Page 13 of Bargain with the Bachelor
“I don’t have any problems big enough to marry someone for their money.”
My stepmother smirked. “We’ll see how high and mighty you are next week when the bank forecloses, andyourcar is repossessed, and you’ve got to pay your own way with your little pictures.”
My breathing problems worsened considerably. “Forecloses? What are you talking about?”
“The house. We can’t afford it. The movers are coming Monday to remove my personal things, the things that aren’t being auctioned off. I advise you to spend the evening packing yours.”
I staggered and gripped the back of a nearby armchair for support. This couldn’t be happening.
The house where I’d grown up, the home my father had built for my mother, the place that held all my memories of the two of them—gone? In a week?
“But… that isn’t possible. Daddy made a fortune over his career. And he had life insurance. The mortgage wasn’t even that far from being paid off, was it?”
Margot lifted a shoulder in a delicate shrug. “Fortunes come and go. Your father enjoyed the finer things.”
My insides ignited.Margotwas the one with the insatiable lust for material things.
How many times had Daddy told me he and my mom were basically broke during the early years of their marriage and had been blissfully happy?
“Our lifestyle was expensive,” Margot continued in a blasé tone. “We took out a second mortgage last year… and then, after his stroke… well, I’ve never been very good at the whole ‘financial’ thing.”
She curled her fingers into air quotes as she said the word “financial” and then waved her hands through the air as if fanning away an unpleasant odor.
“You didn’t pay the mortgage—mortgages,” I said. It was a statement, not a question.
That was the only way the bank would have foreclosed. The household bills had gone unpaid since my dad’s first stroke.
And I had known nothing about it.
A tide of nausea rocked me off balance, and I collapsed into the chair.
“What about savings?” I asked. “What about all the money that went to you when he died?”
As his wife, Margot had inherited half of Richard Bianco’s estate. The other half had been put into a trust for me, accessible only when I turned thirty-five.
My father, who was a self-made man, had purposely set it up with my mother that way when I was very young, determined not to cripple his only child’s ambition and desire to succeed with a ready-made cushion in life.
My mother had died when I was only nine, but my dad had told me over the years how pleased he was that I hadn’t turned into one of those entitled rich kids who expected everything to be handed to them.
The fact was I’d never been interested in expensive cars, or designer shoes and clothes, or exotic travel. My needs were pretty simple—a camera, some form of transportation, a roof over my head.
Apparently the last thing on that short list would be taken away within days.
“The money is gone,” Margot said flatly. “With no new income coming in, taxes and maintenance expenses ate it up very quickly, not to mention our living expenses.”
Shopping,I thought as a dull headache began to form behind my eyes.
“I spent what was left on a yacht, so I’d at least have somewhere to lay my head at night,” Margot explained.
“You bought a yacht?” I gasped. “Knowing the money was running out?”
“Just a small one. You know I’ve always loved travel, and I have to havesomewhereto live,” Margot said. “I need something to call my own, something no one can take away from me. I earned that money—all those years with Richard, raisinghischild.”
She flipped one hand at me in an irritated gesture. “You’re young and healthy. Your whole life is ahead of you. You’ll be fine, a pretty girl like you. You can even get a job if you want one.”
Grabbing her evening bag from the table, Margot walked toward the door, adding, “My opportunities are limited. I’ve only got a few years left to find someone new. So, as much as it pains me to say it, darling, you’re on your own.”
There was no discernable pain in Margot’s tone or on her unlined, youthful face.
