Chapter 5
1139 Words
The Christmas day sun glinted off the chrome of my fleet of cars as I stepped out of my Mercedes. The one Ethan got for me.
They were there, Dean and Ethan. Two weeks ago they were some scary, notorious badasses to me. Now they were bad assets. Not bad in that format, but bad as in so good. And am I the liability? They dare not say that.
I'm about to give them the most shocking sight of their lives. Also, it's a mix. It was going to be the best day of their lives. Who won't want to spend a day, or perhaps the holiday, with their son?
I stepped out of the car, and he followed me out, not looking in the direction of the men. "Mummy, where *is* this place?" He piped up, his eyes wide with wonder. He spun and squinted to prevent the cool December sun from straining his eyes.
"It's our house, sweetheart," I replied, smoothing his hair.
He lifted his eyes at me and I smiled. Still, I could tell that he didn't believe it. He lifted his nose. This he does whenever he doesn't believe something I've said.
He did it when I told him three weeks ago that I was going to get us a house and a car.
He immediately yanked his hand away from mine and dashed towards the pool which took the shape of a guitar. "Woah!" he yelled, his tiny voice echoing across the manicured lawn. "It's so big! Mummy. Can I swim?”
"No, no, no," I warned, "It's freezing cold! Don't even think about it."
He then turned to the other side and sprinted towards the garage, his little hands tracing the sleek lines of my various automobiles. The ones Dean and Ethan got for me. "Oh! Mummy, *our* cars!"
"Yes, my love," I said with a smile.
A tear escaped my lips. I had seen him happy. But not like this. For him, these were wishes come true. He loved cars.
He ran back to me. “Mummy? Our cars?”
“Yes, poppet,” I chuckled as I spoke, shaking my head at his boundless energy.
As I straightened up and looked at them. Dean and Ethan, two figures as imposing as granite statues, stood by the front door.
I had given them a show and they were intrigued by it.
They weren't looking at me; their gaze was fixated on my son. They were carefully constructed gods, the best of both worlds. Power, wealth, and fame. All in the two of them.
Three weeks. Three weeks of escalating displays of affection, or rather, displays of ridiculously ostentatious wealth, all designed to win my attention—and, more importantly, sway me. Particularly, not to reach me, but to get my son.
Each man was equally lavish, equally determined, and equally irritating in their methods.
The restaurants! Dean had booked us, me and him, a private room at the most exclusive place in town, only to find Ethan had already reserved the entire rooftop of another five-star establishment, complete with fireworks.
The treats? Chocolate truffles are flown in from Switzerland versus a custom-made gingerbread house the size of a small dog.
The spas? Dean offered a couples massage with a renowned therapist; Ethan responded with a weekend retreat to a private island— complete with a private yoga instructor, naturally.
My patience had reached its breaking point. I'd laid down the law: no fighting, no arguing, ever, especially around me, or else they wouldn't see my son.
Their competitive spirit was getting out of hand. And frankly, it was exhausting. My son is here now to raise the bar of their jealousy. I needed more money to start my club in the holidays and I will get it with Liam's presence.
"Come on, sweetie," I said to Liam, "Come and meet my friends." He bounded back to me, his enthusiasm undimmed. Hand in hand, we approached the two men, who looked like they'd just swallowed lemons.
"Poppet," I started, "this is Mr. Dean, and this is Mr. Ethan. They're Mommy's… friends. And both of you, this is…" I paused, drawing out the suspense. I hadn't told them Liam's gender, let alone his name. I’d enjoyed watching their silent, competitive curiosity. "This is Liam. My son I told you about. He is five years old."
Dean gasped and dropped to one knee. Ethan immediately mirrored him, their knees bumping. Ethan sneered at Dean. I tapped my fingers together pointedly. "Not in front of my son!"
"Oh, Liam," Ethan began smoothly, "What do you want for Christmas? Want to spend the holidays with me? I'll take you to a kiddies' joint with a bouncy castle. Twice the size of this whole house!" He gestured wildly.
Liam considered this. "Is there a clown who will perform some magic? And will there be cake fights?"
“Sure, boy. Sure. Should we?” Ethan asked.
Dean, undeterred, tried a different tack. "I see you like cars, young man. How about I get you one? A little red sports car. Just for you."
Liam tilted his head, then flashed a mischievous grin. "Yes. I like cars! I like to drive. Just like they did in Fast and Furious." He paused, before adding with dramatic flair, "And I want a pet.”
“I'll get you a puppy,” Dean said.
“I'll get you a kitten,” Ethan said too.
“I want a baby elephant,” Liam said.
Everyone scoffed. Both Dean and Ethan. As if my mutual consent, they hardened their face. But I got what I wanted. The two smiled at my son
Before either of the men could react, Liam wriggled free from between their legs and darted towards the door. "I need to check if Santa left me any presents!" he announced and then, in a stage whisper that carried across the house, "Oh, and Mummy, can I have two ice cream sundaes, please?"
I followed him, a silent laugh bubbling in my throat. "Join us for Christmas lunch," I announced, my voice smooth as honey. "And not a single word about being Daddy to my son. You don't want to give him trauma, do you? Especially on Christmas Day. Let's keep this festive."
I knew they turned to look at me. So I wiggled my ass as I went towards the door.
I had them exactly where I wanted them. Two Mafia bosses, vying for my affection, completely captivated by my adorable, drama-loving son.
I had given Liam his scripts. Even without them, Liam was dramatic. Liam knew his lines perfectly and it was truly magnificent.
It seemed my little charmer was just as skilled in manipulation as his mother. This Christmas was going to be interesting, indeed. The perfect Christmas indeed!
- Writer
