Page 83 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
"I'm not hiding," I said, scissors in hand, trimming the jasmine on the table. "I'm just living my life."
"Living your life?" She laughed, all mockery. "Olivia, look at yourself. You open at six every morning, close at eight every night, seven days a week, three hundred sixty-five days a year. You never go anywhere except this flower shop. You call that living?"
I said nothing.
The scissors clicked. A stem dropped onto the table.
"And," she lowered her voice, glancing toward the register, "at least let Leo know what his real home looks like."
I followed her gaze.
Leo sat on his little stool behind the register, head down, crayons in hand, drawing on a sheet of paper. Sunlight streamed through the window, falling on his brown hair, that small profile focused and quiet.
He was five years old.
Five years ago, when I woke up in the hospital and Ella told me "you're pregnant," I thought my world had completely collapsed.
But then he was born.
The first time I saw him, that wrinkled little face, those closed eyes, so small, so light.
My world lit up again.
"Oli, are you listening?"
I snapped back.
"I'm listening."
"So what do you think?" Ella said. "Leo's about to start school. Are you going to let him go to school here? Or—"
"I'll handle it."
"You'll handle it?" Her voice rose slightly. "How? Let him go to school in this little town? Then what? When he grows up, tell him his home is actually in America, that he has a sister, and a—"
She paused.
"And a father?"
My hand stopped.
The scissors hung in midair.
"Ella."
"I'm sorry." Her voice softened. "I didn't mean it like that. But Oli, you have to face this eventually."
I set down the scissors.
"I know."
"So when are you going to face it?"
"I don't know."
Ella sighed.
She stood, walked to the register, and touched Leo's head.
