Lucas' POV
I massaged my temple, my gaze drifting toward the marked calendar hanging by my desk. A thick, red circle around today's date seemed to glare back at me, a silent reminder of the one thing I'm trying to dreaded. Family dinner. My grandfather's voice echoed in my mind, as he had announced weeks ago that this year's gathering at the Big Manor would be more than just a reunion. It would be an introduction—a grand unveiling of Owen to the entire family.
Just the thought of it made my head throb.
My son. The idea of thrusting him into a room full of sharp eyes and sharp mouths didn't sit well with me.
"Mr. Lucas?" I blinked, pulled from my spiraling thoughts by Julian's voice. He stood in the doorway, holding Owen who was dressed in the tiny navy suit I'd picked out for him. His hair was combed neatly, and he tugged at the hem of his jacket with a look of mild discomfort.
"Owen is ready."
I nodded and stood up. I had already dressed so I took his small hand in mine, and left for the big manor.
The Big Manor was just as massive as I remembered. Its towering building was and sprawling gardens seemed to belong to another world. As we stepped through the front door, the hum of chatter and clinking glasses filled the air.
Family members talked about about the lavish hall, dressed in their finest, their faces lighting up with polite smiles but their expressions were solid. My grip on Owen's hand tightened instinctively.
"Lucas," came the deep, commanding voice of my grandfather.
"Lucas," came the familiar, commanding voice of my grandfather.
I turned to see him standing in the center of the room, his presence dominating as always. His eyes softened slightly as they landed on Owen.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Grandfather boomed, silencing the chatter, "I'd like to introduce you all to Owen—Lucas's son and my great-grandson."
The room went quiet, and then the floodgates opened. Relatives crowded around, cooing and fussing over Owen as I unbuckled him and lifted him into my arms. His chubby cheeks turned red as one well-meaning aunt pinched them, and he buried his face against my shoulder, overwhelmed by the attention.
"He's precious," someone said.
"Just look at those eyes!"
"Does he sleep through the night yet?"
I maneuvered their questions with forced smiles and curt answers, trying to shield Owen from the crowd.
The next hour was a whirlwind of introductions, handshakes, and pretentious smiles. Family members fawned over Owen, commenting on how much he resembled me or asking if he had inherited his mother's eyes.
"Lucas," Grandfather said as the crowd began to reduce, "walk with me for a moment."
I hesitated, glancing down at Owen, who was now seated at a small table, happily nibbling on a piece of cake.
"Don't worry," my mother chimed in, appearing beside me with her usual impeccable timing. "I'll watch over him."
I didn't like the idea of leaving Owen, even for a moment, but I knew better than to argue. Grandfather wasn't the type to wait.
"Alright," I said reluctantly.
The study was just as I remembered it. A room that held Grandfather's legacy, with shelves of leather-bound books and walls adorned with portraits of ancestors. Grandfather settled into his chair, gesturing for me to take the one opposite him.
"Lucas," he began, his tone measured, "you've done well with Owen. Far better than I anticipated."
I resisted the urge to chuckle at his back handed compliment. "Thank you."
"But," he continued, leaning forward slightly, "a boy needs more than just his father."
I stiffened. There it was.
"Grandfather—"
"Let me finish," he interrupted, his sharp gaze rooting me to my chair. "You're raising him well, but there are things a mother provides that you simply can't. Emotional balance. Nurturing. A softer hand. You might not see it now, but one day, you will."
I clenched my jaw, sitting back in my chair. "Owen is happy. He's loved. He doesn't need anything else."
Grandfather studied me, his expression impassive. "And what about you? Raising a child on your own is a burden, Lucas, whether you admit it or not. A partner would lighten that load. Someone to share the responsibility. To help guide him as he grows."
"I've thought about this," I said, trying to keep my tone calm. "I don't need to get married to be a good father. Owen and I are fine."
He raised an eyebrow, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You're stubborn. Just like your father was. I'm not telling you to rush out and propose to the first woman you meet, but I am asking you to keep an open mind. For Owen's sake."
"I don't need to think about it," I replied, my voice firm. "Owen and I have everything we need."
Grandfather sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Very well. But don't let your pride blind you. You may not want to admit it, but the boy deserves a complete family. And you deserve happiness too, Lucas."
The conversation ended with a heavy silence.
When I returned to the main hall, my eyes scanned the room for Owen. My mother stood near a group of relatives, laughing and chatting as if she didn't have a care in the world.
"Where's Owen?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
She waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, he's outside in the garden with some of the guests. They're absolutely enchanted by him."
A sharp wave of irritation shot through me. Without a word, I turned on my heel and headed for the garden, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios.
I found him easily. He was sitting on the grass in the middle of a small circle of women, all of whom were laughing and doting on him. One was gently braiding flowers into his hair, while another tickled his sides, eliciting squeals of laughter from Owen.
I stopped in my tracks, my frustration fading as I noticed something.
Owen looked… happy. Genuinely happy. His eyes sparkled with delight, his laughter pure. The women treated him with a warmth and tenderness that I couldn't replicate, no matter how hard I tried.
I stood there, rooted to the spot, watching as my son basked in their attention.
One of the women held out her hands, and Owen eagerly leaned forward, allowing her to lift him onto her lap. She kissed the top of his head, whispering something that made him giggle uncontrollably.
My chest tightened.
Was Grandfather right? Was I depriving Owen of something he needed? Something he deserved?
I had always told myself that I was enough. That my love, my devotion, my presence would be sufficient to fill the void left by his absent mother. But standing there, watching him bask in the affection of strangers, I couldn't help but wonder.
Was I being selfish?