“Yes, you do,” I agreed. “Will you tell me about your parents as well?”
“They are a big part of it,” he said with a wry smile.
“I guess that should have been obvious, huh?” I smiled back, hoping I hadn’t sounded flippant or anything. Ethan smiled and began speaking.
“My parents were awesome. They both worked really hard, but they would always try to make time for me when they could. One of them would always be at my major track meets and whatever.
“Mom said I was her miracle baby—she wasn’t supposed to be able to have any and ended up with a hysterectomy right after I was born. They were so proud of me, and I always felt loved and accepted. Even after the accident, when I wasn’t a straight A student any longer, and I wasn’t allowed to vault or even run track, they still said they were proud of me for how hard I was working to finish high school. I thought I was still going to get through college at that time, too, and I was going to pay my own way. Both of them came from families with money, but they also both made their own fortunes as well. They were starting to talk about retirement when the accident happened.”
Ethan took a long drink from his can of cola and paused for a moment before continuing.
“It was our regular family trip, and I always went with them. The three of us flew out to our lake house about once a month. I had just gotten out of the hospital after the last surgery, and the doctor said I shouldn’t be on a plane—something about the air pressure changes and possible swelling. I don’t really remember. They were going to forget the usual weekend voyage altogether, but I knew they needed a break, and I told them to go. A bunch of my friends were going to throw me some kind of get-well party or whatever, so I wouldn’t be on my own or anything. They finally agreed to go without me. It was a small plane flown by one of my dad’s friends, and it was just them, the pilot, and the pilot’s wife. No one knows exactly what happened—turbulence or what—but the pilot lost control of the plane and everyone was killed.”
Ethan reached up with the back of his hand and swept moisture away from his eyes. I maneuvered out of my bean bag chair and knelt before him, taking his hands. He glanced at me shyly and looked down to our joined hands. He shifted over a little in the bean bag, making room for me to sit next to him. I crawled in beside him and wrapped my arms around his waist. I felt his arms encircle my shoulders, holding me against his chest.
“Thanks,” he said softly.
“You’re welcome,” I responded, not really sure what else I could say.
“I spent a lot of time thinking I should have been with them—that we all should have been killed. Then I spent a lot of time deciding it was my fault because I told them to go without me. I don’t feel that way anymore, but it took a lot of time to work through it. I definitely learned something though.”
“Nothing matters more than the people in your life,” Ethan continued. “Your relationships with those around you are what defines you and makes you real. My parents live on because I remember them, and I see how what they did affects everything I do today. They don’t live on in the stuff in this penthouse, the family property in Wales, or the money in the trust funds.”
I could understand why he would think that though I wasn’t so sure my friends would agree. To many of them, money was everything.
“It’s usually lonely here,” Ethan said. “I spend time with my friends in their crappy, little, overcrowded apartment because they are real. They have no idea how much money I have though they know my parents left me something, but they do know that money means nothing. I’d rather eat grilled cheese made on a hotplate at their place than have some chef cook up filet mignon and eat it here alone. Nothing here means anything because I don’t share it with anyone else.”
Ethan was quiet for a minute, his fingers slowly tracing up and down my back.
“I think you are closer to your parents now than I have ever been to mine,” I said softly. “Mom is off in her own little world—I think in Paris now—and Dad is…well, he’s just Dad. I’ve never really known him.”
“Does he work a lot?” Ethan asked.
“Does all the time count as a lot?” I laughed humorlessly. “When he isn’t at the office, he’s having dinner with clients or golfing with board members. He’s never not working.”
“He sounds dedicated.”
“He is,” I agreed. “The business is very important to him. That’s one of the reasons he says he won’t trust it to anyone but me.”
“Well, I guess my money will continue to safely accrue interest, then.”
“What is your last name?” I asked, wondering if his family was one of the bigger clients whose names I would recognize.
“Ramsey,” he said softly, and I couldn’t help my gasp.
&
nbsp; Chapter 6—Bonding
As soon as I heard him say it, the whole story he recounted came back to me. Doctors Bryson and Grace Ramsey, along with two colleagues, were tragically killed in a small-engine plane accident a little less than two years ago. It was all over the society pages for a month. I vaguely recalled mention of a single heir, and obviously Ethan was he. The Ramseys were one of the top five clients at Draganov Financial, going back to the turn of the century for both families. Their portfolio was in the billions.
“Oh my God,” I heard myself mutter. I lifted my head up off his chest so I could look at him better. I tried to remember if I had seen pictures of his family before. I probably had, but I couldn’t remember. “I had no idea.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ethan said, succinctly cutting me off. He looked down into my eyes, and his expression was pained. “Please, don’t let it make any difference.”
“It doesn’t,” I said. It was true, but not for the reasons Ethan thought. Even with his name, my father would never see past the metal and the ink. My friends would never see anything but the boyish face and the BMX bicycle of the guy seven years my junior. No one would see past the lack of college degree and the numerous friends living in the worst part of town.
“Can I kiss you yet?” he asked, his voice quiet again. He looked at me pleadingly.