Devotion - Billionaire Contemporary Romance Novel (31 page)

“Mommy, can I take swimming lessons?”

She started to answer before her mother stood up from the table and cut in.

“Isabel, it’s late.  Aidan is due at preschool by nine.”

“
Uggghhhh
,” Aidan whined.  “Do I have to go to school today?  I want to stay here with Phillip and make more boats.”  He grabbed another napkin and handed it off to Phillip.

Mrs. Alvarez glared down upon Aidan and his sudden attachment to Phillip. Her accent grew thick with displeasure.  “Mr. Spears, I will remind you that this is not just a house where you can casually come and go—but it is a family with many responsibilities.”

“Mother,” Isabel cut in. “Phillip may not formally be a part of this family, but he is the main reason why we have all benefited. 

“Yes, you have been sure to remind me of it on a daily basis,” she clucked in return. “Perhaps you are offering him more than necessary.”

Isabel felt the heat rise up through her cheeks as her Spanish temper flared.  It was one thing for her mother to be judgmental of Phillip’s interactions with Aidan.  It was another thing entirely for her mother to pass judgment on her private relationship with a man who had proven himself to be so much more to her than simply her boss.  She pushed back from the table, preparing to stand in defiance, but stopped when she felt Phillip’s hand embracing her own. 

“I can assure you, Mrs. Alvarez,” Phillip said, his voice dropping low with severity, “that I do not plan to come and go casually.  I am very much in love with your daughter, and I have no intention of doing anything that would hurt her—or those around her.  Delicious pancakes, by the way,” he added casually, polishing off the last bites from his plate. “Much better than stale bread and canned jams.”

He winked at Mrs. Alvarez, cleaning his mouth with a napkin and reclining in his chair, fully satisfied.  “Aidan, you’re very lucky to have a grandmother who cares enough about you to make you pancakes from scratch.”

Aidan slurped down his milk.  “And chocolate chip cookies, too.” He grinned.

“A rare devotion,” Phillip acknowledged with sincerity.

Mrs. Alvarez peered down on him like a protective hawk, but the deep wrinkles around her frown slowly receded until she simply looked tired and worn.

“Come, Aidan…you must go upstairs and brush your teeth and dress yourself.”

“Do I really have to, Mommy?”

“Yes.” Isabel answered him with a kiss.  “But I will take you to school myself this morning, so Nica will have a chance to have the morning to herself.”

“Cómo quieras,” Mrs. Alvarez huffed, then shrugged as if nothing mattered to her.  “
Ven aquí
, Aidan.  You must come now.” She ushered him towards the kitchen’s swinging door. 

“If you come back quickly, maybe we can even find your superhero cape and you can wear it to school,” Isabel called after him.

“Yes!  Superman to the rescue,” he cried out, flying away, leading Mrs. Alvarez after him.

An awkward moment of silence fell between Isabel and Phillip.

“I rather like your mum,” he casually said, breaking the ice.

“I’m sorry about her comments to you.”

“She’s protecting her family.  It’s an admirable thing.”

Isabel watched him scrounging up the last morsels of pancake off her plate before reclining in his seat like it was all part of his new routine.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Yes, absolutely.”  He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Your mum makes delicious pancakes.”

“No, the other part.” Isabel glanced down at her hand, as if his expression of love was still imprinted there.

The sharp angles along his face softened as he eyed her uncertainty.  Slowly, he reached out to stroke her cheek before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.  “I already have been reprimanded once by your mother for lying—I certainly am not brazen enough to attempt lying twice.”  He leaned in to kiss her with an intimacy that filled her with assurance that he meant every word.

When he was certain she believed him, he slowly pulled away and held her hand like they were an old-fashioned couple enjoying their lazy breakfast. “The good news is that I think your mother is warming up to me.” He smirked.

“You’re an optimist,” she replied.  “But you certainly have a knack for gaining the affection of four-year-old boys.”

Phillip hesitated, as though he was unexpectedly disarmed by the comment.  “What if I told you I have more experience around children than you might presume…” His voice trailed off before he found the courage to look up at her again.

“I’d say I’d want to know more,” she answered, treading carefully.

“Good.  There’s something I want to show you.”

Chapter Eighteen

Dressed in his heavy black wool coat, Phillip led Isabel by the hand like a bodyguard along the sidewalk of her Gold Coast neighborhood.  They headed towards the lakefront as the oak trees swayed overhead with the gnarling October breeze.  With his nose and cheeks flushed pink and elated that he was skipping preschool in favor of their spontaneous adventure, Aidan gleefully wove his bike behind them.

“Can we do this again tomorrow?” he asked, increasing the speed of his pedals and shooting off in front of them.

“No, probably not.  And don’t go too far ahead,” Isabel cautioned him.

It was a familiar routine—riding in a loop around their neighborhood and back again.  Except this time, Phillip led them across Dearborn Avenue, detouring them past their normal route and towards the ritzy historic mansions along Astor Place.

“Where are we going?” Aidan stopped and glanced back at his mother for reassurance.

“To see a haunted house.” Phillip nodded ahead, encouraging him forward along the sidewalk.

“Which one is it?” Aidan pedaled ahead with fury.

“That one,” Phillip directed him, pointing out the red granite fortress.

Aidan suddenly braked and skidded in front of the familiar mansion. Isabel stared at its broad granite staircase and imposing stone lions.  It looked so much more untouchable and threatening in the daylight than in the tempting lure of darkness.

“Don’t worry,” Phillip said with a smirk, pulling her forward by the hand. “It’s not really haunted.”

“You own it?” she asked, trying to reconcile the memory of their night of unbridled passion with the reality of how far they had come in less than a week.

“Yes,” he admitted quietly.

“Have you lived this close to us, this whole time?”

“No, I don’t live here.” He scanned the mansion, his voice husky and remorseful.  “Come on, let me show you.”

* * * *

Aidan climbed the massive grand foyer stairs like he was hiking up the steps of an amusement park ride. “Mommy, look at this...” He slung his leg over the polished banister, preparing to shoot himself down to its end.

“No—” Isabel caught him in the nick of time and pulled him safely back onto the steps.  “Let’s not start our day with a visit to the emergency room.”

“No fair,” Aidan whined, racing up the staircase.

She followed him, skating her fingers along the smooth polished wood of the banister, remembering the sensation of ascending its imposing stairs within the darkness.  In the purity of daylight, she felt the security of Phillip’s presence next to her.  Objects that had been previously obscured by shadows glinted now like precious artifacts of opulence—a looming grandfather clock, a mahogany side chair with bear-claw feet, a French giltwood oval mirror, a stag head with majestic antlers.  She paused with a shiver, overcome by a strange mixture of anticipation and memory.
Was there the same crackling of the fireplace from the master bedroom?
  Instead, she noted the whistling draft and the house’s museum silence, and how Phillip altered her expectations by leading her away from the master bedroom towards the unfamiliar chamber at the opposite end of the corridor. 

Passing ahead of her, he stopped in front of the imposing walnut door and knocked for entrance.

“Ada?” he called quietly.  “It’s Phillip.  May I come in?”

Without warning or explanation, Phillip disappeared into the chamber before emerging again, signaling for Isabel and Aidan to follow him. 

“Mommy, are we going to see a ghost in there?”

“I don’t think so, honey,” she said, hiding her own uncertainty.  “Probably just a few dusty beds and hopefully not much else.”

“Maybe a tiger?”

Isabel looked down into his elfin green eyes. “Maybe.”

She held his hand and led him into the massive room.  Sheaths of golden light streamed through its arching cathedral windows, offering an unobstructed view of the lakefront from the mansion’s second story.  Gusting winds rolled waves across the surface of Lake Michigan.  Isabel shivered again, as if she could feel the autumn chill rattling the window panes and hear the creaking sound of the house, settling on its foundation.  Then, she spotted Phillip, huddled in the corner, partially blocking her view of something—or someone.  Standing off to the side, an unfamiliar woman nodded to Isabel and Aidan.  She was dressed in a white uniform, blue cardigan sweater, and white tennis shoes. Her inviting smile drew them closer until Isabel saw the unmistakable contours of a young boy supported within an electric wheel chair.  His thin arms curved into his body from disuse while his limping head rested against a padded brace.  An oxygen mask clouded over his china doll complexion while his absent eyes gazed out the sweeping windows.

Isabel stared at the child, listlessly bathing in sunlight.  She peered down at Phillip, kneeling before the boy.  Phillip looked up at her, sensing her confusion and discomfort.

“This is Ellison,” he said, rising from his knees.

Isabel stared at Phillip, waiting for an explanation.  But the resemblance within the boy’s delicate profile and translucent blue eyes already whispered the answer in her heart before Phillip confirmed it. 

“My son.”

“Your son?”

“Yes.”

Isabel stared at the child. “I had no idea…” Her voice trailed off because she had no idea what else she could possibly say.

“Why would you? I’ve never told anyone about him—until now.”

She peered into Phillip’s swimming eyes. “But why?”

Phillip turned away from her, as if he knew he didn’t have an answer to satisfy her.  But she could read him now—read the distress in the creases of his frown—and she knew he was likely trying to protect Ellison from a world Phillip viewed as harsh and unforgiving.

Slowly, she drew closer to Ellison, lowering herself to his eye level.  “How old is he?”

“Almost five.  His birthday is next week.”

Isabel peered up at Phillip, attempting to contain her shock. 
Almost five?
  Almost the same age as Aidan, and still, she had never known anything about him nor had Phillip ever hinted at the fact that he had been in a relationship that resulted in a child. 

“He was born only a few weeks before you came to interview for a position at Spears & Associates,” Phillip added, sensing Isabel need to understand more.  “Prior to that, I had been in a relationship with a woman for over three years.  We were in love, or so I thought.  She became pregnant—unexpectedly.  She didn’t want to have the baby.  I did.  She conceded.  But shortly after her first trimester, she began to experience complications with the pregnancy.  Her resentment towards me—and the baby—quickly drew us apart, and in the end, she ended up delivering prematurely at twenty-five weeks.” Phillip’s gaze settled on the boy’s wheelchair and his motionless expression. “We’ve all had an uphill battle ever since.”

Aidan cautiously drew closer to Isabel’s side.  “Mommy, what’s wrong with him?”

“Shhhh, Aidan,” Isabel hushed him.  “Be respectful.”

Phillip winked at him with reassurance.  “He’s a bit more bashful than you, Aidan.  But he likes the sirens of fire trucks, just as much as you, especially when they speed along Lake Shore Drive at night.  That’s always a treat for him.”

Isabel studied Ellison’s absent gaze. “Does he…know you?”

“I’ve been told he likely doesn’t know much of what’s going on around him.  His vision is poor and his hearing is stunted.  They tell me he only sees blurry faces and hears muffled voices, but beyond that, it’s impossible to truly know.  His lungs are incredibly weak.  They’ve told me that he’ll never walk.  Never learn how to gain full control over his bodily functions.  Never fully use his hands.  Never speak. A physical therapist comes every week; she attempts to prevent the atrophy of his muscles with massage and small exercises, and she’s also quite determined to teach him how to swallow solid foods, despite his stubborn resistance to eat anything beyond milkshakes—Oreo chocolate is his favorite flavor.”

“That reminds me…” the unfamiliar woman said from the background.

Phillip glanced back at the woman who had begun tidying the room, replacing the bed’s white sheets and swapping out its pillow cases.

“Isabel…this is Ada,” Phillip said, formally providing the introduction. “Ada is one of five nurses who I employ to help me take care of Ellison around the clock.  The nurses are much better than the doctors about keeping up all of our spirits.” He gave Ada a meager smile of appreciation. 

“I’ll be back with his milkshake,” she said, glancing up at the antique wall clock and moving towards the door.  “We don’t want to feed him too late.”

“No, we musn’t,” Phillip replied, as if they were sharing a mutual warning. “Ellison is quite punctual.  And he does love his Oreo milkshakes.” Phillip smiled down at Aidan.

“That sounds delicious,” Aidan agreed, peering at the boy with curiosity.

“And Ellison’s mother?” Isabel suddenly asked. “Does she see him?”

Phillip shook his head and moved away to the windows, attempting to shield her from the wounded expression on his face. 

“It’s just been myself and the nurses for the past five years.  I stay at my downtown penthouse during the week.  But on the weekends, I’m often here, just sitting with him, sometimes reading to him or simply confessing all the things that one thinks and feels on a daily basis, but rarely professes to anyone—not even themselves. And I will confess that he has heard much about you…and Aidan.  Ellison’s been a great confidant to me in that way.”

Phillip glanced back at the boy who gave no indication that he heard, saw, or felt anything in the room except the streaking sunlight across his face.  Phillip’s eyes grew pensive and his voice haunted, as if he was forcing himself to betray his most painful secret.

“Sometimes, after weeks and weeks of unresponsive silence, he’ll suddenly squeeze my hand, as though he’s been paying attention to me all along.  I’m told it’s just a muscle spasm, but it’s hard to simply dismiss it when it happens so infrequently and with such ferocity, like a vicious clasp of survival, reminding me that life must go on, that bitterness and anger provide no solace, and that there is no other choice but to wake up and try to live the best life that I can for myself—and for him.”

Isabel circled around the wheelchair, inspecting the maze of tubes connected to the oxygen tank. “Do you ever take him out?”

Phillip nodded, striding forward towards the French double doors and opening them for fresh air.

  “There’s an incline that leads from the terrace down to the private garden where he loves to sit in front of the water fountain where cherubs shoot streams out through their lips.  Whenever we try to move him back inside, he grunts and whines, like he’s overcome with a seizure of grief.  Sometimes, Ada has to swaddle him with quilts until he falls asleep to the sound of percolating water.  Occasionally, I’ve wheeled him down to the street level along the bike path towards the lake.  Just father and son.  But those occasions are growing rarer these days—especially as there are more and more complications with his health.”

Phillip turned back to Isabel, ensuring she understood him.  “That’s where I was on the day of the gala—in the hospital.  Ellison had developed an infection in his lungs, and he had to be hospitalized that morning.  There was a moment when I wondered if any of it mattered at all, trying to restore something like The Old Main Post Office that no one saw any value in except for me.  And then I realized that I was doing it for him as much as for myself.  A way to prove to the world that there is meaning in protecting things—things our society would rather just discard or cast out.”

“Phillip, I’m so sorry…” Her voice dropped, flooded with guilt and regret. “I’m so sorry I made that night harder on you than you needed it to be.”

“No, you made the night possible.  And I never thanked you properly for it.”

He moved across the room and embraced her hand.  The revelation that he had carried the emotional burden of raising a disabled child all these years pained her more than she could express through words. 

Suddenly, she noticed how Aidan was playing with a long peacock plume stolen from the interior of a decorative bronze umbrella stand near the doorway. She watched as he dangled it over Ellison’s head like a fishing line, tickling his forehead.

“Aidan, no—” Isabel scolded him, attempting to swipe away the feather. 

He spun away, guarding the plume. “Look, he likes it.”

Isabel glanced back at Ellison.  A strange expression spread across his mouth beneath his oxygen mask.

“Watch,” Aidan insisted, lowering the tip of the feather to the boy’s hand and tickling it with mischief. Ellison’s hand suddenly twitched as his mouth gaped wider, just short of a recognizable smile.

“Phillip?” Isabel glanced over at him.

Phillip stared at Ellison’s hand, studying the change in his expression. “Again, Aidan… Do it again,” he whispered.

This time, Aidan lowered the feather to the boy’s bare feet, tickling the top of their arches.

“See?” Aidan exclaimed when Ellison’s foot twitched like a playful answer to his childish game.