Resisting Mr. Kane (London Mister #2)(59)

Do I have to teach my son about rejection at seven? “Maybe ask her, buddy, you know, rather than inform her she's your girlfriend,” I advise. “She might want a say in it.”

“She holds my hand,” he says, deadpan, and cuts me a glare that tells me I’m not qualified to give dating advice. “Yesterday, I gave her my juice.”

That’s a good start. “Maybe don’t rush into commitment,” I offer. “There’s plenty of time for girlfriends in a decade. Just concentrate on being her friend now.”

He looks up at me. “Like you and mum are best friends now?”

I force a smile. “Exactly like that.”

His phone beeps in his pocket. It was a tough decision to buy it. It’s ludicrous for a seven-year-old to have a phone, but it’s the only way I have a direct line of contact, since Gemina is volatile as fuck.

“Who’s messaging you, Daniel?” The phone is just for me to message him, he’s too young to be talking to anyone else on it.

He takes it out of his pocket and reads it. “It’s Mummy. She’s waiting outside. Does that mean we can’t have potato waffles?”

My chest tightens, and I fake a smile for my son’s sake. What’s she playing at? She should be messaging me, not Daniel, and she shouldn’t be cutting into my visitation time.

I ruffle his hair. “We can still have potato waffles. Stay here, and I’ll speak to your mum.”

A big goofy smile plasters across his face. If only frozen potato waffles could solve all my problems.

Before I get a chance to go out, there’s a knock on the door. I open the door and stare at the woman I had loved for over a decade.

“Hi Tristan,” she says in her soft American twang. It has been toned down from years of singing on the London stages. “How are you? You look tired.”

“Gemina.” I greet her, feeling my temperature rise. “You’re not supposed to be here until 4. I have forty minutes left.”

Her eyes search mine. “I hope you’re looking after yourself,” she replies, ignoring my complaint.

I wish she wouldn’t do this. Pretend she cares.

Not when she destroyed me.

Twice.

“Change of plan,” she says when I ignore her. “We’re going to spend the night at the holiday home in Devon. We need to leave now. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t do this,” I say gruffly. “When you agree on a time, you stick to it.”

As I look down the driveway, I see the red Porsche that I bought for Gemina.

He’s here. The man I would do a prison sentence over.

“So, he’s driving my car now?” I snarl, trying to temper my anger.

I glance back to make sure Daniel is out of earshot.

She chews on her lips, studying me. “Tristan…you know things will have to change. We have to talk. We need to tell Daniel.”

“No.” Pain takes over my voice. “Don’t do this to me,” I beg in a strained whisper. “Don’t you dare talk to Daniel without me. Please.”

“This isn’t going away.” Her eyes flicker with wariness then she sighs, defeatedly. “Let’s deal with this when I get back from Devon, okay?”

I change the subject. “You look good.” I smile sadly.

Her eyes glaze over. She looks tired too.

“Thanks,” she says awkwardly. “We have to go. I’m sorry. Daniel,” she calls over my shoulder. “Get your things together.”

He runs to the door. “But Dad promised me potato waffles.”

“Not today, baby” she says. “Some other time.”

He looks up at me, and my heart breaks.

“Sorry, son.” I run my hand through his blond hair. “No potato waffles today. Next time, I promise. I’ll see you on Thursday night, okay? You can tell me more about Talia. Aunty Charlie will want to hear about her too.”

Daniel nods and runs into the living room to collect his trucks as I retrieve his Spiderman coat from the hallway.

I hunker down on my knees and bundle him up in my arms so I can give him a proper goodbye hug.

He wraps his arms around my neck. “Bye, Dad. I wish you were coming with us.”

“Me too, buddy.” I smile at him. “I’ll see you in a few days.” My voice is strained. I can’t wait another seven days to see my kid. “Can we lock in Thursday night, Gemina?”

“Sure,” she says, too breezily for my liking. Her flakiness is breaking my soul.

“Bye, kiddo.” Watching them walk towards the car, I am filled with a sick sense of disappointment as I always am when I see my son leave. He shouldn’t be living somewhere else, he should be living here in the house he grew up in and called home since he was born.

Daniel looks back at me and gives a little wave as Gemina takes his hand down the driveway.

I don’t look at the driver of the Porsche. I can’t.

I close the door to my empty townhouse. The silence is a sharp gloomy contrast to the sound of us laughing thirty minutes earlier. The laughter that reminds me of what my life used to be like.

***

“Tonight, we have a selection of Irish-influenced dishes, sir.” The caterer opens my commercial-sized oven and points at the first dish. “Guinness braised pork topped with cabbage, green crema, and queso fresco. Next,” she points at the second dish, “corned beef tacos served with a creamy, spicy mustard sauce, and a simple cabbage carrot slaw.”