One for the Money

“Finn.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Eva.”

“Excuse me if I don’t believe in generational curses and old wives’ tales. Maybe you’ll get it, but it’s not a guarantee. This is why you’re like that, isn’t it?”

“Like what?” I ask, wariness tightening my stomach.

“Like you need to live and laugh and… and kiss me, because there’s no tomorrow.”

“There is no tomorrow. I don’t say that for your pity. I don’t even feel anything about it. I’ve known it since I was old enough to talk. My dad isn’t even fifty, but he’s been gone for a long time. I have maybe a decade left before it starts, if I’m lucky.”

“And then what? Are you going to train another generation of little Hughes sons?”

“Don’t start. My dad is bad enough.”

“Then why—”

“Because I promised him. I promised him when I was seven years old that I would take over Hughes Industries. That I would keep his condition a secret, no matter what the cost. No matter how he might argue with me later. And the peace I felt in him after that promise… it was real, Eva. He believed me, so I have to do this.”

A pause. “I understand.”

Of course Eva Morelli understands about family obligations. “But I sure as hell don’t have to continue the cycle. My father didn’t teach me dominoes. He spent our time together showing me all the companies, all the industries that would fall if Hughes Industry faltered. He didn’t teach me chess. He taught me international contract law. He didn’t play baseball with me. He taught me how to forge his signature.”

Her eyes darken, and I know she’s finally understanding how deep this secret lies.

“My brother will take over. He already has the Power of Attorney documents to all of our properties, our bank accounts, our corporations. He can take over as soon as I show the first signs, whether I agree or not. And after that… after that, Eva, it’s in God’s hands.”

“Because you’re not having children.”

I hesitate. This is one of the reasons my relationship with Eva can never be more than pretend. She comes from a large family. She may say she doesn’t want marriage, but I heard the way she talked about children with her mother. If she does marry, I think she’ll want kids. I can never give her that. I could never have children, because I would love them. And how can you sentence people you love to a lifetime of fear? How can you make them promise to lock you up, to tie you down—anything if it means keeping your secret?

They would watch me deteriorate before their eyes.

I’d be saddling them with more than the curse. I’d be saddling them with my care.

“When he was thirty-six years old he had his first episode. He drove to one of the Hughes offices in Queens and started ranting because he didn’t recognize anyone there. They had to call the cops. We hushed everything up. People were happy to believe he was an angry drunk. They expect that of rich men, anyway. It was safer to believe that than realize he wasn’t really there.”

Her eyes are dark with sorrow. “God, Finn.”

“I was sixteen. After driving him home, I pulled out my set of Power of Attorney documents and used them ever since. That’s what he asked me to do.”

“He had no idea what it would cost you.”

“Christ, Eva. My suit costs two thousand dollars. My shoes another three.”

“You’re rich. I get it. It’s not only money that makes a life worth living, Finn. Did he know how much it would hurt you to hide him away? To maintain separate lives? To split yourself into two halves so he could save his pride?”

She stands, revealing her curvy body in that incredible wrap dress. She made me hard when I first saw her, which was awkward with her mother and sister standing there. She’s got good child-bearing hips. I don’t know anything about that, but I do know I want to hold her hips while she rides me, guiding her into the right rhythm, watching her breasts move, seeing ecstasy on her face. She circles the desk so she’s facing me, and I set down the drink.

Nothing separates us but a few inches and a handful of luxury fabrics.

Oh, and the weight of both our family obligations.

She stands close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her dark eyes. I’m not sure what she’s going to do. Call a cab and leave? Announce the Hughes family secret on national news? She wouldn’t sell the secret for money, but she might do it as a public service announcement, if she believed that it should be shared.

Then again, she might do none of that.

She might strip.

I’m really hoping she strips.

Instead she leans close. Her arms slide around me. Her head rests on my chest. The pressure feels indescribable. It’s like sexual pleasure but a million times more acute. A hug. That’s what she’s giving me right now. A goddamn hug. I’ve had sex, of course. Meaningless, physical sex with all kinds of filthy acts, but not this.