Page 51 of The Billionaire's Cinderella

“But you were never a fan of hers. Or mine. Let’s be honest.”

“And you and your mother were never fans of me and my mother,” I remind him.

“No,” he admits. “We weren’t.”

The familiar familial animosity makes my throat tighten and tears sting my eyes. It takes a monumental effort to blink them back.

“Our father made some bad decisions.” My voice sounds thick. “There was a lot of fallout.”

“Fallout. That’s one way to put it.”

I don’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything. I’m tempted to make an excuse and hang up, but there seems to be more. Even if I don’t know what it is.

“I hope you’ll be okay,” I say finally. “I could, ah, come to the funeral for moral support.”

He laughs again, but this time it sounds genuine. “Jesus. That’s guaranteed to make her spin in her grave.”

“I know.” I can’t help but grin. “That’s why I offered.”

We laugh together. It’s fleeting, but something feels right about it.

“So, anyway,” he says. “I’m back in town now. Like I told you. I’ll be getting settled. Going through her things. We could… I don’t know. Forget it. Dumb idea.”

“What?”

Long pause. “Grab coffee sometime. Maybe lunch. Pretend we’re related to each other.”

I feel ridiculously touched by the suggestion. He’s the only blood family I have other than my aunt. Shouldn’t family mean something?

“Stranger things have happened, right?” I say, but I don’t plan to hold my breath or get my hopes up. That way lies madness. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You too, Ella,” he says, then the line goes dead.

The sudden silence in my ear triggers a wave of melancholy that I really thought I was past feeling at this stage of my life. My family circumstances have made me sad long enough. I’ve been ashamed long enough. These things should have a statute of limitations so people can enjoy a reprieve. Even convicted felons serve their time and earn a fresh start under the right circumstances, right? Why not me?

But no. A stray tear or two insists on overflowing my lower eyelids, and there’s no stopping them. There’s also no hiding them from Ryker, no matter how quickly I swipe them away.

“Poor guy,” I say, trying to smile and giving him a mocking little pat on the cheek when he sits beside me. “You wanted a dinner with striped bass, but it’s been nothing but chaos and drama all night. You’ve probably had enough of me and my turmoil by now, haven’t you?”

“You’re a regular nightmare.” He uses his thumb to wipe a lingering wet spot on my cheek, his touch gentle as the flutter of a butterfly’s wing. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Absolutely.” I doubt I can fool him, but maybe I can convince myself. “But we’d better figure out what we’re doing about that reservation—”

“Just canceled it.”

I hesitate, my heart sinking. I’ve completely ruined his evening, haven’t I?

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Don’t be. What’s happening?”

I shrug, resigning myself to the idea that he’s probably not going to let it drop without me telling him everything. Might as well get it over with so we can move on with our lives.

"His mother died. Which stirred up some bad memories.”

“About your mother’s death?”

I want that to be all. But it’s not.

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