“Yes,” Kingsley said. “And it’s worth roughly eighteen million pounds.”
Grace covered her mouth with her hand in shock. Although it wasn’t easy, Kingsley managed not to laugh at her.
“He’s to go to the best schools,” Kingsley said. “No expense is to be spared.”
“We could buy a school for this much money.”
“Buy one, then. You can teach in it,” Kingsley said.
“We can’t accept this.” Grace started to fold the pages.
“I told you the story of my club for a reason, Grace. I needed you to know how much I owe him. That club I built for him has made me wealthy beyond your wildest imagining. The club wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for him. I wouldn’t exist, either. I owe him everything—my life, my fortune and my family. I promise, Grace, this is the least I can do. I owe him a debt, and this is how I pay it back.”
“But Kingsley…”
“You’ll receive part of it now for living and education expenses. Everything else stays in a trust until he’s eighteen. Then it’s all his.”
“This is all too much,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.
“There is one more thing.”
“More?”
Kingsley reached into his pocket once more and pulled out a deed. “What I gave you is the exact amount of the trust fund S?ren gave me. But this is the interest.”
Grace took the deed with a shaking hand.
“S?ren’s father was a baron,” Kingsley said.
“Yes, he told me that.”
“The ancestral home is in the north. It’s a beautiful crumbling estate called Edenfell. It was sold twenty years ago to developers who did nothing with it. It’s been sitting empty for years. It belongs in his family. So now it’s Fionn’s.”
Grace slowly sat down in a chair.
“Edenfell,” Grace repeated, reading over the deed.
“It’s in Fionn’s name,” Kingsley said. “It’s his, not yours or Zachary’s. When he’s old enough, he can keep it or sell it or burn it to the ground. I don’t care. But that’s for him to decide.”
“I’m going to be sick,” Grace said, looking paler than usual. And then Kingsley did laugh at her.
“My sincerest apologies for playing God with your lives,” Kingsley said. “I trust you and Zachary will do the right thing by your son.”
“We’ll try, of course. But—”
“No buts,” he said. “Say merci, and love your son. That’s all there is to do or say.”
Grace took a deep breath, gave a long exhale. She looked up at Kingsley with eyes edged by tears.
“Merci,” she said in a small voice.
“I should go. I have another f light to catch.”
“Leaving already? But—”
“I’ll visit again,” Kingsley said. “If you’ll have me.”
Grace stood up and walked to him. She threw her arms around him, and he held her close.
“Your son is blessed to have had two wonderful fathers,” she said. “And so is mine.”
He kissed her cheek and let her go.
“Make sure Zachary doesn’t neglect the French lessons,” Kingsley said, nodding toward Fionn sleeping in his crib.
“I will. I promise. I’ve already started with Danish, too.” “You have?”
“S?ren and I spoke on the phone after we told him about Fionn. He taught me ‘Jeg elsker dig, min s?n, og Gud elsker dig ogs?.’ He asked me to say it to Fionn every night.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means ‘I love you, my son, and God loves you, too.’ It’s the last thing I tell him every night before I put him in his crib. He said…” Grace stopped and smiled. She looked on the verge of tears, but whatever tears there were she kept to herself. “He said that’s how his mother told him good-night when he was a little boy.”
“Jeg elskar dig. He told me that was Danish for good luck.”
“It’s Danish for ‘I love you.’”
“He’s a bastard, that blond monster.”
“You know you love him.”
“Entirely against my will,” Kingsley said, “and with all my heart.”