The Second Time Around

CHAPTER TWO: The Morning That Changed Everything

The penthouse was a masterpiece of modern architecture. All glass and steel and clean lines. It had been featured in Architectural Digest. There were photos. Selene had those photos framed in her office.

But what she noticed now, walking through the hallway at 6 AM on a Tuesday morning, was how empty it was. How impersonal. Like she'd decorated a hotel instead of a home.

Lily's room was the opposite a pink-and-white explosion of princess castles, plush unicorns, fairy lights that twinkled like tiny stars. Selene had designed every detail. She'd chosen the paint color (a soft blush). She'd selected the furniture (coordinating white and rose). She'd curated the entire aesthetic for i********: perfection.

And her seven-year-old daughter was still asleep, her honey-colored hair a wild tangle around her delicate shoulders, struggling even in her dreams with a silk hair ribbon. Her fingers, small and clumsy, kept dropping it as she tossed and turned.

Selene's heart stopped.

This. This was the girl she'd almost lost. This was the daughter she'd been too busy to really know.

She crossed the room in three seconds flat, sweeping Lily into an embrace that would have crushed a lesser child. She pressed kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her tiny button nose, her chin every inch of that beloved face that she'd memorized in her grief and thought she'd never see again.

"Mommy, you're squishing me," Lily giggled, patting her mother's back. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"Yeah, baby." Selene's voice was thick with tears. "The worst one. But I woke up, and you were here, and everything's okay now."

"You're being silly." Lily squirmed free, completely oblivious to the depth of her mother's relief. "Can you do my hair for school pictures? Mrs. Patterson says I need to look 'presentable,' but I can't get the bow right."

In her past life, Selene would have called her assistant. Or handed Lily an iPad to watch a tutorial while she checked her email. Or worst of all she would have snapped a quick photo of Lily struggling and posted it with the caption OMG, motherhood is so hard! #LilyLife #Blessed #HairStruggles

She sat on the pink fluffy rug and spent twenty solid minutes carefully braiding Lily's honey-colored hair into an elaborate crown of tiny plaits. She wove the silk ribbon through each section like she was creating something holy. Every time Lily squirmed, she paused and kissed the top of her head.

"You're so good at this, Mommy," Lily sighed happily, leaning back against her mother's chest. "Why don't you do my hair every day?"

"I'm going to." Selene's voice was fierce with promise. "Every single day. I'll do your hair, I'll go to your school plays, I'll bake your favorite cookies—"

"You're a terrible cook," Lily informed her, completely matter-of-fact. "Remember the burned toast incident?"

Selene laughed,a real laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her. It was a laugh that had been missing for six days. Six years, if she was being honest.

"I'll learn," she said. "I'll take cooking classes. I'll be the best mom in the universe."

"You already are," Lily said simply, with the kind of unconditional certainty that only children possessed.

No, I wasn't, Selene thought fiercely. But I'm going to be.

Ethan's room was the polar opposite of his sister's. Dark blue walls. Shelves filled with astrophysics books and model rockets. A periodic table on one wall. A telescope by the window. Everything organized, everything precise. Nothing for show. Just function.

He was already awake, sitting at his desk with his tablet, reading something about quantum mechanics. He was ten years old and already smarter than most adults. At seven, he'd been reading college-level textbooks. At nine, he'd started helping his father with simple economic theories.

He looked so much like Alexander that it hurt to see him.

"Mother," Ethan said, not looking up from his tablet. "You're—"

Selene was across the room before he could finish, pulling him into a fierce embrace. Ethan went rigid, his entire body stiffening with surprise. His arms came up to pat her back with the awkwardness of a boy who wasn't used to such physical affection. Alexander wasn't a hugger. He'd never learned how.

"I love you," she said into his hair. "I love you so much, Ethan. I never told you enough, but I love you—"

"Okay." His voice was carefully controlled, the way he always sounded when he was trying to figure out what was happening. "I love you too. Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm feeling amazing." She pulled back, cupping his face in her hands. His dark eyes so much like Alexander's searched hers, looking for the catch, the trick, the prelude to disappointment. "I'm feeling like the luckiest woman in the world."

"The luckiest woman," he repeated skeptically, returning to his analytical mode. "Because you're married to a billionaire and you live in a penthouse?"

"Because I have you and your sister and your father." She kissed his forehead, and he let her. "I have everything that matters."

His expression remained suspicious, but she saw something flicker in his eyes. A tiny crack in the armor. A moment where the wall dropped and she got a glimpse of the boy underneath.

"Okay," he said finally. "Can I go back to learning about string theory now?"

"Of course. But first, a deal. Family dinner tonight. All four of us. No phones, no tablets, no excuses."

He studied her for a long moment, analyzing the request like it was a mathematical problem that needed solving. "Father never makes family dinner."

"Then I'll make him. I'll personally drag him away from his empire if I have to."

Ethan's expression flickered. For a moment, she saw something that looked like hope. "I'd like to see that."

Alexander's office on the fifty-second floor of the Vanderbilt Tower looked exactly like she remembered. Minimalist. Cold. Professional. Floor-to-ceiling windows with views of Central Park. A desk made of reclaimed wood that probably cost more than most people's annual salary. Expensive abstract art on the walls. Everything designed to project power and control.

He was already there when she arrived, even though it was only 7 AM. He was always already there. Work came before everything.

He used to, anyway.

"Selene?" He looked up from his computer, concerned. "Is something wrong? Did something happen with the children?"

"No, they're fine. I'm fine. I just—" She closed the door behind her. "I came to remind you about dinner. Tonight. All four of us."

"Selene, I have the Hendersons' call this evening. I rescheduled the morning meeting, but the video conference with Tokyo is still—"

"Cancel it."

"I can't cancel. They're flying in from Japan specifically for this—"

"Then cancel tomorrow. Or next week. Or reschedule everything for a month. I don't care." She walked toward his desk. "I'm asking you to do one thing. Have dinner with your family. With your children who you love and who love you. For one evening."

He stared at her like she'd lost her mind. Maybe she had. Maybe death did that to you.

"Alexander." She sat on the edge of his desk, something she'd never done before. The gesture was intimate, casual, familiar. It was the kind of thing wives did with husbands they were close to. "I need you to trust me on this. Please."

He looked at her for a very long moment. Then, slowly, he reached for his phone. "Cancel the Tokyo call," he said to his assistant. "Tell them we'll reschedule for next week. And have dinner catering send their finest options to my home address. Something that looks impressive but is ready to serve by 6 PM."

He hung up and looked at Selene. "You have one hour to teach me how to be a father who shows up. And then I'm going to sit at a table with my family and I'm going to eat whatever you've planned and I'm going to pretend I know how to do this."

"You already know how to do this," she said, taking his hand. "You're just scared."

"Terrified," he admitted, and it was the most honest thing he'd ever said to her.