Page 43 of The Billionaire and the Nanny

And she holds me and doesn’t say anything, because there’s nothing else to besaid…

Over the next week or so, I keep myself busy with my small business, working on my contacts list, and sending out promotions while getting ready for the winter semester. I reconnect with some of my friends and try telling myself how great it is to be without Lilly Belle so I can have a social life again. None of it works, but I’m learning to live with the pain of letting go. Whether or not they were right for me, I feel like I lost my husband and daughter.

Soon after, Mom comes into the living room one day holding an open envelope. Her hands are shaking, and the paper trembles, as she stares at it, confused. “Penelope, did you…did you pay off the mortgage on the house?”

“Mom, I don’t get paid that much. Why? What happened?”

“I have to call your father at work then. And the bank. I think this is a mistake.”

“Well, if it’s a mistake in your favor, then don’t call the bank!” I tell her. I mean, seriously. If the universe drops a huge gift in your lap, you don’t give it back. Who is she, Ethan Townsend?

She walks away, scratching her head, mumbling to herself, then she pauses at the sofa and turns around. “You don’t suppose…Ethan paid it off, doyou?”

Ethan? I don’t even know how he would do that. He would need my parents’ names and mortgage number, the name of their bank, and all sorts of information in order to pay it off. I didn’t give him any of that. “I don’t see how, Ma.”

“Can you ask him? I mean, I’m grateful. Holy shit, am I grateful…” Finally, the shock wears off and an ecstatic look comes through. Her eyes light up like she’s been given a new lease on life. “If it was him, then he’s quite possibly the most generous man in the world.”

If it is him, then he’s just feeling guilty,I think to myself.

Regardless of how it happened, we call the bank and my father and discover that the mortgage, has, in fact, been paid off. $85,000 of debt just poof—gone. While my mother rejoices, calls every friend she can think of to tell them what just happened, and everyone runs around the house like chickens with their heads cut off, I sit outside and stare at the sky about tosnow.

He’s not generous. He feels bad for what he did, and this is how he makes himself feel better. Money is no object to him—he said so himself. He’s rich. Money he can give away. It’s love that he holds onto, love that he hoards and keeps to himself.

He never spent a dime of the currency that truly mattered tohim.

* * *

The next day,we’re getting ready for dinner. I haven’t slept well. All I could think about was the fact that Ethan paid off the mortgage.

I miss him terribly and half of me wants to call him and thank him profusely, while the other half wants to curse him out and tell him how much I hatehim.

Do I hate him or do I lovehim?

Sadly, I don’t know anymore. All I know is I’m tired of aching and hurting.

I’m peeling potatoes to boil for the mashed potatoes when I hear a honk outside. My mother and I exchange glances. “You expecting someone?” sheasks.

“No, who would I be expecting?” I say. Wondering if it’s even meant for us, I peer out the kitchen window. Outside is a stretch limo a mile long just parked in front of our house. “What theheck?”

“What is it?” Mom moves into the space next to me, as we both peer out the blinds. “That’s not who I think it is, isit?”

We all filter into the living room to stare outside as the horn continues to blare. Suddenly, a head emerges from the sunroof, then a pair of shoulders and arms, and finally, a big bouquet of sunflowers.

What in the actual fuck is Ethan Townsend doinghere?

I storm to the front door and yank it open, running outside with my hands up. “What are you doing?” I yell. A few neighbors have come outside to see what the commotionis.

He smiles and tells the driver to knock it off. Dropping out of the sunroof, he opens the side door and steps out looking as amazing as I’ve ever seen him in blue jeans, boots, and a brown leather jacket with scarf.

My heart leaps and aches all atonce.

He steps all the way up to me, as my sister behind me says, “Is that Ethan?”

I shoot her a glare over my shoulder to shut her up. I don’t want anyone stroking Ethan’s ego. Turning back to him, I say, “Ethan, what are you doinghere?”

“I’m here to see you, Penelope.” With a sad smile, he hands me the sunflowers and leans in for a kiss on the cheek. Fragmented images come crashing into my mind like shards of glass from my memory—his stubble against my face, the smell of his skin when it’s lit by passion. Things I had pushed out of my mind all come barrelingback.

“You couldn’t have come without the loud-asslimo?”

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