Free Priceless: Contemporary Billionaire Romance Novel by Aria Hawthorne Page B

she had awoken to use the bathroom and
replace his ruby tear-drop earrings with her diamond studs.
    “It’s
nothing against the earrings, Miles,” she explained.  “I loved them… but it’s
just that…”
    “They’re
sentimental,” he repeated her words from yesterday.  “I know,” he added, “a
gift from your mother.”
    Maribel
narrowed her eyes and leaned back against the kitchen counter.  She thought
carefully about their conversation yesterday.
    “A
high school graduation gift—” she clarified, but Miles stared at her and finished
her own thoughts.
    “Your
mother bought them early for you because she was certain that you would finish
school, even though she knew she wouldn’t be there to celebrate it with you
when you did.”
    Maribel
gazed at him, searching to understand how he could possibly know the details
about one of the most important relationships in her life.  His eyes revealed
nothing, other than a calm persuasion that he could be trusted.  Maribel settled
into an internal moment of silence and waited before acknowledging that she
wanted to understand more.
    “I
have another confession to make…” Miles said, judging the moment with care.  It
was as if he was reading her, waiting and watching until the connection between
them signaled he could move forward.  “I used to hear stories about you—stories
about you and your mother.”
    Maribel
sat down at the table and processed his words.  “How?” she asked like a reflex.
    “From
my aunt, Mrs. Strauss.”
    “Mrs.
Strauss, from the department store?” Maribel repeated with shock. “Your aunt
was Mrs. Strauss?”
    Miles
nodded.  “Towards the end, they were both being treated at the same dialysis clinic. 
I used to pick up my aunt every other day and she used to tell me stories of
who she saw there and who she had spoken with that day.  She often told me
stories about your mother, and her stories about you.”
    Maribel
looked away.   At the same clinic .  God, how she had hated those days at
the clinic, where the only hope for her mother was a new kidney, but the new
kidney never came.  She hated the smell of decay and chronic illness.  She
hated the flickering florescent lights and the droning murmurs of the TVs.  And
she hated witnessing her normally vibrant mother withering into a sodden,
listless ragdoll, barely kept alive by machines that cleaned her blood.
    “I
went there, too—every other afternoon after school,” Maribel confirmed. “Then
later, when I started working part-time at the department store, I went there after
work...”
    Maribel
suddenly brushed tears from her eyes, reflecting on the past while trying to
keep her nostalgia from overwhelming her.  She had never spoken with anyone
about that time in her life because she tried so hard not to remember
anything about those days.  Those were impossibly long, exhausting, hopeless
days—going to high school in the morning and early afternoon, and rushing to
catch the “L” downtown to arrive early for her part-time position at the
department store before doubling back to pick up her mother from the clinic.  When
all her friends were worrying about buying their homecoming dresses and passing
their driver’s “ed” tests, Maribel was fitting in work, school, laundry,
grocery shopping, cooking, caring for her mother, and sleeping during every
free moment she had to spare. She worked every day—evenings and weekends—just
to afford to live on her own as an independent sixteen year-old, caring for her
sick mother rather than be swept into the dysfunctional entanglement of the
foster care system.
    “Yes,
I remember seeing you at the clinic,” Miles confirmed, “you were just a high
school student then….me, on the other hand—I was a ridiculously self-absorbed, newly-minted
millionaire who at least had the good sense to take care of his favorite aunt
when she needed it most.  But I remember seeing you, picking up your mother, and
later, I