Page 76 of Coffee Break with the Billionaire

I finish my sandwich, carefully folding up the wax paper. “You’re pretty smart for an influencer,” I tell her, not knowing how touched I am that she could go right to the heartof things. I have given up my life to stay here with Wyatt. I gave up my dream of going to the stars. I gave up Mia.

What I take from Fenella is that I don’t have to do that again.

A heavy weight lifts off my shoulders.

Chapter twenty-nine

Fenella

After lunch with Silas,I go back to work.

I don’t know what it is about him that lets me say whatever I’m thinking. Or feeling. And I never worry about him judging me or thinking less of me.

I can really be myself with him.

I make it to late afternoon, and when I finally lock the door behind me, I can barely walk. Cleaning is hard and my body isn’t used to it.

Tomorrow might be rough.

Tonight might be rough, too. When I make it across the square—no longer striding merrily—and up the stairs to Edie’s apartment, the rumble in my stomach tells me I need food.

Only there’s not a lot of food in the apartment.

I take a handful of crackers and have a quick shower before I head out to the store.

“I’m going for supplies,” I tell Ernie. “I’ll bring you back something delicious.”

It’s another first: I’ve never been grocery shopping in my life.

I’ve picked up snacks at a Mini-Mart and I’m quite familiar with the various stores where one can purchase alcohol and wine around the world, but I’ve never pushed a cart around a Food Mart.

I don’t even know where to start.

I live at home where there are housekeepers who do this sort of thing—Ada in Los Angeles, Annie in London, and Blossom who makes the best hot bakes in St. Lucia. As far as I know, my mother has never stepped foot in Whole Foods since she married my father.

She had a life before they married, but she never talked about it. Never even alludes to it by mentioning old memories or telling us stories about her younger years. It’s like she hatched, perfectly formed, into Adelaide Carrington when she was twenty-four.

She was younger than I am now when she met and married my father. That fun fact always makes me cringe when I think about it, which I do my best not to.

I try not to think about my mother much at all, and the fact that she comes up so often in my internal thoughts really irks me.

I am irked as I push my cart through the aisles of the Food Mart. Because I can hear my mother’s slightly patronizing voice in my head, plus I have no idea what food to buy. And I need some sort of food. I can live on take-out for months ata time, but not when there is no Uber Eats in Battle Harbour and only four establishments that let you leave with food.

If I’m going to live on my own, I need to have food in the apartment. If not for me, then at least Ernie the cat.

I stop in the middle of the cookie aisle with a thought: Even if I have food in the apartment, what am I going to do with it?

I can’t cook.

My mother never saw fit to ensure I had some of the basic life skills, like boiling water and turning on an oven. In fact, she made it clear to Ada, Annie, and Blossom, that both Ashton and I were never allowed in the kitchen.

I’ve never understood why, and neither did Blossom, because we had a conversation about it once when she was making me my fresh pineapple juice.

There were always meals available for me at any time of the day, and a pantry full of snacks. There are plenty of snacks in the store, but I can’t live on them.

Maybe I can find some ready-made food. I wheel my cart around to the produce section because that seems like a logical place to start.

Jackpot.

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