Page 5 of The Sexy Billionaire

“My life is in New York. Michael and I have our restaurant.”

“As a chef, you think Michael is going to say no to moving to Italy?” my father asks.

“Michael isn’t a fan of Italy,” I mumble, which pulls gasps from my family. It’s something I’ve never confessed to them before. “We can’t run a restaurant from halfway across the world.”

“You can hire people,” my brother adds.

“We’ve only been open six months …” I argue.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do anything now. It will be here waiting for you when you’re ready. Wait until you get hometo talk to Michael about it, you two have a lot to discuss,” my mother states wisely.

How can I leave all that real estate sitting there? Is this what rich people do? They leave empty homes and never use them?

The meeting soon wraps up. I’m exhausted, my anxiety is through the roof, and panic is lacing my body. I’m a freaking countess …. What the hell does that mean? All I know is tomorrow I have a meeting with Lucia’s financial advisor, and he is going to explain everything else she has left to me. How did I not know she was this rich? I knew she had generational wealth because of the gorgeous home, and I knew about her apartment in Rome, and of course, the apartment in New York, and we would use the house in the Hamptons for Christmas most years, and I lived in the Florence apartment but everything else …?

Our parents say their goodbyes as they, too, are exhausted and head up to their rooms, leaving my brother and I standing in the living room in disbelief.

“What the fuck, Paige?” my brother curses as he walks over to the bar set up in the corner of the room and opens the glass cabinet, pulling out a crystal bottle and two matching glasses. He pours us two generous glasses and takes an enormous gulp of his, and I do the same.

The amber liquid slides down my throat, burning on its way, but it feels good.

“Did you have any idea how rich Lucia was?”

I shake my head.

“This is life-changing money and real estate for me, but for you …” He lets the sentence hang as he throws back another large gulp of alcohol.

“I’m literally freaking out, Smith. Like, what the hell, I’m a countess.”

Smith turns and then proceeds to burst out laughing, clutching his stomach.

What the hell is so funny?

“Does that mean I have to curtsy to you now?” he teases.

My eyes widen in surprise before the first chuckles start to fall past my lips. “You better start addressing me correctly. Otherwise, it’s off with your head,” I joke, and we both continue to laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation. Me, royalty.

Once our laughter has subsided, silence falls across the room again as reality sets in.

“I’m going to miss her,” I say, my voice hitching with emotion as the tears of laughter turn into tears of sadness.

“Come here,” my brother says, holding open one arm, and I rush into his embrace. I bury my face in his chest and sob. “I’m going to miss her, too. She was a funny old bat,” he whispers.

“I don’t want to let her down, all this seems like a lot. I don’t think I can do it,” I confess, the suffocating fear of letting Lucia’s legacy fail tightens around my chest.

“She wouldn’t have given it to you if she didn’t think you were the right person for the job.”

I hiccup on my emotions as I take in my brother’s words. “My life is in New York. What happens if Michael doesn’t want to move?”

Smith is quiet for a bit, absorbing my question. “Then he’s not the right person for you.”

Instantly, I pull out of my brother’s arms; I know Smith hates my husband. He’s never forgiven Michael for breaking my heart when we first started dating and he cheated on me. We had only been together six months, and he’d gone to Vegas with his boys, and I found out that he’d drunkenly hooked up with someone. We were not in a good spot at that time and were constantly fighting. We broke up after that, and eventually, he won me over again, worked on himself, promised he would never betray me like he had, and with therapy, we were able to get back to a goodplace. My brother doesn’t forgive or forget as easily and has held on to that grudge ever since.

“You always say that. When will you understand that I love him? I mean, the man is my husband. We have a restaurant. We are building an empire in New York together,” I yell at him.

Smith doesn’t waiver at my words. He’s dealt with worse people than his little sister. “All the things he wanted to do. You compromise all the time and yet he would never do the same for you.”

My brother’s words sting because it’s a fear I have deep down inside of me. I know I’m the one to compromise more than Michael ever could, but the man is French; he’s passionate about his culinary arts. He’s the creative genius behind the menu and I’m his support system to help make sure everything is perfect for him to do what he does best, which is cooking.And yet when you need him, where is he?He’s working. Michael couldn’t leave our new business, the kitchen staff aren’t fully trained, all our hard work would go down the drain and in the competitive world of restaurants, the slightest dip could topple us.

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