Yours Completely: A Cinderella Love Story (Billionaires and Brides #1) (32 page)

“Hi, Daddy,” I whispered, kneeling at his side. I took his hand in mine, glad to feel it warm and full of life. He looked so peaceful, that if I hadn't just experienced the day, I never would have guessed that anything was wrong. His cheeks were pink again and his chest moved in a comfortable, easy rise and fall.

I kissed his hand, holding it to my cheek. I could feel the steady pulse of his heart through his wrist. “Don't leave me, Daddy. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, too.”

He just kept sleeping, and I finally let the tears I had been holding back all day stream silently down my face.

I
sat at the kitchen table with my computer, tablet, and several maps of the house scattered around me as I worked. A glass of lemonade sat half-full beside me, but I had mostly forgotten about it. I had to come up with a new plan on how to appraise everything in the house on the same timescale, but with my father laid up in bed. It was going to take some doing, but I think I had figured out a way to get it all done.

The kitchen light flickered on overhead, making me blink as the light blinded me. The sun must have set at least an hour ago without me noticing the change.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to focus on the person joining me in the kitchen. “I didn't realize how dark it had gotten.”

Mr. Belrose stood at the light switch. He was wearing a dark blue dress shirt and black dress pants that seemed like they might be a bit much for the tropical heat, even with the air conditioner on in the house. I was almost too warm in my linen pants and a tank top. I had abandoned the light, conservative sweater I wore to cover my arms hours ago.

“How are you doing?” he asked, taking a step further into the kitchen and then pausing as if he didn't want to scare me. His eyes were tired and the scar across his cheek and eyebrow looked deeper and darker than they had this morning. I thought of his smile and just how long ago that sunrise had been. It felt like weeks instead of just a day.

I opened my mouth, ready to say the platitudes that everyone says, but then I looked at the table. He had been there today. I didn't have to lie and say “good.”

“I'm not sure, to be honest,” I answered truthfully. “ I'm working on it, but I'm not sure. It's been kind of a crazy day.”

He nodded, his gray eyes full of understanding and shadows.

“I want you to know, though, that we'll still complete the appraisal on time,” I informed him. I picked up a piece of paper and frowned at it. “Well, pretty close to on time. It might take me a day or two extra, but I'll have it done by the time of the auction even if I have to work twenty-four hours a day to do it.”

“Good.”

A polite, but awkward silence hung in the air between us as he hovered in the doorway. He looked at me, his gray eyes taking in every detail. I knew I must look like a mess. I could see the tangles of my red hair from the corners of my eyes and I certainly felt like a disaster.

“Have you eaten anything today?” He finally asked, taking another step into the kitchen.

“Um...” I tried to remember, but I honestly couldn't recall the last bite of food I had put in my mouth. I wasn't about to tell him that though. “I'm sure I have...”

My stomach grumbled loudly, betraying me.

“I'll make you something then,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he went to the fridge.

“You really don't have to go to any trouble, Mr. Belrose.” I watched in horror as the billionaire opened the fridge and began piling ingredients onto the counter. I was sure he had much better things to do than make some random employee dinner.

“It's no trouble. I was going to make some for myself anyway,” he replied, pulling out a pan.

“Thank you.” I bit my lip for a second. “And thank you for all your help today with my dad. I really appreciate it, Mr. Belrose.”

“It was no trouble at all. I'm just glad I was there.” He stopped and looked at me, his blue eyes going to mine and holding me captive. “Please, call me Bastian. If you're going to have me save family members and then sit in my kitchen in the dark, we might as well be on a first name basis.”

“Okay... Bastian.” I smiled. Saying his first name felt strange, but wonderful. I knew I would probably end up calling him Mr. Belrose out of habit, since he was still my employer, but I liked it. It felt right in my mouth.

“Do you like turkey or ham better?” he asked, looking up again from his cooking.

“Turkey,” I responded. I watched him choose a knife and pull out a cutting board, wondering what kind of billionaire prepared his own food, let alone the food for others. “Shouldn't Lucia be doing this?”

He stopped and looked up. “Why?”

I shrugged. “Because you're a billionaire and it's her job?”

He set the knife down for a moment. “Lucia isn't my chef. She's the housekeeper who happens to enjoy cooking. She's at home with her family.” He picked the knife back up and began chopping some sort of vegetable. “Why would I make her stay for me when that's not her job?”

“Oh... I didn't realize she was the housekeeper and not your chef.” I felt rather silly, and I tried to hide it by stacking up my papers into a neat pile. He threw some bacon into a pan and I could hear it sizzle as he continued to chop. “You don't have a chef?”

“When I'm in New York, I do. Here, I enjoy making my own food.” He stopped chopping and grinned. “Though, I do enjoy the leftovers Lucia leaves for me. She makes the most amazing jerk chicken.”

“I can believe it,” I said, remembering how good the french toast was this morning. My stomach rumbled again. The bacon smelled wonderful and I was suddenly very hungry. “Do you want some help? It feels a little strange to have a billionaire making me dinner.”

Bastian moved the pan holding the bacon, causing the air to fill with sizzles and pops. He then turned and gave me a playful glare. “That's twice now that you've mentioned my net worth. It honestly doesn't affect my cooking ability. I promise. This will be good.”

“Sorry.” I blushed and played with a loose strand of hair. “I guess I've just never talked to someone who makes my year's salary in a week.”

“You're doing it again,” he informed me, raising his eyebrows in warning. “And besides, it's more like your year's salary in a day, not a week.”

I opened my mouth to protest until I realized he was joking with me. I giggled and he grinned at me.

“Fair enough.” I sat back in my chair, watching him work. He moved around the kitchen with a calm serenity that I envied. When I cooked, I looked like someone on speed or with their hair on fire. “Where'd you learn to cook? Is that a class you have to take at Billionaire University?”

He laughed, a sound I hadn't heard yet. He had a great laugh. An infectious happy laugh that made my day instantly brighter. He swished the pan with the bacon in it again, making sure everything was cooking evenly before going to mix something in a bowl. I had no idea what he was making, but it sure smelled wonderful.

“No, I learned it from my mom.” He tasted whatever was in the bowl and then added more spice. “She was a gourmet chef and she did her best to teach me.”

My brain caught on the use of past tense. She
was
a gourmet chef.

“What about your dad?” I asked, trying to steer clear of the dead mother.

“He was a electrician.” Bastion tasted the mixture again and set it to the side, content with whatever was in it. “But he loved my mom's cooking and wasn't half bad in the kitchen himself.”

Again, parent in the past tense.
Both of his parents must be gone then
, I thought to myself. For a moment, I wondered what today must have been like for him. While I had nearly lost my father, he had already lost both his parents.

I didn't know quite what to say, but luckily he had finished and was coming around to the table with his creation in hand. He looked incredibly pleased with himself and it made me smile.

“Voila,” he said, presenting the most amazing sandwich I had ever seen. Thick french bread layered with turkey, bacon, avocados, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and some sort of creamy sauce awaited me.

He sat down in the seat across from me, but waited for me to take the first bite. I carefully picked up the beautiful sandwich and tried it.

It was the best sandwich I had ever tasted in my entire life. The vegetables were just the right level of crispy compared to the bread and meat and the sauce was some sort of ranch dressing that brought out every other flavor. It was like taking a little bite of heaven in sandwich form.

“This is amazing,” I gasped, stuffing another bite into my mouth. He grinned, obviously pleased with himself as I thoroughly enjoyed his culinary creation.

“What are you working on?” Bastian asked once I started to slow down my bites. He motioned to the paperwork still scattered across the table.

“Plan B,” I explained. “With Dad out of commission, I had to come up with a new plan.”

“Go on,” he replied, smiling at me. He took another bite, but seemed genuinely interested in having a conversation. “Tell me more.”

“Okay.” I smiled, feeling flattered. I was actually quite grateful for any excuse to get to talk to him. His gray eyes were warm again in the yellow light of the kitchen. They weren't quite as bright as this morning, but the longer he sat, the less shadows seemed to haunt his face. “I'll take pictures of everything tomorrow. We needed the photos for the auction catalog, but this way Dad can appraise some things through photograph and keep up on all the paperwork, leaving me time to do the rest.”

“Appraisal by photograph?” Bastian raised his perfectly groomed eyebrows. “You mean I didn't need to fly you both out here?”

“No, you still did.” I blushed as I realized he was teasing me again. “A lot of this needs to actually be looked at, but some things, like that picture you saw me working on this morning, already have certificates of authenticity. From there it's just verifying the certificate and assigning a price.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment. “So how much was that painting worth this morning? You were rather intent on it.”

I took another bite and swallowed before answering. “It's actually worth more than the Degas.”

He stopped chewing and looked at me in surprise before shaking his head in disbelief. “No.”

“Yes,” I insisted with a grin. “It's an authentic Berthe Morisot original. A similar painting was valued at just over fifty thousand dollars and actually sold at auction for just over one-hundred thousand.”

“But, the Degas? It's a
Degas
.” He set his sandwich down and watched me.

“The Degas is just a sketch on paper. It's worth around twenty-five thousand, so it's still worth quite a bit.” I smiled. I loved talking about this stuff. I loved the nuances of the art world and how even though a piece might have a famous name attached, another painting could still be better. “Even though the Degas name is more well known, the Morisot is a painting whereas the Degas is just a sketch.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. I loved having his complete attention. When he looked at me, I felt special and wanted. “Is that why you ignored my advice?”

“To start on the Degas?” I shook my head. “No. I didn't know what the Degas was worth until this afternoon, but I did have a plan. I have a system and I wasn't about to let you interrupt me.”

“Even though I'm a billionaire,” he teased. “With a cooking degree from Billionaire University?”

“Yes,” I said with a giggle before going serious again. “Everything has value. You just have to give things a chance to show you their worth. Just because something initially looks better doesn't actually mean that it is.”

Something in his face relaxed and he leaned back in his seat, studying me. I hoped I wasn't blushing again, especially since I just went all philosophical on him.

“You've impressed me three times now, just today,” he said after a moment. “Four if you count trying to stop a robbery last night.”

“What? Three?” I racked my brain for when I could have possibly impressed him for the first time. It certainly hadn't been while I was ignoring the Degas.

“This, the fake Roux, and that you managed to keep very calm during your father's episode,” he answered.

I gave a short laugh. “I think you might be remembering someone else. I was the exact opposite of calm.”

“I don't know.” He shrugged and leaned forward, eyes intent on me. When he looked at me like that, it made my stomach do happy flip flops and I wasn't quite sure why. “She was about your height, dark red hair, and the most amazing, beautiful green eyes.”

I couldn't stop the blush that flared around my chest and up my neck and into my cheeks at the compliment. I looked at him, thinking he might be teasing me again, but he was completely serious.

“Thank you.” I smiled and shrugged, trying not to read too much into flattering words. “It sounds like it could be me, but I still think you might have me confused with someone who wasn't panicking.”

He smiled, light shining in his eyes. “What did you think of the sandwich?”

I looked down at my empty plate. It had been absolutely fantastic and now that it was gone, I was considering licking my plate to get at the crumbs.

“What sandwich?” I asked, trying to look innocent. “Someone must have taken it.”

“Well, that is a shame,” he agreed. “I'll just have to make you another.”

“You really don't have to do that,” I said quickly, reaching out and grabbing his wrist. He pulled away as if I had shocked him. “I mean, I'm sure you have more important things to do with your time than make me a sandwich.”

“Does it look like I'm doing anything else?” he asked tersely.

“No,” I admitted, shaking my head.

“Then, this is what I'm doing with my time.” He stood from the table and collected my plate before going back to the kitchen.

I bit my lip for a moment, hoping he didn't find me ungrateful. I just didn't think I was worthy. “Thank you.”

He threw more bacon into the frying pan before turning around. “Did you find any other treasures hidden away on my walls?” he asked, changing the topic back to art.