Jane Porter - Bought by the Rich Man

“I’m going to go upstairs,” she said more calmly. “Check and see if Johann left me a note. I’m sure he did. I’m sure he’ll have us join him as soon as he reaches wherever he’s gone.”

Cristiano’s eyebrows lifted. “If you think so.”

“I think so,” she snapped, but of course she didn’t think anything of the sort. She wouldn’t be surprised if Johann had just fled. It was in his nature to run from problems.

Cristiano pursed his lips but held his tongue. He didn’t think Johann was coming back. Not now. Not ever.

Sam hurried up the stairs with Gabby scampering at her side. Johann’s room was dark and empty. Sam opened the closet, the four wide bureau drawers, and finally the small drawer in the night table but everything was empty save for a drawing Gabby had made him lying in the middle dresser drawer.

Sam took the crayon drawing out, looked at the picture which was one of the childish drawings where everyone is a stick figure either wearing a triangle dress or rectangle pants. The picture was meant to be Johann, Sam and Gabby all down at the beach, as if that was the way they were. A family.

They were no family. They’d never been a family, despite Sam’s best efforts.

Sam didn’t hear Cristiano come up behind her and when he spoke she jumped. “That’s a lovely picture of the van Bergens on holiday,” he said.

Eyes burning, face flushed, Sam quickly folded the picture and put it in the pocket of her lavender cardigan. It was that or cry, and she wouldn’t cry, hated crying, having spent far too many years as a little girl in tears. If she’d learned anything, it was to present a confident face to the world. No one needed to know what she was thinking, or feeling. No one needed to know the truth. “Gabby’s a very talented artist.”

“And optimistic,” he added mockingly.

She was just turning to walk out when she spotted an envelope on the bed, propped against Johann’s pillow. Her name was written on the envelope.

Her hand shook ever so slightly as she ripped the envelope open and shook the papers out. Birth certificate, and a paper-clipped set of legal documents slid out. The birth certificate and papers were Gabriela’s.

He was leaving her, Sam thought, suppressing horror even as it mixed with hope.

She unfolded the note, read Johann’s wildly slanted scrawl.

Sam, I’m finished, gone, going home to Vienna. I thought together we had a good chance to beat Bartolo, but the game’s up. Bartolo plays to win, and he’s won. If it’s any consolation, Gabby’s yours. You know better what to do with her than me. I’ve lost it all now. Best of luck. You’ll need it. Johann van Bergen.

“What is that?” Cristiano asked.

A miracle, Sam thought, heart racing, eyes stinging. She blinked, turned the note around, held it up for him to see. “Read it.”

He did, then silently handed it back.

“She’s mine.” Sam said quietly, fiercely, heart so full of emotion she wasn’t even thinking. Just feeling. Gabby, gorgeous little Gabby was finally safe, finally hers, finally out of harm’s way.

All these years…

All the worrying, the struggling, the praying. She’d prayed for a miracle and she’d finally got one.

Gabby was hers. Johann had left and left Gabriela Grace to Sam.

“So what happens now, Mr. Bartolo?” she asked, knowing this had to change things, knowing he couldn’t possibly take both of them. It made no sense. He wouldn’t want them both. Obviously other plans had to be made.

He shrugged. “We have tea.”

“Now?”

“Then we’ll get you settled at the Hotel de Paris until we make more permanent arrangements.”

“So Gabby goes with me?”

His eyes narrowed fractionally. “For now.”

Sam shot Gabby a protective glance but the little girl had left the room, wandering down to her own bedroom. “She’s mine.” Sam’s voice dropped, her inflection hard, flinty. “We stay together. Like it or not.”

They had tea at the Hotel de Paris restaurant, Cote Jardin, a virtual indoor garden and terrace with a spectacular view of the harbor.

The service wasn’t slow, but for Sam every moment felt endless. It didn’t help, either, that their meal was interrupted repeatedly by strangers who stopped at their table to wish Cristiano well.

Although polite, Cristiano didn’t encourage conversation and when the strangers moved on, didn’t explain what he’d done to earn such enthusiastic well wishes. But after the last couple moved on, Sam wanted to know more.

“So you live here in Monaco?” she asked, stirring milk into her tea.

“I have a penthouse here, yes.”

“But this isn’t your primary home?”

The corner of his mouth curled. “I split my time evenly among my different residences.”

She glanced at Gabby who was glued to the window watching the boats enter and leave the harbor. “How many residences?”

His smile deepened. “Enough that I never get bored.”

Sam set her spoon in the saucer with an irritated clink. “Do you enjoy being enigmatic?”

“Not at all. I don’t know what you want to know.”

“I want to know everything.”

“Everything?”

He was smiling again and she didn’t understand it. Everything she said seemed to make him smile. How could she possibly be so amusing? “Yes, everything. I want to know where you live. I want to know what you do. I want to know who you are, how you spend your free time, the kind of friends you have.”

“A character assessment.”

“Yes.”

He shrugged, leaned back in his chair, the sunlight playing across his features, intensifying the green in his hazel eyes. “I can’t do that for you. You’ll have to use your own judgment regarding my character, but I can tell you basic things. I live here and on the Côte d’Azur. I have a home in Brazil on the coast but I don’t go there often anymore. I have my own company. I’m successful and financially solvent. Is that what you want to know?”

No. That wasn’t what she wanted to know. She didn’t care about his things, she wasn’t the least bit materialistic, and it annoyed her how easily people were impressed by money.

Money was useful, bought things, made certain decisions easier—even more convenient—but money as an end to a means? No. Never. Money ruined people. Changed everything. Sam didn’t know if it was greed or a weakness in human nature, but too many people respected—admired—the wealthy simply because they were wealthy and had fatter bank accounts. But fat bank accounts don’t make a person interesting and fat bank accounts don’t make a person kind, considerate—valuable.

Sam glanced at Gabriela who was now talking to the waitress and pointing out something she’d seen in the harbor. “It’s not your bank account that interests me, Mr. Bartolo, it’s your heart. And that’s what worries me. I don’t know if you have one.”

“I don’t know, either,” he agreed mockingly. “But hearts are overrated. Far better to be coldly pragmatic, to do what needs to be done, rather than what one feels like doing.”

Sam’s head shot up. “And what does that mean?”

“You feel attached to Gabby, so you’ve laid claim to her, but think about it: you’ve no legal claim to her, no biological tie—”

“Johann wants me to raise her.”

“Does that make it right?”

“Yes.”

“What about her mother’s family? Wouldn’t a blood relative be better than a stepmother?”

“Love isn’t about biological ties.”

“No?”

“No.” Sam stared at him, hating him. He had a beautiful face, a face of a fallen angel, and yet his heart was so black and selfish. “I love Gabriela and she loves me. Love is a gift. You can’t buy it, win it, or barter it. I wouldn’t trade her love for anything in the world.”