Page 29 of Owned By a Billionaire

I couldn’t tell if he was being sardonic or not. Whichever way, I loved him, and I loved music. Especially piano. That was one thing I got from my foster mother. As a keen player herself, she’d taught me scales and pop songs, which I swapped for classical music at high school.

We filed into the ballroom, where a brand-new Steinway sat proudly in the corner, shining in the afternoon light like a glossy black stallion.

My handsome grandson, Cian, now seven, took a seat and performed a song by Debussy, my favorite composer. My attention shifted from this angel on a stool lowered so his little feet could reach the pedals to out the window at the blue sky. Just as his little fingers ran up to the crescendo, birds soared past, and the synchronicity between creativity and nature made my soul sigh.

Even the babies remained quiet, which I found rather moving.

Meanwhile, wearing an unshifting smile, Ethan filmed his virtuosic son, whom I imagined, one day, on the world stage. The thought filled me with pride and joy.

Taking after her wild-spirited mother, Rosie, his younger sister, leaped and whirled about. One’s heart would have had to be made of stone not to be entertained by my beautiful granddaughter’s sylph-like movements.

“You’ve got your own little Isadora Duncan,” Cary whispered.

Instead of embarrassment, I felt a warmth swelling in my chest. “I prefer my grandchildren bursting with creative expression rather than peering down at their phones.”

“Give them time.” Cary’s half smile made me wince. He was right. Their pure little hearts wouldn’t always remain that way. But I brushed that thought aside, despite my future mission to deter them from the dumbing-down influence of social media.

At least Cian and Julian attended the best school money could buy, as would all my grandchildren. It had been a bit of a battle with Theadora at first, who believed that a state-school education would keep her children real.

Finishing in a perfect flourish, Cian stood up, wearing a shy smile at our rapturous applause. He looked over at his mother and Theadora as they huddled around him to show their appreciation.

Ethan had tears in his eyes. Fatherhood had turned him into a sop, but I could no longer lambast him for choosing a hippie over someone of his own class, especially since my extremely talented grandson was the product of such a union.

That boy would do the Lovechilde name proud. Of that, I was certain.

The dream I once held for my offspring had now shifted to my grandchildren. Nothing would please me more than to see them genuflect before the King in receipt of a knight- or damehood.

As Rosie glided before us, I turned to Ethan. “I see her ballet classes are taking shape.”

He smiled, every bit the proud father. Aged four, Rosie was a beauty with large green eyes and that shock of thick red hair. While Cian was a physical carbon copy of Ethan, Rosie was her mother.

“She’s beautiful. They put on performances all the time. It’s heart-melting.”

I smiled at my now-sentimental son. Whatever happened to the playboy who favored sports cars and bimbos over books and cozy conversations?

Oh, we’d all changed. Even Declan, who once upon a time dreamed of being a fighter pilot. With much too many a sleepless night for me, he’d fulfilled that dream, but later he’d swapped a cockpit for a farm.

His organic farm and flourishing market for local crafts and all things organic had become so popular among locals and tourists that he’d just signed a contract for a worldwide franchise, delivering even more money into the Lovechilde coffers.

Janet arrived to announce that afternoon tea had been served, and we all made our way to the back area.

“That was fantastic,” I said to Cian, giving him a kiss on the cheek. He looked up at me with those familiar, big dark eyes. He was the spitting image of Ethan, but that’s where the comparison ended, because his quiet, respectful, and studious manner was a wonder to behold.

Rosie, his little sister, was quite the opposite as she hugged onto her father’s leg. He lifted her and whizzed her around. In her flowing tulle dress, she reminded me of an Arthur Rackham fairy.

Julian, the athlete of the family, kicked a football around as his cute younger sister clutched her teddy bear and chased the ball.

As I watched them with great amusement, Janet came over to announce a visitor.

“It’s Sunday. Send them away.”

Her brow puckered. “It’s Mr. Crisp.”

I puffed out a sigh, and Cary, who missed little, gave me one of his sympathetic smiles.

“Okay, show him to the library,” I said. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

I went over to Declan.

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