“As a ten-million-dollar heart attack.” He grins and tosses his hands up. “I’mrich,sis!”
I blink at him in totalsilence.
“That’s what I’ve been doing these past few weeks,” he explains. “Finalizing the sale, clearing my debt, buying a new place out in LA. It’s sweet! You have to come visit when I’m allsettledin.”
“Wow. I’m really happy for you,” I say, but it soundshollow.
His grin fades a bit. “I don’t blame you for being pissed at me. Franky, I deserve it after what I put youthrough—”
“True,” I can’t help butagree.
He shoots me a look. “But, if you’ll give me a chance, I want to make thingsright.”
“How doyoumean?”
“I already paid back Mom and Dad. I’d like to do the same for you.” He pauses. “Plus interest. In the form of a milliondollars.”
“Are youkiddingme?”
“Nope.” He grins. “You can keep your apartment. You can have your old life back, Lila, or hell, buy a better one. Everything can go back to how it was before I messed things upforyou.”
Wow.
Of all the ways I expected this conversation to go, this one has caught me totally by surprise. I think about his offer for a minute, mentally tallying all the things I could buy with a milliondollars.
Lifetime supply of MACcosmetics!
A new Mini Cooperconvertible!
All the designer bags and shoes I soldoneBay!
My pretty Crate & Barrelcouch!
A bright pink moped, with a sidecar forFenway!
The inventory flashes though my mind like a slot machine spinning numbers. The prospect is so tempting — not having to worry about money, restoring my life to its former chic glory. And yet, as thrilling as the prospect of unlimited funds is, in theory… the more I think about it, the more I realize I don’twantto recreate that life I used to live. I don’t want everything to go back to the way it was, even if it means living below mymeans.
Six months ago, I was a lonely party girl surrounded by pretty things, with a closet full of designer clothes and a heart full of crippling fear of abandonment. I couldn’t commit to anything more serious than an ice cream flavor, consumed by worries that loving anything meant dooming myself to a life of loss andmisery.
I don’t miss that girlonebit.
Now, I have a job I adore, an adorable puppy who is growing so rapidly it makes my head spin, and an amazing man I’d sell my soul for, if he asked. Which he won’t, because he loves me. Unconditionally. Flawsandall.
Would I trade that in, for a milliondollars?
“No,” Imurmur.
My brother’s browfurrows. “What?”
“I appreciate the offer, Duncan. I really do. I’ll accept the money I loaned to our parents… but not acentmore.”
“But…why?”
I shrug and smile at him. “I don’t need it. I’ve already got everything I couldeverwant.”
* * *
The crowd pulseslike a living organism, giving off so much heat and sound it makes the hair rise straight up on the back of my neck. The ring is ready and waiting, spotlights trained on the center. Octagon girls — the MMA equivalent of cheerleaders — strut back and forth in spandex bikinis, revving the crowd to an even higher decibel. The front row of spectators is full of sports photographers, journalists, and UFCscouts.