“Don’t you dare get angry. You’re the one who forced me out, which I counted as a blessing because there was no way I’d raise my child in that environment.”
“Cut the crap, Izz. I should have known about my daughter, and you know it. Fuck, I’ve a right to be in her life!”
Emma slaps my hand. “Fuck!”
Oh my God.
I glance down, astonished. Tom looks extremely shocked for a moment, and then a reluctant smile cracks his face.
“Fuck!” she says again, giggling.
I glare at him. “Nice going, Daddy.”
He pales at the word. “I want to hold her.”
My heart slams against my chest as Tom glares at me, daring me to say no. “Sure. Let’s go inside.”
The door shuts behind him, Tom looking completely lost as he looks around his surroundings. I lift Emma from my hip, and he gathers her in his chest. His eyes glaze over as she smiles at him.
“I’ll—um—make some tea.”
Tea always makes everything better, right?
He nods and I put a pot of water to boil on the stove as he walks from room to room, Emma gurgling happily in his arms. He looks like he expects a camera crew wearing Punk’d t-shirts to pop out of nowhere.
“This is where you’ve been all this time while you raised my daughter?”
My eyes narrow. “Yes.”
“Where’s the nanny?”
My laughter bounces off the kitchen tiles. “I don’t have one.”
“That’s ridiculous. Why not?”
“Because they’re expensive, and I don’t need one. Tom, I didn’t seek you out because I need help with Emma.”
The kettle comes to a boil, and I grab two mugs, stuffing bags of Twinings in each before pouring the hot water. Then I bring the steaming cups to the living room. Tom sinks down in my rocking chair, Emma cradled against his chest. He’s still royally pissed.
His voice cracks like thunder. “You do need help with Emma.”
“We’ve managed just fine on our own,” I snap. “That’s not what this is about—”
“You took my baby away. I mean, damn it Izzy. You stole the first year of her life from me.”
“It had nothing to do with you.”
“The fact that you hid her from me says otherwise.”
“I put Emma’s needs above my own, and that meant getting the hell out of Anglefell and yes, keeping her from her father.”
Tom says nothing, feeding me a look full of poison.
“You would have taken her from me. I would’ve never seen her again. She would have been raised to become something she doesn’t want to be in a country where she’d never be free. I did the best thing for her.”
A very sour look contorts his face, and then Emma makes a fussing sound. He glances at her, frowning.
“She’s tired. Give her to me.”
“I can put her to bed,” he says coldly. “Where’s her crib?”
Sighing, I point upstairs. The stairs creak as he climbs them. I follow them as quietly as possible. He walks into the nursery, and bounces the baby, trying to lull her to sleep. Emma’s face screws up into a howl, and Tom looks stricken.
“She likes being sung to.”
“What?”
“I’m serious. Just sing something.”
He hums an indistinct tune, the sound growing as he gets more into it. His voice cracks slightly as he attempts a high note, and then I realize he’s trying to sing Hello from Adele.
The baby cries harder.
“Oh come on,” he tells her. “That’s a good song.”
Not with you singing it.
He tries another song, a French lullaby that does the trick. Tom holds her as though she’s made of glass, and when her eyes close he lowers her into the crib. The floor creaks as he leans over the crib, touching her round cheeks, the soft, downy brown hair.
“Tom? Can we talk?”
He straightens, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah, whatever.” Tom keeps glancing at the baby, as though to remind himself that she’s real.
“Tom.”
Shaking his head, he follows me out the nursery and downstairs. He sinks into one of my moth-eaten armchairs, his face still frozen in an expression of shock.
At least he’s quiet.
I sit on the couch, grabbing my mug of tea. “Like I said before, I need your help. Do you remember my brother James?”
Irritation momentarily crosses his face. “Of course I remember.”
“Well, he’s locked up in one of your jails for illegal entry.”
Tom wraps his hands around his mug. “I see.”
“And I know that Liam is trying to sort through all the prisoners his father put in jail for stupid reasons, but it could take weeks, months, even