Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Why do you need to own Milano? You already own all of Sicily — Catania, Taormina, Palermo, Roma,” I said, checking off just some places. “If you wanted to own all of Italia, you should have tried to become Il Papa.”
At that, he laughed loudly. “It has crossed my mind.”
I sighed. “I only want one more year.”
“And then you will want another, and another, and another.”
“Just one.”
“No.”
“Papa.”
“No is no, Lenora. I’ve given you long enough.”
“I’m twenty-two!”
“Precisamente.” He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe the noble title means nothing, but the man is set to inherit billions of dollars.”
Ugh. As far as I was concerned, Adriano could take his billions and shove them up his ass. I wanted to scream that to the world. Instead, I turned around and started to walk away, grateful that he didn’t say anything about it. My father wasn’t someone you walked away from without being dismissed. He only let Mom and me get away with it. I let out a breath. I didn’t know why I expected this plea to be any different than the rest. If Dominic and Gabe hadn’t been able to get through to him, I stood no chance. I missed Aanya. I pulled out my phone and looked at my screensaver, a photo of her after we’d explored the one hundred acres of land my father owned. In the photo, she had mud on her face and looked at the camera like she's smiling. She probably was. Aanya was always smiling, which in turn, made me smile. Today, looking at her picture wasn’t enough. I took a breath and texted my mother.
Me: I don’t want this. AT ALL. I hate everything
Mami: I’m sorry
Me: I really really hate this
My phone rang with a call from her, and I answered quickly as I climbed into the backseat of the unmarked SUV that would drive me to my parents’ penthouse.
“I hate this,” I repeated into the phone.
“I’ll be there early in the morning. Let’s go to breakfast,” she said. “No phones allowed.”
I agreed, and we hung up. I tossed the phone into my purse and looked out the window. New York was truly remarkable. It was the only city I’d ever been to that — despite the number of people that inhabited it — giving you a sense of belonging. Sometimes I liked to close my eyes and think about what I would do if I had the choice if I was free. If I were, I probably wouldn’t live in the city long-term. There was no space for Aanya here. She was the only thing I needed to discuss with Adriano. If I was expected to marry him, a stranger, he needed to promise I could bring her with me.
4
LENORA
I buried my face into my mother’s hair and relished her tight hug. She smelled like my grandmother’s soap, jabon de cuaba. It was the only one she ever used and kept in her household. Despite marrying into a wealthy family, my grandmother held onto little things like that. I’d never understood why until now. It was her way of keeping pieces of herself. It was the only way not to get lost in a powerful man’s orbit. Mom pulled back and smiled at me, wiping tears from my face. Sofia De Luca always looked polished, like a president's wife, perfectly put together whenever she came and went from the house, even at seven in the morning. I got that from her. I had always tried to look flawless, though these days, I wore things my mother would never have worn. She hadn’t said anything about it. It was almost like she knew it was my small way of rebelling against all of this bullshit.
We were standing underneath an arch of white flowers in front of Maman, a cute little cafe on Centre Street that she frequented. This should have made my public crying humiliating, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. She turned to the bodyguards that flanked us and shot them each a pointed look. Their expressions didn’t change, but I could see a million questions in their eyes.
“You checked inside?” She asked. When they nodded, she smiled. “Good. You can stay outside while I have breakfast with my daughter.”
“Ma’am.”
“Outside,” she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the cafe.
The employees were already smiling, but their smiles grew bigger when they saw my mom.
“Your usual table is ready for you,” a young blond behind the counter said as a tall woman started talking to Mom while leading us to our table.
As we followed, my mother asked her about her family, the new apartment she moved into, how she was settling in, and whether or not she’d been able to register for school again. By the time we reached our table, which took less than a minute, I knew half of Riley’s story. My mouth dropped when I looked at the table. When the guy behind the counter said the table was ready, I figured he meant it had been cleaned. I didn’t think he meant there would be a tower of different croissants. Before we sat down, the guy behind the counter brought over two cups of coffee.