Page 238 of The Billionaires

“I know!” Mom says. “Our Jane and a gorgeous billionaire fiancé? But it’s true.”

“Not that,” Mary says and turns to me. “I don’t believe Mom could’ve kept a secret this big.”

Damn. She’s good.

“I held her first edition of Pride and Prejudice hostage,” I say smugly.

In truth, I’m highly skeptical that the book in question, Mom’s greatest possession, is truly a first edition. Mom never lets anyone touch it, but from afar, the book looks very old—and Grandma confirmed that it has been in our family for a couple generations. Still, a true first edition costs almost as much as a Porsche, so I figure Mom would have sold it long ago.

“Oh,” Mary says. “That would do it. I guess congratulations are in order.”

“Thanks.” I ruffle her hair.

“Did you tell Grandma?” Mary asks.

“She knows about the boyfriend,” Mom says. “But not that he proposed.”

“Let’s call her.” Mary pulls out her phone and starts dialing before Mom or I can suggest doing so in the morning—because now is perilously close to Grandma’s bedtime.

“Hello?” Grandma shouts so loudly her voice could reach New York from Florida even without a phone.

“Hi, Mom,” Mom says.

“Georgiana, is that you?” Grandma shouts even louder.

Unlike everyone else in this century, Grandma uses an ancient landline phone, one without caller ID or even call waiting—a thing that has puzzled Mary, who’s too young to know what a busy signal means.

“Mom, turn on your hearing aids, please.”

Yep. She must’ve taken them out before bed.

“Mary?” Grandma says. “Jane?”

“I’m here too,” I say.

“And me,” Mary says.

“Hold on,” Grandma says, and there’s some sort of clattering, which hopefully indicates that she has in fact turned on said hearing aids.

“Can you hear me now?” Mom shouts.

“Why are you screaming?” Grandma demands. “I can hear perfectly well.”

Right. And Adrian is a boy scout.

“We have some news,” Mom says. “Remember Jane’s boyfriend?”

“Jane’s backbend?” Grandma asks.

“No, boy-friend,” Mom enunciates.

“Can you even do a backbend?” Mary whispers.

“For Adrian, she might,” Mom whispers back.

“Eww,” Mary hisses. “Gross.”

How the hell does a ten-year-old understand that joke?

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