The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 10

Aveline

He grabbed my hand with both of his small ones, practically vibrating with excitement as he tugged me toward the door.

His bedroom was a child's paradise—spacious and bright, with toys that probably cost more than most people's cars. But what struck me was how perfectly organized everything was. Books arranged by height, building blocks sorted by color in neat containers, puzzles stacked with mathematical precision.

Ryan plopped down cross-legged on the soft carpet and spread his arms wide. "Look! I have cars and robots and puzzles and books and building blocks!" His voice was bubbling with enthusiasm, but then it grew quieter. "But I play with all of them by myself. It's just me most of the time."

"That sounds lonely," I said gently, sitting down across from him on the floor. "Maybe your daddy could play with you sometimes?"

"Daddy's always working," Ryan said matter-of-factly, picking up a small red car and rolling it in circles. "He leaves before I wake up and comes home after I go to sleep. Mitchell says Daddy has very important business stuff to do all around the world."

A flash of irritation coursed through me. All the money in the world couldn't replace a parent's presence.

"What about your grandparents? Do they visit?" I asked.

"I've never seen Grandma and Grandpa. They live really, really far away." But then his face brightened like sunshine. "But Great-Grandpa comes sometimes! He's a little old, but he always brings me the coolest stuff!"

The innocence in his voice, the way he lit up talking about the one family member who showed him attention, made my heart ache.

"Miss Aveline?" Ryan looked up at me with those serious dark eyes, then asked with the casual directness only children possess: "Do you want to be my mommy?"

I nearly choked on my breath. "Ryan, I—"

"I know all the other teachers want to be my mommy," he continued, completely oblivious to my shock. "They're always trying to hug me and telling me they love me and asking if I want them to stay forever and be my new mommy." He wrinkled his nose. "But I don't like them very much. They smell funny and they talk in weird high voices like I'm stupid."

He tilted his head, studying my face with that unnaturally mature expression. "But if you wanted to be my mommy, I think that would be really, really good. You're nice and you smell like flowers and you don't think I'm broken."

Just then, there was a gentle knock on the door. Mitchell appeared with a silver tray laden with cookies and glasses of milk, but he stopped dead in the doorway when he heard Ryan's words.

A slow, amazed smile spread across the butler's dignified face—the kind of joy that transformed his entire expression.

"Master Ryan," he said, his voice slightly thick with emotion, "I haven't seen you this happy in... well, perhaps ever. And the way you're talking, so freely, so much..." His eyes grew bright with unshed tears, and he had to pause to clear his throat. "In all my years caring for you, I've never heard you speak so openly with anyone."

He set the tray down with hands that weren't quite steady, then looked at me with profound gratitude. "Dr. Reeves, I cannot tell you how this gladdens my heart. To see him like this, to hear him laugh and chatter." His voice cracked slightly. "Forgive me, it's just... I've worried about him for so long."

Ryan looked between Mitchell and me with wide, confused eyes. "Why does Mitchell look like he wants to cry?" he asked, tilting his head with that innocent curiosity. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, sweetheart," I said gently. "Mitchell is just very happy to see you so cheerful."

Ryan studied Mitchell's face for another moment, then turned back to me with a much more serious expression. "So? Do you want to be my mommy? I promise I'm a good boy most of the time."

The trust in his voice, the hope in his dark eyes, the way this brilliant, lonely little boy had opened his heart so completely—it nearly broke me. Here was a child who'd been failed by every adult in his life, asking me the most important question he knew how to ask.

A flash of memory—Zurich, many years ago, a tiny heartbeat that stopped too soon—swept through me before I could stop it.

I reached for him, pulling his small body into my arms. "Of course I'd want to be your mommy," I whispered against his soft hair. "Any woman would be lucky to have such a smart, wonderful little boy."

He pulled back to look at me, eyes shining. "Really? You really want to?"

"Really," I said, and found that I meant it more than I'd expected. "You're very special, Ryan."