Sophie (The Boss 8)

“I’m not quite ready for bed,” Neil announced suddenly. “Fancy that dip in the hot tub you were looking forward to earlier?”

“Um…” The private hot tub in our cabin always seemed inviting. I’d fallen in love with the concept of its curved glass wall and decided that it should face forward so the view of the sea beyond on the deck would be unobstructed.

“We could put the telly on,” Neil cajoled. “Watch something while we make absolute prunes of ourselves.”

“So that we don’t have to talk?” His motives could be so transparent. I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off so—”

“That was exactly why,” he admitted before I could finish my apology.

Many times, I’d put off confronting a subject because I simply wanted to avoid it until it went away. I wasn’t going to let Neil do that now. That was my thing.

The hitch was, I didn’t know how to broach a subject we didn’t want to talk about that wasn’t due to the whole thing being a horrible mess. How did one discuss something that made them happy? That healed the heart somehow?

“I need to talk. More than just expressing how tonight didn’t go badly. Something feels…off.” I hadn’t noticed the tinge of uncertainty to my joy until I’d started speaking. Now, that uncertainty had become full-fledged dread out of nowhere.

Neil nodded and looked thoughtfully at his feet as he paced a circle around the grouping of three leather armchairs in the center of the room. I waited as he finished the loop and sat down when he did.

“Sophie,” he began but stalled. As if in defeat, he said, “It does feel off between us. Between you and me.”

“But not when El-Mudad is around.” Oh god. What if Neil and I were having problems, but he didn’t have them with El-Mudad? What would happen to me? Would they divorce me? Was that even what it would be called?

Before I could imagine an entire future of loneliness culminating in my eventual death from choking alone in a studio apartment with no one to save me, Neil said, “I never thought I would be a father again. I knew I wouldn’t. I made my vows to you at our wedding with the full knowledge that you didn’t want children. But now…Sophie, they feel like my daughters. I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

“Since Emma and Michael died.” To appease both of us, I added, “You can say it. We probably should say it.”

“Yes,” he agreed, though to which or both, I couldn’t tell. “I promised you this part of my life was over. Now–”

“You feel like your happiness is breaking that promise.” My heart sank. I’d been assuming that he’d stopped loving me for some reason, that he’d decided I didn’t fit into his life anymore. Instead, he’d been grappling with guilt over his joy because he worried that feeling it would hurt me?

Selfish Sophie, always making it about you.

In my defense, it was about me. At least, a little. “Neil, I’ve told you before, I don’t feel like you’ve somehow tricked me into motherhood. I’ve fallen in love with two men who both had children. They weren’t hidden. It wasn’t a dastardly surprise.”

“Dastardly.” Neil’s lips twitched with amusement.

“My archaic word choice aside,” I began again, “I’m actually on the logical, sensible side of this. You and Emma were a package deal. Same with El-Mudad and the girls. If I couldn’t stand the thought of being in their lives, I wouldn’t have gotten into these relationships. You were incredibly generous in the prenup.”

He smiled sadly. “So, you’ll stay with us despite the parental duties?”

“Not a parent,” I answered automatically. “But also, no. It’s not despite you two having kids. It’s partially because of that. I know you don’t like hearing it, but I love you more because you’re a caring father. You know my history. I couldn’t be with someone who didn’t at least respect the role, even if he never had kids.”

He “hmm" -ed thoughtfully, but I wasn’t sure he believed me.

Sometimes, my best epiphanies about Neil and his behavior came when he wouldn’t give me a window. It was time for an emotional Kool-Aid Man moment. I burst through his wall with, “You’re not feeling guilty because of me. We’ve discussed this so many times. You’re using me as an excuse because you feel like you’re betraying Emma.”

He didn’t meet my eyes, a sure sign he knew I was right and didn’t want to acknowledge it.

I perched on the arm of his chair, so I could put my hand on his back while I talked. “If I said, ’Neil, you feel like you’re callously discarding Emma by loving El-Mudad’s kids,’ would that statement strike you as somewhat familiar?”

“Perhaps,” he admitted sheepishly.

“And were the situation reversed, would you feel that El-Mudad forgot one of his girls by loving Emma?” I hated to speak that kind of evil into the world after what we’d already lost, but it was necessary.