Page 18 of Silver Fox's Secret Triplets
"I'll go with him," I said quickly.
"Actually, we prefer to limit the number of people in the X-ray room. Dad can wait here with the girls while we take the little man for his pictures."
Before I could protest, they were wheeling Sammy away on a small gurney, leaving me alone in the examination room with my father and the foreboding sense of dread swelling in my chest.
The silence that settled over the room was uncomfortably stiff and hot. I could feel his eyes on me, studying my face with the intensity he usually reserved for hostile business negotiations.
"Ivy."
The way he said my name made me look up from my wringing hands. His expression was serious, implacable, the face of a man who had built an empire by refusing to accept evasive answers.
"I think it's time you told me who their father is."
The question I had been dreading for three years hung in the air between us. I had imagined this conversation countless times, rehearsed dozens of different responses, but now that the moment had arrived, my mind went completely blank.
"It's not your business, Dad."
"When I learn I have three grandchildren I've known about for less than a week and then I'm called to the hospital because my daughter can't be reached, it becomes my business."
"I'm handling this. I've been handling it for three years without any help from you."
"That's not handling it, Ivy. That's hiding, and secrecy." He leaned forward in his chair, his voice dropping to the low, dangerous tone I remembered from my teenage years. "These children deserve to know their father. You can't raise them in a vacuum forever."
"It was a one-night stand," I said, the truth bitter on my tongue. "I never spoke to him again. He doesn't even know they exist."
"Don't lie to me."
The words were sharp enough to make me jump in fright. My father had never laid a hand on me and I knew he wouldn't start doing it now, but the very idea of him being angry with me was soul crushing. I wanted to make him proud of me, but I was nothing more than a disappointment in his eyes. I hated that.
"I'm not lying. It was a mistake, a rebound after Jake and I broke up. I was young and stupid and I made a bad decision.But these are my children, and I can handle this myself without Daddy rushing to my aid."
My father's jaw tightened at my sarcastic tone, but before he could respond, Dr. Matthews returned with Sammy. The boy looked tired but alert, a small bandage covering the worst of the damage to his lip.
"Good news," the doctor said cheerfully. "No breaks, no chips, nothing serious. He will need a few stitches to help the lip heal properly, but it's a minor procedure. We can do it right here with some local anesthetic."
"I want to go with him," I said firmly, standing abruptly so he knew I was serious.
"Of course. We'll get him all fixed up and send him home with some instructions for care."
I followed the doctor and nurse out of the examination room, grateful for the escape from my father's interrogation. But I could feel his eyes on my back as we walked away, and I knew this conversation was far from over.
Stitches took thirty minutes, and the drive home took longer than usual because of traffic, but eventually all three children were settled in for naps and I had a moment to breathe. I sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and tried to process everything that had happened. Lauren had brought the girls back and insisted I rest, but I sent her home after paying and thanking her. I needed space.
My phone buzzed with a text message, and I looked down to see Duncan's name on the screen. I had missed a message while at the hospital and there was a new one. My heart rate immediately accelerated as I opened the message.
Duncan 12:17 PM: How is everything? Please let me know if there is anything I can do…
The second text was a string of emojis: fire, peach, eggplant, water droplets, and a grinning face. Below them, he had typed words that made me feel charged with adrenaline.
Duncan 2:21 PM: This morning was incredible. You are incredible. I want to see you again—outside of work.
I stared at the message until the words blurred together, my hands shaking as I held the phone. The casual flirtation and obvious sexual innuendo felt surreal after the morning I'd had, the fear and confrontation and narrow escape from my father's questions.
Duncan wanted to see me again. He thought I was incredible. He was planning dinner and making promises about not holding my past against me.
But he didn't know what my past actually contained. He didn't know about the three sleeping children upstairs, about the years of lies and deception, about the way my father was already suspicious and asking questions I couldn't answer.
I turned off my phone and buried my face in my hands, overwhelmed by the impossibility of the situation I had created. This morning, for a few precious moments in that elevator, I had allowed myself to believe that maybe, somehow, I could pretend he would actually accept me and my past, even with the lies.
