CHAPTER 11 — THE NIGHT WE DID NOT SLEEP

Clock: 10:03 PM.

Leo ate two bites and slept. Just like that. Pasta half, mouth open, head on table. Three-year-old tired after long day of boardrooms, police, white cars.

Lorenzo lifted him. No asking. He just lifted him like he had done it before, one arm under, one hand behind head. Leo did not wake. Grey eyes closed.

"Where does he sleep," Lorenzo whispered.

"Small room," I said, pointed.

Lorenzo carried him to small bedroom. I followed. He placed Leo on bed, took shoes off, small shoes, covered him with blanket. Leo turned, hugged blanket, mumbled "mama."

"He calls you mama," Lorenzo said.

"Yes."

"He calls me dad today. First time."

"Yes."

We stood there, both watching small chest breathe up down.

Rhys was still at door, sitting on floor, back to wall, phone in hand, typing fast.

"He is texting his driver," I said, "to check if white car is gone."

Lorenzo nodded. Then looked at me.

"We have to talk. Before morning. Before press. Five hours is now four hours."

We went back to main room. Pasta cold on counter. Water still boiling, I turned it off. Loft suddenly quiet, only fridge humming and Leo small breath from bedroom.

Lorenzo took his phone, opened email, showed me.

Lorenzo said: Hohenegg confirmed 50k fraud, She can never give her , Same as police told us this afternoon.

I sat down.

"She paid for cancer," I said.

"She paid for six months," Lorenzo said, voice low, "six months to marry me, to divorce you, to give me heir she can never give."

He sat opposite me, hands tight.

"My lawyer says annulment will take one week if she signs, or three months if she fights. But board — board still thinks she is my wife until paper is done. That's why she said she is still Mrs Blackwood today. Legally, she is right, until annulment."

"And press," I said, "if she calls Daily Mail tonight, tomorrow morning photo of Leo in Soho loft is everywhere. Caption: Billionaire hides secret child with ex-wife while current wife dying."

Lorenzo looked at bedroom door.

"We need to protect photo before it exists," he said.

He took phone, called someone.

"Marcus, it's Lorenzo. No, not tomorrow, now. I need security at 68 Greene Street, Soho, private, no uniform, two men, watch street, if any photographer comes near loft, block. Yes, all night."

He hung up.

Rhys stood up from floor.

"I have photographer friend at Daily Mail," Rhys said, "I can call, tell him if story about Leo drops, we will sue for child privacy, UK law protects child under four, they will think twice."

"Do it," Lorenzo said to Rhys. For first time tonight, they did not argue. Both looking at same door.

Rhys went to balcony to call.

Now only me and Lorenzo in loft.

"Tell me," Lorenzo said, quiet, "tell me about London, about birth, I was not there."

I did not want to tell. Three years I told no one. But five hours, we promised only talk.

"London, November," I said, "rain, I was seven months, big, alone, small flat, Rhys brought soup every day, I designed dresses at night because I could not sleep, belly big, Leo kicking, I talked to him, told him his dad is good man, just confused."

Lorenzo eyes wet. He did not hide.

"When water broke, Rhys was at gallery, I called taxi, taxi driver was Nigerian, same like me, he helped me to hospital, no family, just me, I held velvet box you gave me, the one with small earring, I held it while pushing."

Lorenzo reached table, took velvet box — same box I brought from London, still on counter from this morning when Leo played with car toy.

"You kept it," he said.

"Leo keeps it, for cars."

He opened box, small earring still inside, three years old.

"I gave you this for anniversary," he said, "you were contract wife, but I wanted to give something real."

"I know."

Silence.

Then Rhys came back from balcony.

"Done," Rhys said, "Daily Mail friend says no story yet, but white car woman called his boss at 9:30, boss said need proof, photo, she has no photo yet, because Marcus security will block, but she will try again at 6 AM when press wakes."

Clock: 11:17 PM.

Four hours left becomes three hours.

Lorenzo looked at me, then at Rhys.

"Rhys, you can stay," Lorenzo said, "on floor, or chair, I will stay too, on floor, near Leo door, until morning, no one touches them."

Rhys nodded. "I stay."

I looked at two men, one on floor near door guarding, one on floor near bedroom guarding, both grey eyes, one blue-grey, one stone-grey, both watching my son breathe.

"Five hours started as you and me and Leo," I said to Lorenzo, "now it's three of us guarding one small boy."

"Where three can be three," Lorenzo said, remembered my title from Chapter 9, "you wrote that."

"Yes."

Outside, Soho street quiet, but I knew white car would come back at 6 AM with press. We had until then.

I went to bedroom, lay beside Leo, small body warm, pasta smell still on his cheek.

Lorenzo sat on floor outside bedroom door, back to wall, eyes open, not sleeping.

Rhys sat at main door, eyes open too.

Night we did not sleep.