Page 43 of Billionaire Corruption

I told him about my parents’ divorce and how that had affected the family, pushing my father over the edge and me taking responsibility for my brother. Afterwards, we’d gone to his place, and we’d made love, this time in his enormous bed with the Egyptian cotton sheets and the frame made from some Swedish wood imported all the way from Scandinavia.

He'd taken me home again afterwards and we had not spoken much in the car. When we stopped outside my apartment building, he’d turned off the ignition and turned to me.

“Wait,” he said, and I had waited.

He felt in his pocket and gave me a soft bag.

“This is for you,” he said.

“What is it?”

“It is a Claddagh ring.”

“A what?”

He pronounced the word slowly and explained that the ring was traditionally Irish. It had been given to his mother by his grandmother, but she didn’t like it and told him to give it to a girl he liked.

“I can’t accept that!” I said, shocked that he would give a family heirloom to me after only a few dates.

“It represents friendship, love and loyalty,” Paul said, ignoring my protestation.

“I’ve never really wanted to give it to anyone before you. But your support has meant so much to me these last few weeks, I’ve really leaned on you.”

His dark blue eyes were serious, no spark of his trademark irony.

“I wanted to give you something to show that I appreciate that and that I want to have more of that in my life too. Real loyalty, that is rare.”

I took the ring out of the pouch and tried it on.

It was vintage, an old golden band with a green stone and engravings. It was ornate and heavier than I’d have thought, but it fitted me and looked good on my hand.

“I like it,” I said. “Thank you.”

I leaned over to kiss him, and he held my face, kissing me again, and longer.

“The ring belonged to my grandmother’s sister, I think. She gave it to my mother, but my mother kept it in her jewelry box, never wore it. She said it wasn’t her style. It looks good on you.”

I went inside and looked at the ring more closely.

It was the first time any man had given me jewelry. I had a boyfriend in school give me a chain once, a cheap silver trinket that I had treasured as if it was a golden necklace. I tried to remember his name and found myself unable to come up with it. It was something with like Samuel or Sammy. As I was brushing my teeth, getting ready for bed, it came to me. Seth. His name was Seth Finkelstein. He was my boyfriend for two years. Tall, nerdy and a terrible kisser. But he was kind and sweet and loyal.

I thought again of what Paul had said about loyalty and I agreed with him, it was important to me too. The main reason why I had fallen out with my mother, had been because I felt she was disloyal to my father and to us. She had cheated on him repeatedly and left me to take care of myself and my brother when I was supposed to be doing little girl things, like making lemonade, not figuring out what kind of food I could buy for two dollars.

When she was home, she was always complaining about my father or about work, which she was always quitting and trying to find a new place to work at. My mother never stuck at anything for long. I felt she regrettedhaving kids, and having to take care of us, and I was always trying to make things easier for her, to be a good girl so she wouldn’t complain about me.

Once, when I was around twelve years old, my brother was sick. He had a fever and as the evening went on, he became worse. I didn’t know what to do. My mother was out, and my brother wasn’t getting any better. There was no money for the doctor and finally, I went to our next-door neighbor, a Vietnamese lady who spoke no English. I used to be scared of her because she seemed to always be yelling at her kids.

But Mrs. Nguyen knew what to do. I knocked on her door and asked her to come to our place, to look at my brother. Their apartment was full of people and strange smells, toddlers in diapers crawling on the floor. But she came and put a hand on my brother’s forehead, started talking to me in rapid Vietnamese. When she saw that I didn’t understand, she went back to her place to get medicine. She made him take off his clothes and gave me a wet washcloth to wipe him, showing me how. She showed me a bottle of medicine and said, “Paracetamol” a few times, so I knew what to buy in the shop.

“Where mom?” she barked at me and looked around the apartment.

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully, and I saw the disapproval on her face, and I felt ashamed of the fact that my mother wasn’t home and wasn’t here to help her sick son.

“You, good sister,” she said, patting my shoulder clumsily.

That stayed with me. I was the good sister, and I would stay the good sister for the years to come. My brother knew he could rely on me.

I looked at the ring on my finger and I took it off, placing it next to my bed to keep it safe. I didn’t want to lose it. It reminded me of Paul and the fact that I could rely on him too. That felt good.

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