A Billionaire for Christmas

Mostly, I was afraid she’d demand those explanations. Sure, I’d tell her what I told him—that I wanted the experience, that I needed a teacher. But would I also tell her that I wanted the experience exclusively with Dylan? That I was attracted to him from the first words that slipped across his tongue in that to-die-for British dialect? Attracted to his tall frame and his dark eyes and that frown that rested permanently on his lips.

Would she have lectured me more about his cynicism, warning me that it was a situation that could only lead to heartache? She would have presumed I believed I could transform him.

And, no matter how much I protested, she probably wouldn’t be convinced otherwise.

Most scary of all, I was afraid she would have been right. Because deep inside me there was a flicker of hope, that eternal flame that burns in hearts like mine, the same kind of light that allows zealots to proclaim tirelessly about their god. I believed, I believed that love fixed all. I believed in sharing that faith. Of course I wanted to convert everyone around me.

Of course I hoped I could convert Dylan, too. And that was silly. I didn’t need Sabrina to tell me just how silly it was.

So I didn’t say a word after telling her about that first kiss, and I didn’t tell her I’d changed my train ticket. I worried about it silently over our last breakfast together at a cute cafe down the street. She was planning to take me to Grand Central Station to see me off, and how was that going to work? What if she saw me to security, and they didn’t let me through because I was so early? What if they did let me through, but I couldn’t sneak back out to meet up with Dylan?

“You seem distracted,” she said, as we rode the elevator to her apartment to get my luggage after breakfast. “Do you have a lot of homework waiting for you?”

I did. But that wasn’t on my mind. “Yeah. Homework. Finals are coming up now too.”

“I should have insisted you studied more.”

I threw her a glare. “No. You shouldn’t have. Because you’re not my mom.”

She twisted her lips as though trying not to say what she wanted to say. Then she lost the battle. “Feels like it sometimes.”

My immediate instinct was to take her comment personally, but I didn’t want to argue with her when we were close to saying goodbye, and when I let myself think about her position, I totally understood why she’d feel she had to mother me.

“I’m sure it’s a hard habit to break,” I said stepping out of the elevator ahead of her. I’d meant to let it go at that, but I turned back to her instead of walking on to her door. “I’m ready to have you just be my sister. I need you to be that more than my parent these days.”

She wrapped her arms around her body and frowned a moment. But then the lines around her mouth relaxed and her lips turned into a small smile. “As long as you still need me.”

“I’ll always need you, you psychopath.”

We walked silently toward her apartment, both of us in our thoughts. Then, when she opened her door and held it open for me to go inside, she said, “I might be crazy, actually.”

“Because you’re going to give Donovan a chance to win back your heart?”

She kept holding it while I tugged my suitcase into the hall. I’d left it just inside the apartment so we could just grab it and go.

“Maybe.” But I could tell it was more than a maybe. That she was already back in his arms in her mind. That their impending talk was just a matter of procedure.

She was agonizing over it, though. And that’s when I realized my opportunity. “Hey, you don’t really need to go with me to the train station. I’ll be okay getting there by myself.”

“But, I want to come!”

“That’s stupid and out of your way. We can say goodbye here just as easily, and then you can get to Donovan sooner.”

She finished locking up and then, out of character, she pulled me into a tight hug. “I love you,” she whispered, and I knew it wasn’t just her way of saying thank you for letting her get to her man, but that she really meant for me to hear it.

“I love you, too.” I did. More than I could ever say. She was the reason I’d made it as far as I had. She was why I hadn’t turned out grim and grumpy. I’d been an orphan, and she’d upended her whole life to take care of me. She made fun of me at times, but she’d been the one who’d taught me that love wins. She’d never let me know any other way.