Chapter Nineteen
Lexi
I watched Lexi scamper through the fake landscape that they had set up in the Children's Museum, flipping over rocks in her search for “bugs.” I glanced over at Andrew, who was also watching Emma, looking amused but also a bit perplexed.
“Having fun?” I asked.
Andrew shook himself, turning towards me. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Having fun.” He frowned, though, waving his hand towards the exhibit as though he just couldn't figure the place out. “To be honest, I didn't know that places like this existed.”
“You never came here as a kid?” I asked, feeling surprised. For someone who had grown up in the city, it was hard to believe that he had never been here before.
“Never,” Andrew said, shaking his head. He paused. “To be honest, running around tubes and frolicking weren't really big in my childhood.”
“You definitely missed out,” I told him.
“Yes, god forbid that I wasn't out here finding fake bugs beneath fake rocks,” he said mock-seriously.
I laughed. “It's not all about finding fake bugs under fake rocks,” I said.
“True,” Andrew said. “Actually, I never built a fort when I was a kid either. Out of blankets or out of boxes.” He laughed, sounding a little self-conscious. “I don't know what my father would have said if he found me practicing my architectural skills rather than working on something to do with business, but I don't think he would have praised me for my creativity.”
I winced, struck again by how normal my childhood had been in comparison with his. Sure, I didn't get along with my father, and my mother was something of a flake, but at least she had always been there to encourage me in whatever pursuit struck my fancy. I was lucky to have that.
And I only hoped that Emma had that as well. But from watching her father watch her as she scampered around through the exhibits, I found that I didn't really have any worries.
“We're going to need to build a blanket fort back at home,” I told him. “You can't go through life without having a blanket fort.”
Then, I blushed brilliantly, realizing what I had just said. “I mean, when we're back at your home. And maybe just you and Emma should focus on building the blanket fort. I guess that might be a little too intimate for us, to be together in such a small space.” I coughed uncomfortably.
“Relax,” Andrew said. “I knew what you meant. And I wasn't worried.” His phone rang just then, and he glanced over at me, a querying look on his face.
“Go ahead and answer it,” I said. “I'll keep track of Emma if you need to go someplace quieter.”
“Thanks,” Andrew said, turning partially away from me as he answered the phone. “Hey,” he said warmly to whoever it was on the other side.
He listened for a minute, walking a couple steps away from me and then half-turning towards me, as though he was about to start pacing right here in the middle of the museum. I raised an eyebrow at him and was surprised to see him blush faintly and turn away.
“I'm not home right now, babe,” he said.
Renée.
“I don't know when I'll be home today.” He paused, listening. “That's a nice idea, but I'm not at work, actually. I took the day off. No, I'm not sick.”
I wondered how he was going to explain this one to her. He was such a workaholic that there was no way she was going to buy the notion that he had just decided to take a day off work, for no reason whatsoever. The sick excuse would have been a good one if he was looking for an excuse. Otherwise, he was going to have to tell her exactly what he was up to, but I couldn't see him doing that, either.
He started to look agitated, beginning to pace and to fidget. His fingers drummed against his leg. “Look, I'm a little busy right now, so why don't I call you tonight?” he finally suggested. “I promise I'll explain everything then.” He paused. “Yes, okay. Talk to you then. Bye.”
He hung up, looking towards the sky for vindication.
“Why don't you just tell her about us?” I suggested, carefully not looking at him.
I knew, again, that I had no right to tell him how to handle his relationships. Still, I couldn't help thinking that things would be easier for both of us if he just came clean to his girlfriend about the fact that his daughter was currently living with him. Besides, it wasn't as though he could hide that forever.
Or if he could, he wasn't the kind of man who I wanted to have around my daughter.
“As I said, it's complicated,” Andrew said, frowning over at me. “I don't want to risk telling her just to potentially have everything blow up in my face.”
“It's not the media that you're worried about, is it?” I asked.
“How do you know?” Andrew asked sharply.
“Because if you were worried about being found out by the media, you probably wouldn't have come here with us today,” I pointed out. “Don't you think this little outing could seem suspicious if someone were to notice us and recognize you? You're here with a mysterious woman, not your sister, and a young girl. You know the conclusion that people would be drawing.”
Andrew was quiet for a minute.
“Look, honesty is really the only way to handle this,” I told him. “If you're not honest with her, that's how you're going to lose her.”
“And I, of course, should trust you, because you're a woman and you know these things,” Andrew said snidely. “Never mind the fact that you've never had a conversation with her, let alone dated her for a few months.”
“I'm not trying to start a fight,” I said. “Let's not do this here. But how else are you going to explain where you were today if you're not sick and you're not at work?”
“I shouldn't have to explain where I am,” Andrew said, sounding cranky. “I'm a grown man, and she's a grown woman. We should be able to do what we want to with our own time, without being subject to scrutiny by the other person. I don't ask where she is every day. I don't ask what she gets up to. For all I know, she could be fucking someone at the gym, or bringing someone home after her nights out at the bar with friends. But I trust her not to do those things, and she trusts me in the same way.”
I blinked at him, surprised that he was getting this worked up about it. He must really have feelings for the woman.
Suddenly, Andrew was off. At first, I thought he'd decided that he'd had enough and he was leaving. But when I looked, I saw that Emma was on the ground, crying loudly and holding her hands out in front of her. She had clearly fallen hard, probably tripping over her own feet in her excitement.
And Andrew was there to kiss it all better.
I watched as he knelt down next to her, concern etched in every line of his face as he inspected her hands and helped her wiggle all her fingers. Once he was satisfied that there was nothing broken, he bent down and kissed both of her palms. Then, he reached out and ruffled her hair.
Emma chirped something at him, and he threw his head back and laughed, opening his arms to her. Emma hopped up and leaped into his arms, letting him catch her.
Andrew came slowly back over to me. “Emma says she's tired and wants to go home now,” he said.
I raised my eyebrows at her in surprise, but her shriek of laughter confirmed that he was just kidding. “That's not what I said!” she giggled.
“It isn't?” Andrew asked, widening his eyes at her. “Silly me. That's what I heard.”
“I want to go play with the theater stuff,” Emma said. “Please.”
I smiled. She always did like to play dress-up. “All right, let's see if we can find that,” I said, consulting the map that they'd handed us when we came in.
“I'm gonna be a princess,” Emma announced, digging out a bright pink dress and a purple tiara. She found a golden crown and expectantly held it out to Andrew. “Come on; you have to be the prince.”
Andrew blanched, looking over at me, but I just smiled sweetly at him. “Don't look at me, I'm not going to be the prince,” I said to him.
He frowned, twirling the crown around in his hands. But then, he looked at Emma struggling into her dress, and I saw a soft smile break out on his face. He put the crown on his head and rummaged through the bin of clothes until he found a cape to wear with it.
“I guess I have to rescue you, Princess Emma?” he asked.
Emma rolled her eyes with all the self-assurance of a three-year-old. “Princess Emily,” she said.
“Should I rescue you, Princess Emily?” Andrew corrected.
“Nah,” Emma said, grinning at him and brandishing a sword. “I can fight just as good as boys. See!”
I watched them race around for a while, plastic swords in hand, until Andrew dramatically “died” when Emma slashed him across the chest. I clapped my hands as they both stood up and bowed.
Then, Emma skipped over to me, tugging at my hand. “Mama, Mama, wasn't Mr. Goldwright great?” she asked excitedly.
“He was,” I agreed, looking over to where Andrew was standing. He looked almost bashful, and I had to remind myself that this was all new for him. I smiled, hoping some of the pictures on my phone had turned out. I couldn't wait to send them to Misty.
For the first time in three years, I actually felt attracted to Andrew again. Seeing him interact with Emma like that did something inside of me. It made me want him. As he scooped Emma, sans princess costume, up into his arms, I could see his biceps flexing, and as he pulled her close and kissed her on the nose, I had a sudden flashback to the first kiss that he and I had shared.
I shivered. My body flashed hot with lust.
But then he looked over toward me, an unreadable look on his face, and I was reminded of the fact that we'd been bickering again before Emma had fallen, before we had come in here to play dress-up.
I remembered that he had Renée, and these feeling of lust couldn't happen. It didn't matter that Emma was his child. He had chosen someone else, and I had to accept that. I swallowed hard, hoping I didn't look as distressed as I felt.
Fortunately, Andrew's attention was still focused on Emma. “You know what conquering princesses get as their reward?” he asked her.
“Gold?” she suggested.
“No, not gold,” Andrew said. “Something better than gold.”
“What's better than gold?”
He burst out laughing at that. “What about ice cream?” he suggested.
Emma's eyes got wide, and she looked pleadingly back at me. “Mama, can we? Can we get ice cream?”
“Sure thing, squirt, if Mr. Goldwright is offering. But just one flavor.”
“Okay!” Emma agreed, bouncing off towards the exit.
“Should I not have done that?” Andrew asked in a quiet undertone as we followed after her. “Offered ice cream, that is.”
“She's your daughter, too,” I reminded him. “I don't get to make all the decisions.”
Andrew gave me an unreadable look as he held the door open for me. “All right,” was all he said.