Chapter 7 - Learning to Be a Father
Leo stared at Luca for a long moment, evaluating him with those sharp dark eyes they both shared.
“Mommy said our dad was a very busy man who lived far away,” Leo said simply. “Are you still busy?”
Luca swallowed hard, a tear slipping down his cheek. “No, Leo. I’m done being busy. I’m right here.”
Maya peeked out from behind my dress, her thumb in her mouth. She looked at Luca’s silver watch, which caught the light from the hallway lamp. “Is that a real watch?”
A breathless, watery laugh escaped Luca’s chest. He unclasped the million-dollar Patek Philippe watch from his wrist without a second thought and handed it to her. “It’s yours if you want it, sweetheart.”
“Luca, don't give a five-year-old a tourbillon,” I said, unable to stop a small, faint smile from cracking through my guarded expression.
“I’d give her the entire company if she asked for it,” Luca murmured, looking up at me with profound devotion.
Over the next three months, a new rhythm began to form.
Luca didn't try to force his way into my bed or demand immediate forgiveness. Instead, he showed up.
The man who used to reschedule international board meetings if they interfered with his workout routine was now standing outside Leo and Maya’s preschool at 3:00 PM every single afternoon, holding two juice boxes and a bag of organic apple slices.
He sat on the tiny plastic chairs at parent-teacher conferences.
He spent two hours on his knees in my living room building an elaborate Lego castle with Leo, patiently allowing the boy to boss him around.
He let Maya paint his fingernails bright neon pink before an important virtual conference call with his European directors—and he didn't even bother taking the polish off during the meeting.
I watched him from the kitchen doorway evening after evening, watching the cold, ruthless billionaire melt away into a deeply affectionate, patient, and doting father.
One Saturday afternoon, while the kids were taking a nap upstairs, Luca sat on my rear patio, sipping a cup of black coffee. I walked out and sat in the chair across from him.
“You’re good with them, Luca,” I said softly.
Luca looked over at me, setting his cup down. “I spent five years building things out of concrete and glass, Nia. None of it means anything. Holding Leo’s hand when he falls, listening to Maya tell me about her drawings... that’s the only real thing I’ve ever done.”
“They love you,” I admitted, looking down at my lap. “Leo asks if you’re staying for dinner every single night.”
Luca reached across the small wrought-iron table, resting his palm open between us. He didn't force me to take it; he just left it there, waiting.
“And what about their mother?” Luca asked gently. “Does she still hate me?”
I looked at his large hand, then up into those eyes that had once held my entire world.
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“I don't hate you, Luca,” I whispered. “I stopped hating you a long time ago. But I was broken into a thousand pieces when I left you. It takes time to trust that the ground under your feet won't collapse again.”
“Take all the time you need, Nia,” Luca said fiercely, his dark eyes burning with absolute sincerity. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll spend the rest of my life earning your trust back if that’s what it takes.”
