Page 6 of The Billionaire's Pact

She hugged me, and I finally gave in and hugged her back.

“Good, now what about this mess?” I asked, changing the subject. We both groaned, staring at all her stuff.

“How did I end up with all this crap?” she huffed. “I’ll do one dresser.” She stood and bounced on her feet, then opened a drawer, pulling out a French beret. “Oui, oui. I still hate that you couldn’t go abroad with me.”

A lump lodged in my throat as I remembered how my grandparents had taken away the opportunity, even though I’d earned an art scholarship and saved up the money. I could only dream as Cassidy sent daily photos of all the museums, shops, and events she went to. Her parents had invited me to go abroad with them for the summer holiday, but that too had been turned down. Yes, my grandparents helped, but I never got to try anything. I’m only twenty-two. It can still happen.

Cassidy came over and put the beret on my head. “You look marvelous, darling. Now write your mysterious M while I try to pack.”

My mysterious M. If she only knew. On the night that changed my life, I’d met an older man sitting on the beach at the bottom of the hill. And for some odd reason, we talked about books.

“What’re you reading?”

I puzzled and glanced down. The paperback I’d had with me was sticking out of my pocket. “Mother’s Night by Kurt Vonn…” When I didn’t know how to pronounce something, I spoke the part I was sure of.

“Vonnegut,” he said, frowning. “That’s a dark satire. Too mature for a young girl. It’s also serves as a warning to be careful pretending.”

I shrugged. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He laughed. “What else do you read?”

Reading wasn’t my only love; drawing came first. Still, I’d given him a list of my latest reads and even stayed to memorize the place so I could paint it one day. That was what I told myself, but truthfully, I had nowhere to go. We kept talking.

“The Belfiores are my neighbor,” he told me. “I live in the house next door and we share this area. You were in the house but snuck away to think.”

“I didn’t sneak, I….” I lost what to say. He saw more than I expected.

“It’s okay if you did,” he said. “Sometimes impulses lead to making hasty decisions. And even in the bad situations, there’s someone else that has it worse and may need you.”

Mr. Marini gave me his card so I could send him messages about books. A strange thing perhaps for a lonely fourteen-year-old girl. But his kindness made it hard to throw it away. And we corresponded on occasion ever since. I took out my phone and sent him a text message.

Adelina: Thank you very much for the book. I can’t accept your other gift (you know that) This may be one of our last messages.

Too dramatic? I tried to calm the nausea in my stomach. Mr. Marini had been a real uncle, a confidant. When I had questions about my studies, he always had an answer. He also had been the one older person who made my life fun. His thoughtful care packages with movies and tickets to sporting events had made my life bearable. Of course, once I was around my grandparents they would watch me like a hawk. Who knows what my new husband would be like? He could be jealous.

M: Mia dolce Adelina! Lovely to hear from you. I’m glad you like the book. But what’s this about you never writing again?

Adelina: You know I’m graduating.

M: Summa Cum Laude, Phi Beta Kappa. Everyone back here has heard. I even saw your photo on the Westchester County site. I’m so proud of you, like you’re my granddaughter.

I smiled and typed back.

Adelina: Thank you so much. Your advice about my studies was a godsend, and all the extra surprises made these years not so bad. I’m going to miss it. And well, I believe I may be married soon.

My shoulders slumped as I gripped the phone tighter. Had I shared too much?

M: Yes. So I’ve heard. I’m happy for you. It’s good to start a family.

A pang went through my chest. For some reason, I hadn’t expected Mr. Marini to say that, but he was old enough to be my grandfather. He probably had no adversity to arranged marriages and may have been in one himself.

“Now that we’re graduating, can you tell me who M is?” Cassidy asked.

I chewed my lip.

“I promise I’ll never tell a soul.” She made the sign of the cross and kissed the tip of her finger.

I took a deep breath. It won’t matter soon, anyway. “He’s a Marini, and that’s all I’m willing to say.”

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