders, as I watch Miles gawk quietly at all of the sights and sounds of the amusement park, clutching Arthur’s neck, I find it difficult to stay angry.

If only it weren’t for… well, everything, I might say that Arthur is acting like the perfect father.