Billionaire's Secret Baby

5

|A glass shattering is the first thing I hear when I open my eyes. “What the f**k?” I whisper as I get out of bed.

I pull on some clothes and head downstairs to find the source of the noise.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Crane,” one of the maids says upon sighting me at the doorway to the kitchen.

“Trina, you know my mornings are sacred. I barely get any sleep as it is,” I say, trying to rein in my frustration .

“I realize that, Mr. Crane, but she was recently hired and she hasn’t gotten the hang of how things are done here yet.”

I’m silent for a few seconds before turning to the short young woman at the back. She makes sure to avoid my eyes and she looks like she’s a little scared.

“Hey, step forward,” I say to her. “I’m not going to fire you over broken glass, if that’s what you’re scared of. But I do have a few rules. First and most important rule, please, do not disturb my sleep,” I say.

With that said, I turn around, grab the cup of coffee from Trina’s already outstretched hand and exit the kitchen. I went to bed around 4 a.m. and it’s currently seven, which means I had about three

hours of sleep. I had planned to get four, but I suppose I had better get on with my day.

“We talked about this, Mikey. No more tormenting the staff,” someone says from behind me as I start to climb the stairs.

I turn around to face my little brother.

“What are you doing here?” I question while taking a sip of my coffee.

He’s dressed casually in gray joggers and a white T-shirt. His long dark hair is styled in a messy, disheveled way that he swears is his fiancée’s favorite look on him. His green eyes are so unlike mine yet so similar at the same time. It’s the expression in them. Someone once told me my eyes look haunted, while Matthew’s look alive.

Matthew is like a golden retriever. I’m a vampire. The same person who described our eyes was also more than happy to provide me with that depiction.

“I can’t come to see my big bro?”

“You should be busy with wedding preparations,” I state, turning around and heading up the stairs.

He follows, of course.

“I am busy, but Mom told me to check up on you. With good reason, I can see. What did that poor girl do to you?”

“She broke a glass and woke me up.”

“Don’t you think you’re to blame for buying a house that echoes so terribly?” I turn and glare at him. He rolls his eyes.

“Alright, fine. I get that she broke something and woke you up but it was an accident. Couldn’t you have scolded her in a nicer way?”

“What’s the point of scolding if it’s done nicely?” I retort. Matt chuckles. “You don’t even want to try to be a nice guy.” I shrug. “It’s not really my thing.”

We enter my room and Matt immediately lies on the bed. The dark circles under his eyes suggest he’s not sleeping well. It might just be due to stress, though.

“Christine’s back in Arcola,” I find myself saying.

I’m not sure why I’m telling him. I guess it’s a warning or something. “I know,” Matt says simply.

“And you don’t care?” I question.

“Of course I care. I haven’t seen her in so long. I kind of miss her. I still don’t know why she decided to cut off all contact,” he says a little sadly.

“You’re not still in love with her, are you?” I ask.

“Come on, dude. I’m getting married. That’s not even a question you should be asking.” “And that’s not an answer, Matthew. You’re not still in love with her, are you?” I repeat. He sighs.

“I haven’t been in love with Christine in a long time. She was my first love and my best friend, but I’m over that. I’m over her, obviously.”

“Good,” is all I say.

I know one thing for sure. Christine Lawson’s reappearance in our lives is going to change things. It’s inevitable. She’s like a force. It doesn’t matter what she does, she always makes sure to leave her mark. I can only hope our next meeting doesn’t have devastating consequences.

CHRISTINE

M atthew Crane is getting married.

I’m seated in my parents’ living room, staring at an invitation card while my parents watch me carefully.

“You’re looking at me like you’re expecting me to burst into tears,” I say dryly, looking up at them.

They shrug simultaneously.

You know how twins can sometimes have some form of telepathy? They can sense each other’s pain, guess what the other person is about to say, that kind of crap? Well, my parents are like that. I don’t know if it’s because they’ve been married for so long or because they love each other so much, but Thomas and Carla Lawson are like two halves of a whole. They’re each a part of the other, and I grew up wanting to find love like theirs one day.

I thought I had it with Matthew as a teenager. Then with Rush in college, and then Kris, Brock, Richard. Safe to say, I’ve dated plenty, and with each relationship, I’ve found myself becoming more and more of a cynic about love. My parents are lucky. Love like theirs isn’t for everybody, and I’ve accepted that.

My dad’s piercing brown eyes are fixed on me.

“He’s your first love. We’re not sure how you’re going to react.”

I notice all the gray hairs mixed with his short dark hair. He’s getting old; they both are. I feel a pang in my chest at the thought. I hate having to deal with my parents’ mortality. In my mind, they’re superheroes that will live forever.

“We just want to make sure you’re okay with this,” my mom adds. Her eyes are a delicate gray color. They look so different seated together—my mom so elegant and classy, my dad with his beer belly and balding head.

I’ve heard numerous stories about how there were some hiccups in the beginning of their relationship, mostly because my mother comes from an affluent family and my dad was just some young lost kid when they met. My father stopped by the coffee shop and met the girl he couldn’t leave behind, as he put it, so he moved to Arcola and they built a beautiful life together. They faced a lot of criticism, but they transcended it all.

“Of course I’m okay with it. Matt and I are history. We broke up a long time ago. You can’t still expect me to be pining over him,” I tell them.

“We don’t, but we all know there are underlying issues with regard to this new development that we need to talk about,” Dad states.

I get to my feet.

“No, we’re not doing this. I have a lot to do. I’ve barely finished unpacking.”

I finally put my big girl pants on and moved back to the town I grew up in. Two weeks after I tried and failed to convince myself that LA was the right place for me to stay, I called my dad and informed him that I had made a decision.

It wasn’t a bad idea to start working my way up again from my roots. I drew a firm line at living with my parents, however. They helped Noah and me get a two-bedroom apartment near Noah’s new school. He started there a few days ago.

My son took it pretty well when I told him we would be moving here. I had been scared he would have a meltdown or freak out about it, but he was surprisingly chill.

According to him, he didn’t have a lot of friends in LA. I thought long and hard about it and decided Arcola would just have to be a fresh start for the both of us. I would have reconsidered my move, however, if I knew the Cranes would be in town.

I’m not sure why I’m so surprised. Of course they’re here. The family practically founded this place. They’re in control of almost everything, from the department stores and small businesses to real estate. There are several billboards bearing their family name in bold letters. When I was younger, I used to joke that the town might as well be named Crane. That’s how influential they are here.

I guess it makes sense that Matthew would want to get married here. It’s just a cruel twist of fate that I happened to move back here during this time. There will be no avoiding him. Any of them.

“Are you going to the wedding?” my mom questions quietly. “No! I mean, I don’t know,” I say with a groan.

The disadvantages of living in a small town like Arcola are that rumors and gossip spread like wildfire. I’m a hundred percent sure the Cranes already know I’m here.

He already knows I’m here.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before I moved back?” I demand accusatorily. “And don’t even try to deny anything. I know you knew. Why didn’t you guys tell me?”

They’re silent for a few seconds. Soon enough, my dad speaks up.

“We’re sorry, honey. We thought about it and just thought this was the best thing for you.” “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I’m trying really hard not to lose my s**t because this is seeming more and more like a ploy with each passing second.

“It means it’s time, Christine.” “You need to tell him,” Mom adds.

As soon as I get what they’re saying, my eyes widen. “Like hell I do.”

My dad’s eyes narrow in my direction.

“I can’t do it, Dad. I really can’t,” I say, shaking my head. “This isn’t about you. It’s about your son. It’s about his future.” I settle back onto the couch and cup my face in my hands.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” I repeat.

“Chrissy, listen to me. You can’t keep this hidden forever. They deserve to know. They’re Noah’s family. You’ll run into them eventually. It could be Samantha, or it could be one of her sons, but you know it’s going to happen.”

“We can’t keep lying to them, baby. It’s not right,” my mom says. “I’m filled with an

overwhelming sense of guilt anytime I run into Samantha. I’m keeping her away from her grandson. Noah’s a bright light who brings us so much joy. Sam deserves to feel that, too.”

Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears. My stomach drops as I realize how serious they are about this. They practically tricked me. They took advantage of the fact that I was jobless and about to be broke, and they manipulated me into coming back home. Their hearts might be in the right place, but they had no right to take this choice away from me.

“Forget this,” I say, getting to my feet again. “I decide what happens in Noah’s life. Not you guys

—me. I’m his mom and I’m fully capable of deciding what’s best for him.”

“So, what? You’ll run again? You’ll run forever? Is that it, Christine? Did I raise you to be a coward?” Dad questions.

I grit my teeth.

“I’m not a coward, Daddy. But I’m also not ready to ruin a man’s life when I’ve been doing fine with Noah on my own.”

He opens his mouth to say something else but I don’t wait to listen. I grab my keys from the table and exit the house in a rush. I briefly consider going home, but as much as I want to lie down on my bed and feel sorry for myself, I’m an adult. And I’ve got adult s**t to do.