Chapter Eighty-Six: Secrets and Ice Cream
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX: SECRETS AND ICE CREAM
ABEL DONOVAN
After several hours of what turned out to be a surprisingly enjoyable Parent Appreciation Day, Hermione and I walked toward the school gates where I'd parked my car. We each held an ice cream cone, chocolate for her, vanilla for me, licking at them as we made our way across the parking lot.
She walked beside me, her small hand tucked securely in mine, both of us occupied with our rapidly melting treats. The afternoon sun was warm on our shoulders, and there was something peaceful about this moment that made me reluctant to let it end.
When was the last time I had ice cream like this? I wondered, watching the vanilla drip slightly down the side of the cone. Kid ice cream from a school event.
It had been years. Maybe decades. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd done something this simple, this normal, this domestic.
But it was refreshing. More than refreshing, it felt good in a way that made my chest tight with emotions I didn't want to examine too closely.
"Thanks for coming today," Hermione said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. She sighed contentedly. "I really enjoyed it."
"I did too," I admitted quietly, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
And it was true. Despite the nervousness, despite the risk, despite knowing this was technically wrong, I had enjoyed spending time with her. Watching her interact with her classmates, seeing her show off her artwork, hearing her laugh when we played one of the silly parent-child games the teachers had organized.
For a few hours, I'd gotten to experience what it might have been like if things had been different. If Anna hadn't cheated. If Hermione had actually been mine.
But she wasn't mine. And I needed to remember that.
"But Hermione," I continued, my voice taking on a more serious tone, "you can't do this again. If you have any school events that require parents, you need to tell your mother. Not me. I'm not your father."
"I know," she replied simply, not sounding particularly bothered by that fact. "I just love spending time with you."
The casual way she said it, so honest, so uncomplicated, made something twist painfully in my chest.
"Why didn't you tell your mom about this event?" I asked, genuinely curious.
Hermione glanced up at me with those wide, expressive eyes. "Because I wanted you to come. And if I'd told Mom, she definitely wouldn't have agreed to let me invite you." She giggled, swinging our joined hands slightly. "Plus, I'm really loving these secret meetings of ours."
"There won't be any more secret meetings, Hermione," I said firmly, trying to sound like the responsible adult in this situation. "Okay?"
She groaned dramatically. "But admit it, you love spending time with me too."
"That's not the point—"
"Admit it!" she insisted, tugging on my hand.
I sighed. "Yes, fine. I enjoy spending time with you. But it's still wrong. Your mother would throw an absolute fit if she knew what we've been doing."
"What's the problem between you two anyway?" Hermione asked with the directness only children possess.
"It's an adult matter," I said, using the classic parental deflection.
"But your dad seems to really like her," Hermione said, and something about the way she said it, so casual, so matter-of-fact, made my brain screech to a halt.
"Hermione." I stopped walking and turned to face her fully. "You met my father? How? When?"
She blinked up at me, seemingly surprised by my intensity. "Oh, it was at this new restaurant, Vale Restaurant, I think? He came in with some friends. It looked like a reunion or something. He saw Mom and they talked for a bit, catching up on old times. Mom didn't mention he was your dad, but I guessed because you two look so much alike. And then when I mentioned Uncle Gerard earlier today, your friend Michael said he was your father, so I knew I was right."
She said all of this while continuing to lick her ice cream, completely unaware of how much she'd just revealed.
Sometimes I was genuinely in awe of this child. She was incredibly mature for her age, sharp, intuitive, observant in ways that were almost unsettling. She caught onto things most kids her age wouldn't even notice. I was certain very little got past her without her registering and filing it away.
I wonder how Anna handles her, I thought. She must be exhausting to parent.
"Oh," I said weakly, still processing. "Wow."
So my father had met Anna. Had a conversation with her. And hadn't mentioned it to me.
But why would he? I thought bitterly. What would he tell me? "Hey, son, I ran into your ex-wife and she's doing incredibly well, much better than when she was married to you"? That she has a daughter now who isn't yours? That she's Anna Serrano, heir to one of the most powerful corporations in the country?
I scoffed, looking down at my ice cream cone. It had melted significantly, vanilla running down my hand in sticky rivulets. I'd been too distracted to eat it properly.
I threw the remains into a nearby trash can and pulled out my handkerchief, wiping my hand clean with perhaps more force than necessary.
Hermione, meanwhile, had successfully finished her entire ice cream cone without making a mess. Of course she had.
We reached my car, and I stopped beside it, turning to face her one more time.
"I really did enjoy today," I said seriously. "But we absolutely cannot risk doing this again. Do you understand?"
She nodded, but her expression was non-committal in a way that didn't inspire confidence.
"When is your driver arriving to pick you up?" I asked, glancing around the parking lot.
"He should be here any minute now."
"Good." I unlocked my car but didn't get in yet, wanting to make sure she was safely collected before I left.
"Abel?" Hermione said, her voice taking on that wheedling tone I was learning to recognize.
"Yes?"
"I have a piano recital this weekend," she said, looking up at me with those impossibly large eyes. "Mom is super busy with unveiling her new company and stuff. Could you maybe come pick me up and watch me play? You'd love seeing me perform. I'm really good."
"Hermione." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I just said we weren't doing this secret meeting thing anymore."
"Pretty please?" She deployed the full force of her puppy-dog expression, eyes wide and pleading, lower lip jutting out slightly. "It's just to pick me up and watch. That's all."
I should say no. I need to say no. This is already too far, too risky, too wrong.
But the words that came out of my mouth were: "This will be our last meeting. Absolutely the last one."
"Yes! I promise!" Hermione held out her pinky finger. "It's our last meeting. Pinky swear!"
I stared at her tiny pinky for a moment, feeling the full weight of what I was agreeing to, then hooked my own pinky around hers.
"Deal," I said, and we shook on it.
She giggled, clearly delighted with herself for extracting yet another promise from me.
And the truth was, this wasn't even close to our first secret meeting. We'd been seeing each other behind Anna's back for weeks now, whenever my schedule allowed, I found myself spending my rare free time with Hermione. She'd take me to the children's park, or we'd go shopping for books, or we'd just walk around the city while she chattered about school and her friends and whatever random thoughts crossed her eight-year-old mind.
And every single time, I promised myself it would be the last.
Every single time, I somehow got roped into the next meeting.
"You know," I said, making one final attempt at being responsible, "you can tell your mom to come to these things. She'd want to be there for you."
Hermione looked around the parking lot, clearly searching for her car. "She's been so busy lately with her new company," she explained. "The big unveiling party is coming up soon, and she's been working constantly to make sure everything's perfect."
My ears perked up at that. "She's opening a company?"
Hermione's eyes flicked to mine. "Yeah, she has a brand, I think it's fashion or something? And now she's opening an actual company for it. I don't totally understand how it works, but there's going to be this huge party to unveil it to everyone. I get to go and wear a fancy dress and everything!"
My mind was racing. Anna already oversaw Serrano Holdings, one of the largest conglomerates in the country. Why would she be opening a separate company?
Were the Serranos creating a new subsidiary? And if so, why hadn't any news gotten out yet? Why hadn't they informed their business partners, including Donovan Enterprises, about major corporate moves?
Unless they were deliberately keeping it quiet. But why?
"Are you sure about this?" I asked, trying to keep my tone casual. "What kind of company is it? What does she do there?"
"Ah! My car is here!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed, bouncing on her toes excitedly.
I followed her gaze to see a sleek black sedan pulling into the school parking lot, professional, expensive, with tinted windows. Definitely a Serrano vehicle.
"Wait, Hermione—" I started, but she was already turning back to me.
"Lean down," she ordered.
I raised my eyebrows. "What?"
"Lean down!" she repeated, more insistently.
Confused but compliant, I bent down slightly so we were closer to eye level.
Before I could ask what she was doing, Hermione darted forward and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek.
"Thank you for today," she said, her voice warm with genuine affection. "I'll see you this weekend. I'll text you all the details about the recital. And don't even think about trying to get out of it, you're not escaping from my clutches until I say so!"
She grinned at me, mischievous and entirely too pleased with herself, then turned and ran toward the waiting car before I could respond.
I stood there, one hand unconsciously touching the spot on my cheek where she'd kissed me, watching as she climbed into the back seat of the sedan. She waved at me through the window, and I found myself waving back automatically.
The car pulled away, and I stood there in the parking lot for a long moment after it disappeared from view.
What am I doing?
The question had been echoing in my head all day, but now it felt more urgent, more impossible to ignore.
I was spending time with a child who wasn't mine, lying to everyone around us, keeping secrets from her mother, pretending to be something I wasn't.
And the worst part, the part that made this whole situation so dangerous, was how good it felt.
How right it felt to be with Hermione. How natural it felt when she slipped her hand into mine, when she called me "Uncle Abel," when she looked at me with trust and affection in those eyes that looked so much like—
No.
I shook my head sharply, cutting off that train of thought.