Page 55 of Surrender to the Ruthless Billionaire

Remembering the day when she’d finally realised that that was what she was, and would always be to her father, she shivered. His rejection had been total. Worse, it had been public too.

But so what if it had? Her mother loved her and that should be enough.

Except that it wasn’t.

And there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it.

The blood was singing in her ears.

Or was there?

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her phone and scrolled down the list of calls on the screen. It was the same number. Laura’s number.

A girl—a woman now—whose voice had upended her life.

Her half-sister.

They had never met—you couldn’t call screaming abuse in front of someone a meeting. But Cristina knew who Laura was.

She’d stalked her on social media—knew that they were the same age and that Laura’s birthday was exactly three months after hers, that they looked alike. Or they would if Laura dyed her hair red and swapped her preppy chinos and loafers for frayed denim and sky-high stilettos.

But that didn’t seem very likely. Unlike her, Laura had been a high achiever at school, studied History of Art at Bryn Mawr College and now had a job at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Cristina’s hands were trembling.

Laura was everything she’d wanted to be and everything her father had wanted from a daughter. There was nothing to be gained from talking to her.

Maybe. But there was infinitely more to be lost by burying her head in the sand. For hadn’t she encouraged Luis to face his worst fears? If she was too scared to speak to her super-successful and cool half-sister then she was not only a coward, but a hypocrite.

She lifted her chin and pressed Laura’s number.

It rang twice, then—‘Hello? Cristina?’

Her pulse soared. For a moment she almost hung up, and then, biting back the panic filling her mouth, she said, ‘You wanted to talk to me.’

‘Yes.’

There was a short, stunned silence, and she could almost picture the expression of shock and disbelief on Laura’s face.

‘Yes, I do. I just can’t believe you called me back.’

There was a noticeable shake in her voice, and it occurred to Cristina that Laura sounded more nervous than she did. Even though that made her feel marginally better, it still took courage for her to ask the question that had been bothering her ever since her half-sister had started calling her.

‘How did you get my number?’

She heard Laura clear her throat.

‘It wasn’t that hard. I found you on social media, and you were tagged in a photo with some other paparazzi. So I rang round all the agencies and someone told me you were working for Grace.’

Cristina flinched inwardly. She felt suddenly horribly exposed—almost as though she’d been caught on camera herself. ‘You know Grace?’

‘No, but obviously I’ve heard of her, so I rang the magazine.’ She paused. ‘I didn’t say anything about us, I just said that I wanted to talk to you about that photo you took of Bornstein. We’re doing an exhibition of his sculptures next year…’ Her voice trailed off.

Feeling calmer, Cristina said slowly, ‘So why do you want to talk to me?’

‘I’m sorry… I don’t know really know how to tell you this so I’m just going to say it. Papá is in hospital.’

Christina said nothing. Still clutching her phone, she stared blankly at the sea, a choked feeling in her throat. Having more or less stopped talking about her father, it was a shock to hear Laura referring to him so naturally. But more shocking still was the news that he was ill.

---