Page 63 of The Billionaire and the Maid

I hadn’t told my family about my breakup with my fake girlfriend who I was falling for, thus making her possibly my real girlfriend who thought she was still a fake girlfriend. I should call Laurel. She’s probably the only person who can help me figure out that clusterfuck.

“She said Ella was upset with you,” Lorenzo says, giving me an unapproving look.

“I don’t know what happened, Nonno. One second, everything was great, and then…” I trail off with a shrug.

“Talk to her,” Nonno says.

“I’m trying. She won’t return my calls,” I explain as I run a hand through my hair.

“Then, go to her,” he says. “Tell her how you feel. Whatever it is, she’ll forgive you…unless…you haven’t been cheating on her, have you?”

“Nonno! Why would you ask that?” I growl because frankly I’m annoyed he’d even suggest that or maybe I’m hurt that my teenage antics still color the lens through which my family views me today.

He shrugs. “I know you haven’t exactly been serious with a girl in a while, so I wasn’t sure. But I had hoped you weren’t like Tate.”

“I’m not like Tate,” I grumble.

“Good. Then you can fix this. Go,” he says, motioning with his hand to leave. I leave his office with two missions. One, I need to figure out how much those shoes are worth. And two, I need to find Ella.

* * *

After finding the other shoes online from an auction three years ago, I know that Ella’s are likely worth over a million dollars. She’s literally had a fortune at her feet this entire time and didn’t know it. My heart aches for this woman who has sacrificed so much to get what she wants and the whole time she didn’t have to be working, cleaning homes, and living in a small apartment over a garage. Hell, she could have bought her childhood home back.

And why do I feel like there’s more to Nonno’s story? He’s keeping things from me, I just know it. He couldn’t have been that oblivious about these shoes. Everyone always talks about them. It’s been this big mystery for years. So long, that everyone had given up and assumed they were accidentally discarded in the trash.

I decide to take Nonno’s advice. I grab my car fob and drive over to Greta’s house. I knock on Ella’s door first, just in case, but again, she doesn’t answer and all her lights are off.

Taking a deep breath, I ring Greta’s video doorbell.

“Go away, Mr. Marino,” her raspy voice projects from the small box.

“No,” I reply as I cross my arms. “I need to talk to Ella.”

“Not happening. She’s not here anyhow,” Greta replies.

Damn, she’s stubborn. Just like my nonna was. That’s probably why they were friends. I wish I’d taken the time to get to know my grandparents better when I was young, but I was too consumed with breaking rules and acting out to get attention from my parents. And look where it’s gotten me…begging for information at an old lady’s doorstep.

“Will you at least tell me why she left?” I plead as I lean in toward the camera.

There’s no answer for a long moment and then the door latch clicks open. I push it in and find Greta standing on the other side.

“I’m going to tell you and then you’ll leave and never bother her again. Understand,” she says. And I can tell she’s torn between helping me, probably only because of Nonno, and helping Ella who I’ve seen is like her own daughter.

“OK,” I say softly, not wanting to rock the boat before she spills the information.

She gestures toward an antique sofa, and I sit. She sits across from me in some ridiculous chair of carved wood with painted gold accents and satin, striped blue-on-blue fabric.

“You first,” she says as she motions to me with her hand.

“Me?” I ask in confusion.

“She told me a little about how you werefakedating, but I want to hear the entire thing from the horse’s mouth,” she says with a pointed look.

“I…” I pause not sure where to begin. “Ella broke a vase, a very expensive one that my mother loves. It was an accident but, well, you know Kayla,” I start, and she rolls her eyes and nods. “I happened to see it occur and it was right after my dad reamed me out and said I needed to date someone and stop being a playboy. I needed an immediate image change, or he wouldn’t support transitioning his company duties to me. I’ve been working on some things, and I can’t risk losing that position and I don’t want to disappoint Nonno. So I suggested an arrangement of sorts. She pretends to be my girlfriend through next week and I would find a replica vase and never tell anyone. I think she was scared of losing the job, which Kayla would have fired her ass for sure. Anyhow, I…” I look into Greta’s eyes. “I didn’t know she and I had been friends as kids. I didn’t know she was so wonderful. I didn’t know her at all and now I do.” I stop because, for some insane reason for the first time in my life, I feel emotional. I didn’t cry when Nonna died. I didn’t cry when I broke my arm as a kid. I didn’t cry when my first horse died. I never cry. But right now, I feel tears threaten and it unnerves me.

Greta’s stoic face begins to morph as she smiles. “I fucking knew it. You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

I nod, feeling like an idiot. “Yes,” I reply in a low barely audible voice.

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