Page 15 of Bargain with the Bachelor
Who’d have thought the Science Olympiad nerd from the poor side of town would grow up to be a jet-setting billionaire?
Well, actually,Ihad.
I couldn’t have foreseen all the details of my current life, but I’d known I would do whatever it took to change my circumstances, to ensure I’d always have enough to eat and a decent place to live and nice things to wear—and to show all those snooty rich kids who’d made fun of me I was just as good as them, if not better.
And I’d done it. I had it all.
Almost.
Pulling up in front of the historic mansion that housed the restaurant and inn, I gave my keys to the valet—with a hefty tip—and went inside.
Dark wood and antique furnishings created an elegant but welcoming atmosphere, and the smell of delicious food made my stomach growl.
“Mr. Bestia,” the hostess, Miranda, said. “So nice to see you again. Would you like to sit in the main dining room or in the smaller one near the window today?”
I grinned at her. “Either. But you know I want a water view. Always.”
Following her to a petite, beautifully set table in the small dining room, I slid into the bench seat, facing out toward the ocean-view window.
Miranda handed me a menu encased in a fine leather folder. “Would you like a wine list?”
“No. I’m jet-lagged already, so I’d probably drive off into the ocean on the way home if I drank anything right now.”
I wouldn’t get into it with her, but I’d given myself strict rules about drinking—minimal amounts on special occasions only, never on an empty stomach, and never during the day.
For one thing, I had far too much to do and the stakes were too high to ever let myself get sleepy, foggy, or out of control.
For another, I’d grown up with a daily example of how undisciplined alcohol consumption could ruin your life and the lives of those closest to you.
“Okay, your waiter will be with you in a moment,” she said. “Enjoy your lunch.”
Everything on the menu looked good. I’d taken a six am flight out of San Francisco this morning direct to Rhode Island and had slept through first class meal service. I could probably have eaten one of everything.
As I perused the entrees, wondering how I’d manage to narrow my choices to just one, my attention was stolen by the conversation from a nearby table.
A middle-aged couple, the only other diners in the small four-table space, spoke in low voices, but their affection for each other was evident in their mushy, lovey-dovey tones.
I couldn’t stop myself from peeking in their direction. I’d expected to see two people on a first or second date—you could usually tell. But the man and the woman both wore wedding rings on their left hands, which were clasped on the tabletop.
Huh. Married.
The man must have noticed me watching them because he turned to me with a happy smile. “I’m sorry. Were we talking too loudly? We’ve been here for a while and finished a bottle of wine. It’s our anniversary.”
His wife giggled like a newlywed. “Sorry. I don’t usually drink.”
I raised a hand. “No. No. You weren’t bothering me at all. How many years?”
“Twenty-five,” they said in unison, then laughed again.
“Well, congratulations, and happy anniversary.”
They thanked me, and I made a mental note to pick up their tab.
Twenty-five years. I wondered briefly... if my mom had lived, would she and Dad have made it that far?
Would my father’s drinking still have spiraled out of control… or would he have been a completely different man?
Maybe the alcohol would still have won out, and he’d have made her as miserable as he’d made Jack and me. Maybe my mother’s early death was a merciful escape for her.
