Page 10 of The Billionaire's Most Unexpected Triplets

“I’m not really much of a thrill-seeker,” she admits. “But I love trying new foods and experiencing different cultures.”

I nod. “Of course you do.”

“And I would cook.” A new fire enters her eyes.

“What would you cook?” I finally eat some of my dinner. I’m still not really hungry, but the wine is getting to my head.

“Something exotic. Maybe some traditional dishes from a country I’m visiting. Or I would revisit one of my grandma’s recipes.” She grins.

I can’t help but imagine her in my own kitchen, cooking up a storm while she shakes her hips to the music coming out of my speakers. The image is so vivid that I have to shake my head to clear it.

“What about you?” she asks, breaking me out of my reverie. “What would you do with a week off?”

I smirk. That one is easy.

“I would have to agree with you on the tropical island and fancy hotel with room service. But I would definitely want to try some adrenaline-pumping activities. Skydiving, bungee jumping, maybe some shark diving.”

Leah’s eyes go wide, and I can see the excitement and fear mingled together. “Wow, you really are a thrill-seeker.”

I shrug. “Life is too short to not take risks. You never know what’s ahead.”

“Yeah.” She looks into her wineglass, which is nearly empty.

I refill her glass, and we sit there in silence for a few moments. It’s not uncomfortable, though. It feels easy. Right.

“I’ve always known that’s the case,” Leah says. “I guess that’s why I’ve thrown so much of myself into work and neglected other things. My mom, she wanted to be an artist. Her paintings were great, too. I have a couple.”

“So why didn’t she go for it?”

Leah looks up. “She never got the chance. She was busy with school first, and then with me when I came along. She died when I was seven months old, so… that was it for her.”

A chill strikes me. After looking into her, I knew Leah was raised by her grandparents, but I didn’t know it was because her mother had died so early.

“I’m sorry,” I rasp. “My, uh, my mother died when I was three. I don’t have any memory of her.”

Leah’s eyes find mine in an unexpected moment of understanding.

“It’s tough, isn’t it?” she whispers. “Growing up without a mother.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I nod. This is the last conversation I expected to have walking into this restaurant.

Hell, I never talk about this with anyone. Yet here we are, baring our damn souls.

“What about your father?” I ask, eager to shift the attention off of myself.

Leah shrugs. “I never knew him. I have a name, but I don’t have any interest in finding him. He took off before I was born, so good riddance.”

“Hm.”

I won’t be saying this, but maybe his leaving was for the best. Obviously, he didn’t want to be a father — or couldn’t deal with the responsibilities.

And I know from personal experience that a father who is around but doesn’t want to be there is a particularly soul-crushing experience. I would rather my father have bowed out of the position than spend years begrudgingly raising me, acting like I was a constant burden.

“What about your father?” Leah asks.

Great. The question I most don’t want to answer.

For her, though, I’ll bite the bullet.

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