Exposed
1339 Words
The kiss was slow and gentle, almost feather-like, as he slipped his hand around my waist, holding my body firm against his before he pulled away just in time for the elevator doors to slide open.
“Shall we?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips as he led us out of the building with his hand on the small of my back.
When the valet handed me my car keys, he bid me goodnight, watching as I slipped into my car before turning and leaving while just sitting there in my car without a word.
I thought back to the kiss and realized that I felt nothing when his lips touched mine—not the butterflies or the rush of adrenaline, nothing. I shook my head of the thoughts and started the car, ready to drive home, when I caught sight of someone familiar walking into the building.
I blinked in surprise, looking back again, but he was gone. I sighed, shaking my head before putting the car into drive. I was starting to see things; first it was Kathryn, and now I thought I'd seen Ryan, which was unlikely.
I couldn't wait to fall on my bed and forget this day ever happened. With that thought in mind, I stepped on the gas and sped all the way home.
***
The morning sun trickled in through my half-opened sheer curtains, momentarily blinding me. I blinked a few times as my eyes watered before getting used to the bright light. I yawned, stretching like a cat who'd just woken up from a well-deserved nap before sitting up on my bed.
The white comforter rolled down to the base of my stomach at the movement. It indeed was a well-deserved nap, because I'd tossed and turned almost all night in bed as images of Ryan plagued my mind. How could something that I was sure was entirely a figment of my imagination cause me to lose sleep?
I sighed, running my hands down my face to rub off the remnants of sleep in my eyes before pushing the comforter off me and waddling in the direction of the bathroom.
Shutting the bathroom door behind me, I splashed some water on my face a few times before proceeding to brush my teeth and complete my morning routine. I walked out of the bathroom clad in a fluffy bathrobe while drying my hair with another towel.
My phone pinged from an incoming message, and I walked towards the nightstand where I'd left it to charge the night before to retrieve it. Unlocking it, I realized it was a text from Farid.
'Hello, Habibti.'
'I've had the documents signed and a copy sent to your office.'
I arched my brows in surprise; truthfully, I hadn't expected him to sign the documents so fast, not that I was complaining. It did save me a lot of headaches.
'Thank you, Mr. Hossein.'
'I look forward to doing business with you.'
I quickly responded to his text putting my phone down thereafter before turning on my heels towards the walk-in closet. I skimmed through the rows of dresses arranged neatly on the hangers but decided to go with casual wide-leg pants and an airy top.
Pulling on a white pair of sneakers, I grabbed my phone and walked out of my bedroom towards the stairs. I met Lola, my housekeeper, at the foot of the stairs, and I was greeted with a smile followed by a chirpy good morning.
“How about breakfast, Ms. Wilson? I made some toasts and eggs,” she suggested, and I quickly waved her off.
“No breakfast today, Lola,” I responded, walking towards the front door and grabbing my keys off the bowl beside the door. “I won't be back until dinner,” she nodded at that, and I slipped out, walking down the steps with pep in my steps.
It was going to be a good day; somehow I had a feeling it would. Unlocking my car with a beep, I opened the door and slipped in, turning on the ignition and pulling out of the driveway of our one-story home.
It had only been two days since I dropped the kids off at their grandparents', yet it felt like a lifetime ago. I was so giddy with excitement at the prospect of seeing them again that the thought of the envelope I'd received did nothing to dampen my spirit like it had done.
The drive to my parents' was just an hour from mine. It was the home I'd grown up in; hence, it was filled with memories from my childhood, and ever since my father's retirement from the company, they'd decided to move back there.
Barely a minute after I drove through the gates of my childhood home and parked, I heard the front door open, and as soon as I stepped out of the car, Olivia came barreling towards me with a loud squeal.
I laughed heartily, running my hands through her hair before coaching down to her level with a big smile on my face.
"I've been waiting for so long, mommy; why didn't you come sooner?” she whined, her bottom lips jutting out as she pouted. I couldn't help but chuckle at her cuteness.
“I'm sorry, baby, I'm here now, aren't I?” she frowned but then nodded slowly, her lips pulling back to showcase a wide toothy grin.
“It's okay, mommy; I forgive you,” she kissed my cheek. “My baby's such a sweetheart,” I cooed, tickling her tummy and laughing as she squealed loudly.
“Julia, my dear,” I stopped tickling my daughter at the sound of Mom's voice. I turned, and there she was with a gentle smile on her face. I rose to my full height, taking Olivia's hand as I walked towards mom with a small smile pulling at the corner of my lips.
“Hey mom,” I murmured, pulling her in for a brief hug before letting go.
“Where's dad?” I asked her as we started the short walk towards the front porch painted in white, with a small swing by the corner and cushioned seats on the other side over the soft glow of the chandelier overhead.
“He's in his study; you know how he is,” she murmured in response, and I nodded slowly, looking down at Olivia as we walked into the house hand in hand.
“Where's Lucien?” I asked, looking around as we walked into the living room, as I hadn't seen any sign of Lucien, which was odd.
“He was here a minute ago, I could have sworn I saw him before Olivia and I came out to meet you,” mom trailed off, walking ahead towards the foot of the stairs when the sound of little feet came trudging down the stairs.
"Mommy!” It was Lucien, and I smiled, falling on one knee with open arms as he came running into it. He pulled back after a moment; that was when I noticed he was clutching something that looked like a photograph in his left hand.
He held the photo up to my face, and I felt my heart plummet into my stomach as blood drained from my face.
It was a picture of Ryan and me back when we were in college, with his arms around me and us smiling at each other; you could tell we were in love.
“Who is he, mommy, and why does he have his arms around you?” he asked, scrunching up his nose in a tiny frown as he awaited my response, but I was too stunned to speak.
How could I tell him that that was his father when they knew nothing about him or if he even existed in the first place, and if I did, how could I tell them the truth?.
How do I explain that to a five-year-old?.
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