Even though he’s always impeccably dressed in expensive suits, not a hair out of place—there’s something disturbing about him I can’t quite explain. His smile, for example—it never reaches his eyes.
It always feels like he’s playing a part, like some actor in a play.
I think about Amos.
He rarely smiles, but when he does, you know it’s real. His entire face softens. That never happens with my stepfather.
I may not know much about life, but if I had to guess, I’d say Ramon is faking it. All the time.
“Lillyana?”
I stop walking and glance back, already annoyed because I hate my full name. It sounds so pretentious!
Yeah, but when it’s Amos who calls you that, you melt like chocolate,my inner voice mocks.
But as soon as I see who it is, I smile. “Benjamin?”
Ben is a childhood friend—son of one of my mom’s many acquaintances.
And when I say friend, I mean exactly that. He was always nice to me, and unlike the other kids, he talked to me even when I was hiding away.
“Are you studying here?” he asks, pulling me into a hug.
“Yeah. I got back less than a month ago.”
“No way! My mom didn’t say a thing!” He looks at me, clearly confused, and I get why. Our mothers are very close, so it would’ve been natural for Nora to mention I was back in the States. But apparently, she didn’t.
It shouldn’t hurt to realize that—but it does.
I’ll never understand how someone so clearly unfit for motherhood gets the blessing of bearing two children.
It’s like she locked Ethan and me away in a closet and shut the door.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says, maybe noticing my mood shift.
“You didn’t. It’s just Nora being Nora. I still have a way-too-sensitive heart.”
“It’s not a flaw to be sensitive, Lilly.”
“It is when you give your love to the wrong people. But I don’t want to talk about that anymore. How about lunch so we can catch up?”
Right then, I get a message from Amos saying he’s coming back today.
My heart races so hard I think I might pass out, but I try to keep a neutral expression so Ben won’t notice.
“Sure! Any place in mind?” he asks.
“Japanese food.”
After replying to the man who’s taken up so much of my mind, I text the bodyguards where I’m going.
“Want a ride?” Ben asks when we reach the parking lot.
“No, thanks. I have a driver.” I pull up the restaurant’s address on my phone and ask, “Still got the same number?”
“I don’t change. I’m practically a tree. Predictable and steady.”
I smile—that dry self-deprecating humor is one of the things I’ve always liked about him. Ben’s one of the wealthiest heirs in the country.
