“Claire,” he said in a lower voice, “after today, I would appreciate discretion. Vivian and I are going to face enough speculation. I do not need rumors about Noah complicating my public image.”
I studied him.
This man had held Noah once in the hospital, long enough for a photo. After that, fatherhood had become something he outsourced to nannies, tutors, and me. He had missed birthdays for board retreats. Missed school events for investor dinners. Missed bedtime for Vivian, though I had not known that part at the time.
“Your public image,” I repeated.
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
