At his pitying tone, I hold up a hand. “No, no. I came to terms with who my dad is a while ago.” Okay, a few years ago, but progress is progress. I consider mine hard-won. It wasn’t an easy thing to learn that my dad had left not only my mom, but me in the process, in favor of my nanny. I was ten when they ran off to France to live it up in a villa—yes, a freaking villa—he’d purchased without Mom’s knowledge.
Thing is, I can accept what he did. But I still don’t like him very much for it. Or Nanny Cathy. Ugh. I can’t think of either of them without a bad taste filling my mouth. They never had kids. I still can’t decide if that makes it better or worse. Maybe, just maybe, if Cathy had been pregnant, then I could see how he’d leave Mom. And me. Because, in truth, from that moment on, my dad had zero interest in my life or seeing me. The onetime I went to France to visit him during summer break had been a soul crushing disaster.
No.I willnotspiral over him anymore.
“Anyway,” I force out. “He was clearly expecting the house when they died.”
“Asshole,” August mumbles. He catches my eye. “Sorry, it’s the first thing I think whenever anyone mentions him.”
“Me too.” We share a look, and then I shake my head. “The house is mine. No matter how much he complains.”
“So, the loan?” August lifts a hand in confusion. “Is he trying to contest the will or something? Is that why you need the funds?”
God. The mere thought has my stomach clenching. “No. That is, I don’t think so. I know he argued with the estate lawyer. But he was advised that the will, actually it’s a trust, was well drawn and he’d have a tough time contesting. Not to mention, he’d need a lot of money to continue down that road.” My nose wrinkles. “Dad is short on funds as well.”
“Then why the loan?”
For a moment, I’m lost in the ugly sludge of feeling Dad leaves on me. Then I blink and clear my head. “It’s the house.”
“The house?”
“August,” I say sadly. “My great-grandparents may have bought the house for ten thousand dollars way back in the 1940s, but it’s now worth about ten million.”
August spits out his lemonade and proceeds to cough violently.
“Sorry.” I pat him on the back and hand him a napkin.
“Jesus,” he says, still sputtering. He wipes his mouth and huffs out a laugh. “Holy shit!”
“Yeah.”
Silver eyes alight on me with shock. “No, really? Ten million?”
“The house is a Cliff May original, sitting on an acre inBrentwood. The land alone would be worth a ton, but the fact that it was designed by the man credited for inventing the California ranch house?” I shrug. “It’s highly desirable.”
To me it’s home. But I don’t underestimate its worth.
“The property tax would be a lot,” August says, finally understanding.
“To say the least.” My fingers clench. “Approximately one-hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars a year.”
August whistles low and long.
I snort in agreement. “More than this college student can afford anytime soon.”
“And your mom wouldn’t loan you the money.”
“Nope.”
“Maybe it’s too much for her.”
“That’s not it.” A sigh escapes. “I mean, yes, it’s a lot but she won’t even entertain giving me a small part of it until I can figure out what to do. She wants me to sell. Says it’s ridiculous to sit on that much money and not take it.”
“Well...” August scratches the back of his neck. “She’s not wrong to want that for you. Not entirely,” he amends at my dark look. “You’d be set for life.”
“My life is just beginning.” I throw my arms wide, nearly hitting him in the process. “She doesn’t know what I’m capable of. I could do... things!”
I have no clue how to make that much money a year.
