Chapter 210
“Yes, that helps,” the doctor nodded. “Or perhaps news of a great-grandchild? Elderly patients often rally for babies. It gives them a sense of future.”
Jocelyn’s face turned the color of a ripe tomato. “Oh. We — we aren’t there yet. We’re focused on… careers.”
Gaston’s hand tightened on her waist. He drew her slightly closer, his side pressing against hers.
“We’re practicing,” he said smoothly, winking at the doctor. “Diligently. Every night.”
The doctor let out a hearty, knowing laugh. Jocelyn wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
“Excellent,” Dr. Evans chuckled. “Keep up the good work.”
As they walked away toward the elevators, Jocelyn hissed, “Practicing? Really? Did you have to be so graphic?”
Gaston grinned, entirely unrepentant. “It’s for Grandma’s morale. The doctor prescribed hope. I provided it.”
Jocelyn’s mind raced. Practicing. The word landed like a slap. Of course he would say that. It was the perfect lie. What better way to secure his position, to solidify the image of a stable family man for his father, than to dangle the promise of an heir? It was a chess move, and she was a pawn. It had nothing to do with desire, she told herself firmly. It was all about the inheritance.
Iո𝘴𝘵𝖺n𝘁 𝗮𝘤𝖼𝗲𝘀𝗌 оn 𝘨𝗮𝗹𝘯𝗈𝘃e𝗅s.сom
Later that afternoon, the Collins Estate garden was bathed in golden light. Jocelyn sat on the patio, her laptop open, trying to focus on a spreadsheet for the hotel renovation.
But her eyes kept drifting.
Aaden was running around the manicured lawn, chasing a soccer ball.
“Uncle G! Catch!” the boy shouted.
Gaston was out there with him. He had changed out of his suit into a grey T-shirt and sweatpants — a rare, casual look that did dangerous things to Jocelyn’s pulse.
He intercepted the ball effortlessly, stopping it dead with his foot. Then he flicked it up and juggled it — knees, chest, head — with an ease that made it look effortless.
Aaden squealed with delight, clapping his hands. “Teach me! Teach me!”
Gaston crouched down to Aaden’s level. “Soft touch, kid. Like this.” He guided Aaden’s small foot with his hand, showing him how to caress the ball rather than kick it.
Jocelyn watched over the top of her screen. The domesticity of the scene was disarming. The sun caught Gaston’s messy hair, turning it into something like a halo. He looked happy. Relaxed.
He would make a great father, the thought surfaced, unbidden and sharp.
She shook it off immediately. Too bad he doesn’t like women. He’ll make a great father to his and Jovanni’s adopted kids one day.
Aaden tried to kick the ball too hard, tripped over his own feet, and went flying.
Gaston moved like lightning. He caught the boy mid-air, inches before his face hit the grass, and swung him upward, turning the fall into a game.
“I got you,” Gaston said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Always.”
He looked up then. Across the expanse of green lawn, his eyes found Jocelyn’s.
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Message from Noa: Have a great Tuesday dear readers. God loves you and Noa wishes you all the best. (=◡=) /
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