The Billionaire's Obsession

Two days after finding out I’m pregnant, I sat in a restaurant in Boston, trying to decide whether telling my boyfriend’s grandmother that I liked her grandson was too aggressive a way to start a conversation. Maybe I should start with the weather. Or architecture. Rich people always had opinions about architecture, especially when they paid other people to build houses they never actually lived in. I turned the menu over for the third time, then checked my phone. Xavier hadn’t replied to my last message, but last night he’d told me everything would be fine. “My grandmother wants to meet you,” he’d said, sitting on the floor of my apartment and stealing the end of a croissant I’d just taken out of the oven. “She was happy when I told her we were serious.” “Serious like we own a plant together, or serious like I need to start learning how to tell the Ricciardi family’s dinner spoons apart?” Xavier pulled me onto his lap. “Serious like I’m not planning on marrying anyone else.” I laughed, then kissed a pastry crumb from the corner of his mouth. Now, remembering it made me smile to myself. Tucked inside my bag was the ultrasound photo I’d gotten yesterday. The doctor had said it was still very early, everything looked right for how far along I was, and I should come back in a few weeks. I’d already imagined how I would tell Xavier, from a little pastry box to a card that said congratulations, you’ve been promoted to daddy. Too cheesy, maybe, but I was pregnant and entitled to lose some of my sense of humor. The restaurant door opened, and I immediately stood. The woman who walked in wore a perfectly tailored cream coat, her silver hair swept into a neat bun, and the expression of someone who had never needed to ask whether her reservation was ready. I recognized her from Xavier’s family photos. “Mrs. Ricciardi?” She looked me over from head to toe, then extended her hand. “Theanna Moran.” I took it with a wide smile. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Xavier’s told me a lot about you.” “Really?” “Yeah.” My smile held for a few seconds longer than it should have before finally fading. She didn’t answer, just sat down and placed her bag on the chair beside her. I sat down too, trying not to immediately declare the atmosphere a disaster. Maybe she just wasn’t a warm person. Xavier could make an entire room feel like it was being interviewed before he even opened his mouth. “This restaurant has really good lobster ravioli,” I said, sliding the menu toward her. “If you like seafood. But if you want something lighter, their salads are good too.” She glanced at the menu, then looked at me. “Have you worked here as a waitress?” I blinked. “Sorry?” “You seem very familiar with the menu.” “Oh.” I pulled the menu back a little. “No, I’ve just eaten here before.” “With Xavier, of course.” There was something about the way she said it that made me want to explain that I was perfectly capable of buying lunch without her grandson’s help. Instead, I just gave her a a smile. “A few times.” The waiter came by with water. Mrs. Ricciardi declined the menu, coffee, even additional bottled water. After he left, she opened her bag and took out a white envelope. “Get rid of the baby.” I stared at her, waiting for the next sentence, because for a few seconds I genuinely thought I’d missed part of the conversation. I’d heard her wrong or maybe she was talking about something else, and my brain had simply picked the worst possible words it could find in this room. “Sorry?” “Your pregnancy,” she said again. “I want you to end it.” My hand was still resting on the menu. I only realized it when my fingertips began pressing too hard into the paper, and I slowly let go, lowering my hand to my lap. Across the table, she remained perfectly calm while I tried to understand how someone could say something like that without the slightest change in her face. “How do you know?” The question came out before I could consider whether I should have denied it. I swallowed, then glanced briefly around the restaurant, suddenly too aware that people were eating, talking, and going about their evenings a few tables away from us. “Who told you that?” “What you need to understand is that our family will not allow a baby to become a source of conflict.” I looked at the envelope, then back at her. “I haven’t told him.” “I know.” “I haven’t told anyone.” She straightened the edge of her napkin. “Then we can resolve this without embarrassing anyone.” I laughed reflexively. “Sorry, I’m having a little trouble following the part where you found out what’s in my uterus before my boyfriend did.” “Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.” “Difficult?” I stared at her. “You just asked me to abort my baby before we’ve even ordered lunch.” “That baby will interfere with Xavier’s future.” I wanted to tell her that Xavier’s future wasn’t a construction project that could be derailed by one change to the floor plan, but my mouth felt too dry to come up with anything funny. “He loves me.” Mrs. Ricciardi opened the envelope. “Xavier is going to marry Alessandra.” She took out several photographs and laid them on the table, one by one, with the precision of someone arranging documents for a meeting. I recognized Xavier before I even looked at the woman beside him. White shirt. The watch I’d given him for graduation. The same hand that had rubbed my back last night when I complained about feeling nauseous after eating. In the first photo, he was kissing a dark-haired woman on a balcony. The next showed them entering a hotel. The third had been taken in a bedroom, Xavier sitting on the edge of the bed while the woman wore his shirt. I lifted the photo closer to my face. “When was this?” “A few weeks ago.” “No.” I shook my head hard. “No, he was in Milan for family business.” “That’s right.” I looked at the woman again. “Who is Alessandra?” “Alessandra Bellini. Her family has been close to ours for generations. They’re compatible in every way that matters.” “Good for them.” I swallowed. “They can make a brochure.” She didn’t smile. I set the photo down and picked up another. Xavier at a restaurant, his hand on Alessandra’s waist. Xavier at a family party. Xavier smiling at the camera while Alessandra kissed his cheek. I knew that smile. I’d spent too many mornings trying to coax it out of him before he was fully awake. “He said you were happy to meet me,” I said. “Xavier says a lot of things when he wants something.” I looked up. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “His relationship with Alessandra has been going on for two years. You’re not the woman he’s going to marry, Moran. You’re the woman who was never supposed to become a problem.” I stared at her long enough for her face to start blurring. Two years. Xavier and I had been together for almost three.... “So I’m the mistress? We’ve been together for almost three years.” “I wouldn’t use such a crude term.” She took out her phone and played a video. On the screen, Xavier and Alessandra were dancing at a party. Alessandra said something into his ear, and Xavier leaned down to answer before kissing her on the lips. I recognized the suit he was wearing. I’d helped him choose a tie for that event over FaceTime. I handed the phone back. “Enough.” “You need to understand the situation.” “I understand.” I took a breath, but the air didn’t seem to reach my lungs. “I just haven’t figured out which part I’m supposed to throw up first.” She put her phone back in her bag. “I can arrange everything privately. The doctor, the expenses, temporary accommodations. You don’t need to worry.” I stared at her. “You think I need your money?” “According to the information we have, you don’t have a family capable of handling consequences like these.” For a moment, I want to laughed in her face. In Panama, the Martinez name could open doors that even the Ricciardi family might have to knock on first. But I’d never used that name in Boston. I’d come here as Theanna Moran, an MIT architecture student who wanted to live without everyone knowing her family’s net worth, and now this woman was looking at me as though I were waiting for cab fare. “Then your information is incomplete.” “What matters is that you know your place.” She stood, leaving the envelope on the table. “Don’t try to use this pregnancy to force Xavier into anything. If you cause trouble, I won’t hesitate to take whatever steps are necessary to protect my family.” I stared at her. “Is that a threat?” “It’s an opportunity to be reasonable.” After she left, the waiter came over and asked if I wanted to order anything. I looked at the menu, still lying open, then told him I’d changed my mind. He brought me the bill for the mineral water I hadn’t even touched. I paid it, picked up the envelope, and left before my crying got louder than the restaurant music.