Chapter 2 - The Photograph Under Ivy’s Pillow
For several seconds, Nathaniel thought he had misheard her.
“That’s what?”
Simone’s face had gone white.
She looked from Nathaniel to Ivy, then back again.
“I said… that’s all. I don’t know why she called you that.”
It was a terrible lie.
Nathaniel knew lies.
He had built hotels in cities where negotiations happened behind smiles, where competitors shook his hand while arranging to destroy him. He knew the slight pause before someone altered a sentence. He knew how people avoided eye contact when the truth frightened them.
Simone Carter was frightened.
But not of him.
She was frightened of whatever Ivy had just recognized.
Nathaniel crouched in front of the little girl.
“Ivy?”
She smiled.
It was such an uncomplicated smile that it disarmed him.
“Where have you seen me before?”
Ivy pointed at his face.
“Picture.”
Simone stopped breathing.
Nathaniel slowly stood.
“What picture?”
“Ivy,” Simone whispered.
The child slipped down from the chair.
“In Mommy’s box.”
The room changed.
Nathaniel felt it.
So did Simone.
Before either adult could speak, the parlor door opened.
Vanessa entered.
Behind her stood Nathaniel’s chief of security, Owen Price.
Vanessa folded her arms.
“The press already has photographs.”
Nathaniel barely looked at her.
“Handle it.”
“Handle what, exactly? A maid’s child announcing to half of Washington society that you’re her father?”
Simone flinched.
Nathaniel’s eyes hardened.
“She has a name.”
Vanessa blinked.
“What?”
“Her name is Ivy.”
The correction was quiet.
That made it worse.
Vanessa looked at Simone as if seeing her for the first time.
“I’m aware.”
“No,” Nathaniel said. “You called her ‘a maid’s child.’ Her name is Ivy.”
A strange silence followed.
Owen cleared his throat.
“We can get the guests’ cameras under control, but the professional photographers already transmitted some images.”
“Then we don’t lie,” Nathaniel said. “We say a child mistook me for someone she knows. Nothing more.”
Vanessa gave a humorless laugh.
“That should calm the internet.”
Nathaniel ignored her.
His attention remained on Simone.
“What picture?”
Simone swallowed.
“It belongs to Ivy.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
“Mr. Hail—”
“Mommy.”
Everyone turned.
Ivy looked worried now.
“Did I do bad?”
Simone’s expression broke instantly.
She dropped to her knees and pulled her daughter close.
“No, baby. Never. You didn't do anything bad.”
“Because Daddy came back.”
Simone closed her eyes.
Nathaniel felt something tighten behind his ribs.
Vanessa stared at the child.
Then at Nathaniel.
Then at Simone.
“Who is her father?”
Simone stood.
“That is none of your business.”
Vanessa actually laughed.
“You bring a child into my fiancé’s home, she calls him Daddy in front of three hundred people, and somehow you think—”
“Enough.”
Nathaniel’s voice stopped her.
He turned toward Owen.
“Get a car ready for Ms. Carter.”
Simone’s chin lifted.
“You’re firing me.”
“No.”
“Then what—”
“I’m taking you home.”
Vanessa stared at him.
“You absolutely are not.”
Nathaniel finally faced her.
“I wasn't asking permission.”
Something passed through Vanessa’s expression.
Not jealousy.
Not embarrassment.
Fear.
It appeared for only a second.
But Nathaniel saw it.
And Nathaniel Hail had made his fortune by noticing the second other people missed.
Twenty minutes later, Simone sat rigidly in the rear seat of Nathaniel’s black SUV with Ivy asleep against her.
Nathaniel sat opposite them.
Owen drove.
Rain had begun streaking the windows.
Simone had protested twice.
Nathaniel had ignored both protests.
“You don't need to come inside,” she said as they stopped outside a modest apartment building in Arlington.
“I know.”
That answer irritated her more than an argument would have.
Nathaniel followed her upstairs.
Her apartment was tiny but immaculate.
Children’s drawings covered the refrigerator. A secondhand sofa faced a television that looked older than Ivy. A row of library books stood beside the wall.
Nothing about the place suggested a scheme.
No expensive gifts.
No hidden luxury.
No evidence Simone Carter had ever benefited from knowing anyone named Hail.
Ivy woke when Simone carried her into the bedroom.
“Mommy?”
“I’m here.”
Nathaniel remained at the doorway.
Then he saw it.
A photograph protruded from beneath Ivy’s pillow.
Only a corner was visible.
But Nathaniel recognized the military camouflage.
His pulse changed.
“Ivy,” he said gently. “Is that the picture?”
Simone spun around.
Too late.
Ivy happily pulled it free.
“Yes.”
She held it toward Nathaniel.
The world disappeared.
Nathaniel took the photograph with both hands.
It was old.
Creased.
Sun-faded.
Two soldiers stood in front of an armored vehicle.
One was Nathaniel.
Twenty-eight years old.
No gray in his hair.
Smiling in a way he barely remembered.
The second man had an arm around his shoulders.
Michael Hail.
His brother.
Nathaniel’s knees nearly failed him.
“Where did you get this?”
Simone said nothing.
Nathaniel turned the photograph over.
There was handwriting on the back.
Michael’s handwriting.
For Sarah. If I don’t make it home, find Nate. He’ll know what to do. — M
Nathaniel looked up.
“Who is Sarah?”
Simone’s eyes filled.
“My sister.”
The answer hit harder than he expected.
“Where is she?”
Simone looked at Ivy.
Then whispered:
“Dead.”
Nathaniel stared at the little girl.
The shape of her eyes.
The stubborn little chin.
The way she had run toward him.
Not because she thought Nathaniel was her father.
Because a three-year-old had spent her life looking at an old photograph of two brothers and had confused one Hail face for the other.
Nathaniel’s voice barely worked.
“Michael was Ivy’s father?”
Simone shook her head slowly.
And the expression on her face made his blood run cold.
“No.”
Nathaniel stared at her.
“Then who was?”
May you like
Simone looked at the photograph.
“That,” she whispered, “is the part Michael died trying to tell you.”
