Page 11 of Almost Christmas in Paradise

“I’m not fighting with you about it. No fights. We’ve had enough fights,” he whispers, and I sigh in relief. “I hate how you’re looking at him,” he says tersely. “I really do, and that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

“But what are you going to do?” I ask. Drake has money and means, and even though this relationship ended after only a few months, my husband is not rational when it comes to me. “And I’m not looking at him in any way. He was obviously saying something, and I was listening.”

“Your eyes are on him, and I hate it. What can I do about it today?” He shrugs. “I’m here with you.” He kisses the side of my neck.

“After today, Paradise? Don’t be cute,” I warn. I turn my body around to look at him. “You better not do a fucking thing,” I warn.

“Or what?” he challenges. “You’re awfully protective about this scumbag. The man who suggested you should abandon our son so you could focus on his. That’s what you told me, right?”

“I’m not protecting anyone. I was in a relationship, and I ended it. I would always choose my son. The end. I’m not going to discuss it anymore, especially given your circumstances when you found out about Carter.” I grab another picture, but he wraps a hand around my wrist, and I drop it.

“I’ve never loved anyone but you,” he whispers close enough to my ear to give me goosebumps. “I’ve never looked at anyone the way I look at you. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. You’re my paradise.” He kisses the shell of my ear.

“And you’re mine, and everything you said is true for me too. We promised to let the past go,” I remind him.

“We did, and I’d never break my promise to you. Besides, I’m grateful to this guy.”

I stare into his eyes, not trusting a word of it. “You’regratefulto him?” I ask. “Really?”

“Yes. If he wasn’t such a fucking asshole, you might have been married to him when I found you again. That would have complicated things for a while.”

“For a while?” I ask.

“Yeah. A short while. Very short. Anyway, next picture.” He kisses my neck again. “I don’t want to dwell on Mr. Gillis anymore. He’s not relevant.” Relieved, I return to the stack of pictures.

There are more random snapshots. Either I’m out with Carter or alone. I don’t understand why he took the time and the expense to do this, but I’m sure it was his way of keeping his eyes on me. I don’t believe for a moment this was about wanting to see his grandson. This is about me not attempting to find Drake. I didn’t think I could hate the man more than I did whenI woke up this morning, but I was wrong. I will keep that to myself until I can unleash it on Wyatt next week.

The last picture is one of me and Carter when he was about two. I’m holding him in my arms at the park and kissing his cheek. He’s smiling so wide I can see most of his teeth.

“He was wiggling like a fish to get out of my arms and go on the slide,” I tell Drake. “But he looked so adorable, I just had to kiss him. At least before he got dirty.”

My husband nods, and when I put the last picture down, he grabs the stack of photos and looks through them again.

Chapter 11

Drake

While Nia tries to hide her disgust for my father, I pick up the pictures and look at them repeatedly. What I notice is that the pictures are in chronological order and with each one, Nia looks more beautiful and more confident in her role as a mother. She’s flustered and disheveled during Carter’s first few months. In the pictures that Nia’s shown me, she’s always put together, if just a little sad. Here, she’s not the well-put-together woman I’ve always known. I love all sides of her, and these are no different. It’s nice to see this version of her. It’s a clear picture of the young, single mother who was getting more confident in her role every day.

As the months pass, she’s back to the well-dressed, well-groomed woman I first met. She’s smiling more, and those smiles are genuine. She’s always been beautiful, but motherhood only changed her for the better. I kiss her shoulderwhile I look at the pictures. The only one I don’t bother to look at is the one of her and that clown Shawn Gillis. In fact, I take it out of the pile, turn it over, and put it on the other side of my desk. I’ll deal with that and him later.

Nia remains quiet, but I know my wife well. I know she’s seething at my father’s invasion of her privacy. I don’t know why he did this. The only thing I can guess is that he had her watched to make sure she didn’t try to contact me. He likely had his minions take pictures to ease his lying, duplicitous mind. But I find myself grateful for these pictures. For seeing her from another angle. I still resent my father for what he took from me because I would have been by her side in all of these. Hell, I would have taken the baby out on my own to give her time to rest, just like I’d done with Priya when she was a newborn.

“You look so pretty in these,” I say as I hold up a picture of her pushing the stroller. I can tell this is soon after she gave birth because her cheeks are fuller and her hips are wider.

“Get glasses. I look like a drowning rat,” she says, giggling. “I was a mess. My hormones were all over the place. My nipples were chafing from breastfeeding. Even though Carter has always slept well, I’d find myself standing over his crib at night watching him because I was scared something would happen to him. And I missed you a lot, which made me so angry. I’d spend those hours watching him and making up scenarios in my head about how different and better things would be if you were there. Then, I’d remember how you didn’t want anything to do with us, and I’d get angry all over again.”

I drop the picture and tighten my arms around her to absorb all that pain she felt and all the deceit she experienced at the hands of the man I once looked up to.

“I’m sorry—” I begin.

“Shh,” she says, interrupting me. “None of it was your fault. No more apologies. Do you want to look at the video now?” she asks.

“Soon,” I say as I pick up the pictures again. “I want to look at you, and I want you to tell me what you’re thinking.”

“This isn’t about me, Paradise. This is about you,” she says. I notice she stiffens in my arms.

“This is about us. This was done to both of us,” I remind her.

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