Page 73 of Velvet Betrayal
“You can’t introduce Kieran to Rosie,” he said. “That’s one of my terms.”
I looked at him. How did I tell him that Rosie was already part of Kieran’s life? That he wanted to be her father? That he was furious I’d kept him out of her life? That I’d never told Kieran about Rosie to protect her?
I didn’t. Not yet. I’d already hurt Julian once, hollowed out the last of our marriage with lies; I wasn’t going to salt the wound by bringing up our weekend, how Kieran had cooked breakfast for Rosie, let her put stickers on his arms, built her an at-home library out of cardboard and packing tape. He’d said he’d protect her, nothing more—but the way he looked at her, like she was something breakable and sacred, told a different story.
If I told Julian how much Kieran wanted her—our daughter—he’d never forgive me.
“Thank you,” I said instead. “I promise nothing happens without your say.”
“It’s not about permission, Ruby,” Julian said. “You’re her mom. I trust you. But if she gets caught in crossfire, physical or otherwise…” He let it hang. He didn’t have to finish.
“She won’t,” I said. “Not on my watch.”
He smiled, raised his glass in mock salute, then drained it. There was a trace of old heat in his eyes—not affection, not nostalgia, but something purer. Relief, maybe, at having a partner who would never betray the child before the chaos. Sometimes you learn you were never each other’s person, not really, but you’d both signed up to be someone’s parent and there was a dignity in that.
He let the silence stretch. “So you’re really going to walk the plank during the press conference?”
I laughed, even though it sounded more like a cough. “Yeah. I’ll stand up there and take whatever rotten produce the city wants to throw. Maybe I’ll even wear white.”
“Good luck,” Julian said. He looked down, found a crumb on the carpet, and flicked it away. “And be careful, okay?”
“I will.” I meant it in the biggest sense I could. For all of us.
But I didn’t know how long Julian would be on my side when he found out Kieran was, in fact, part of Rosie’s life.
When he found out, he would come for me. I knew that. But for now, he was on my side.
And that…that was something, right? It had to be.
Ruby
Ididn’t go home right away. I just drove. Past the Charles, past the old district court where I’d once tried five cases in a month, past the alley where a homeless guy used to feed pigeons from his jacket, past the Thai place with the best drunken noodles in the state, past a Walgreens that still had my name in the system from when I’d needed Plan B in law school. The city was a time-lapse—same streets, different season, everything moving, nothing really changing.
Eventually, I turned toward home. Parked two blocks away. Walked the rest, slow and deliberate, like I was rehearsing my own alibi. The house was dark except for the bedroom window, and I already knew what that meant.
Kieran was back.
I didn’t bother calling out when I opened the door. He hated being startled. Didn’t matter, though—he was already standing in the hallway, barefoot, coat open, eyes on me like I’d just gotten off a plane from somewhere dangerous.
“You’re late,” he said.
I dropped my keys in the bowl. “I stopped at Julian’s.”
His jaw twitched, but he didn’t say anything. Not right away.
“Rosie’s staying with him,” I added. “For a bit. She’ll be safer there.”
He didn’t nod. Just looked at me, like if he blinked, I might vanish. “You okay?”
“No,” I said. “But I’m not on fire.”
He almost smiled. “Good baseline.” Then, quieter: “I was hoping you’d go back to my house.”
“I can’t be seen going back to your house,” I said. “But there’s something I need to talk to you about, and you’re, well, a shadow. I figured you wouldn’t be far.”
He actually grinned at that. “It’s cute you’re getting used to it. Can I take your bag?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Just took it from my shoulder, like it was his right. “C’mon,” he said, nodding toward the kitchen. “I’ll make tea. Or whiskey, if you want the kind of help that sticks.”
