Fixer for the Billionaire: A Spicy Billionaire Romantic Comedy (Seattle's Anderson Family)

Chapter 23

CARMINA

As we pull up to my childhood home, the silence in the car is thick. I can feel Quentin”s eyes on me, waiting for an explanation.

I take a deep breath before opening the door and stepping out onto the driveway. The familiar smell of grass and blooming flowers hits me immediately.

For a moment, I”m transported back to my carefree childhood days, playing in this yard. Back when my parents were still together. Before he cheated and left. Before my mom remarried Gabriela and Valeria”s father.

Before she stopped giving a damn.

Now, the fresh flowers are gone, replaced with wild weeds and unkempt grass. The paint on the house is peeling, and the stench of cigarette smoke and neglect lingers in the air. My heart aches for what this place used to be.

Quentin”s gaze follows me as I lead him up the front steps and knock on the door. My heart races, half-hoping no one will answer.

But my mother opens the door, looking as disheveled as I remember. Her dark hair, now streaked with gray, hangs in a messy ponytail, and she has dark circles under her eyes.

She looks between me and Quentin, confusion clear on her face.

”Mamá,” I say, my voice shaking.

Her eyes widen in shock as she recognizes me. It takes a moment for her to find her words.

”Carmina? What are you doing here?”

Quentin steps forward, his hand on my back. ”We were in the neighborhood,” he says firmly. ”And your daughter thought it would be a good idea to drop by.”

My mother”s eyes flicker to him, taking in his tall, muscular build and stern expression. Not even bothering to ask who Quentin is, she steps aside, allowing us to enter the house.

Rumpled magazine in hand, she leads us to the living room, which is surprisingly clean compared to the rest of the house.

I remember when my mother used to keep this place spotless, but now it”s clear she no longer cares.

Quentin takes in every detail as we sit on the faded couch. I”m waiting for shock and disgust to show on his face, but it never does. Instead, he simply takes my hand and squeezes it reassuringly.

”Mamá, this is Quentin,” I say, wiping sweat from my hands on my dress. ”He”s a... friend from work.”

”Hello, Quentin,” she says flatly, assessing him.

”Nice to meet you, Mrs. Sanchez,” Quentin replies politely.

”It”s Herrera, actually. Sanchez is her father”s last name,” she scoffs. ”The bastard.”

The tension thickens, and I cringe at my mom”s words. Quentin must sense it too because he quickly changes the subject.

”So, Carmina tells me you used to be a nurse,” he says, gesturing towards the framed degree on the wall.

My mother”s face softens slightly. ”Yes, I did. But that was a long time ago.”

”Why did you stop?” he continues.

Her eyes cloud over briefly before she answers. ”Life happened, and things didn”t turn out the way I thought they would.” She shrugs, brushing off the topic.

I see the sadness in her eyes, and I know this is a sensitive subject. But Quentin persists.

”Did you enjoy being a nurse?” he asks sincerely.

Her demeanor changes as she talks about her former career, her eyes lighting up with passion. It”s like I”m seeing a different side of her.

”I loved it,” she says with a smile. ”Helping people, making a difference—it was great.”

As she talks, her walls start to come down, and I feel a sense of relief wash over me. Maybe Quentin is the key to unlocking my mother”s true self.

”So why did you give it up?” he persists.

My mom takes a deep breath before answering. ”I had to take care of my family. The men I married never held down jobs or supported us, so I worked odd jobs to make ends meet.” She looks over at me. ”And then when your father left...” She trails off, and I see the pain in her eyes.

Quentin nods. ”I”m sorry for bringing up painful memories,” he says sincerely.

”It”s alright,” my mom replies, her sad tone taking on an edge. ”It just doesn”t help when your kids don”t appreciate the sacrifices you made for them.”

And there it is. The old mantra.

Ingrata.Ungrateful.

A word I”ve heard my whole life.

”Mamá, that”s not true,” I interject. ”We appreciate everything you did for us.”

Quentin gives me a knowing look and turns to my mom. ”I”m sure your children are grateful for all that you”ve done for them. And they probably show it in their own ways.” He gives her a gentle smile. ”But right now, I”d love to learn more about you and your journey. Carmina”s always got great things to say about you.”

My mom”s face softens, and my back stiffens.

It”s a lie. I”ve never shared anything about my mother with Quentin that could technically classify as “great.”

She seems to smell the lie, leaning forward. ”You”re a handsome young man. Well put-together. Successful-looking. You don”t have to lie to an old lady like me.” She looks over at me, a sneer imprinting on her softly lined face. ”I”m sure Carmina has filled up your head with all types of lies about me. About my ”journey.””

I shake my head. “It’s called codependency, Mamá.”

”Whatever fancy term you want to use for it. It”s all the same. I”m just a crazy woman who couldn”t handle being a mother.” She turns back to Quentin, her voice dripping with bitterness. ”Do you know she took my babies from me?”

”I didn”t,” I affirm, but my voice comes out shaking. ”You left them. Alone. For two weeks! Valeria couldn’t find her EpiPen. She almost died! What exactly was I supposed to do?”

”You were supposed to let them stay with their mother!”

”A mother who left them behind? A father who doesn’t give a damn?” I snap back, unable to hold it in any longer. ”Do you know how hard it is to grow up with parents who can”t even take care of themselves, let alone anyone else? Who won”t even try?”

”Oh, here we go. Another sob story from my ungrateful child.”

I clench my fists, feeling the anger rise within me. ”I”m not even asking for you to get well for us. I”m asking for you to get well for yourself. So you can finally be happy and healthy.”

She scoffs, standing. ”What, like you? You think you can walk in here with your fancy black dress and your fancy man and pretend you”re better than me?” She points. ”You”re just like me, Carmina! And don”t you forget that.”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. I stand, too, and to my surprise, Quentin stands beside me. His hand breezes against the small of my back, and it”s the only thing keeping my knees from buckling.

”Tengo respeto para ti, Mamá. Claro. Pero ya no puedo este. I have to be twice the parent to those girls that you and your husbands were to all of us. You can bet on that. And I”m sorry if saying that hurts you. But I can”t keep pretending everything is okay when it”s not. I need to take care of myself and our family now.”

She shakes her head, graying waves of hair falling out of her bun. ”Selfish little girl,” she mutters. She gestures towards Quentin. ”You think a man like this is going to stick around once he sees the full you? He”s going to run. Just like my husbands did.”

I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.

I pause, taking a deep breath when Quentin steps forward, his jaw set as firmly as his voice.

”Pardon me, Miss Herrera, but I would never run from Carmina. She is the strongest and most resilient person I know.” I look up at him, gratitude filling my heart. He squeezes my hand before turning back to my mother. ”Carmina deserves someone who will cherish, appreciate, and support her. And that”s exactly what I intend to do.”

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t say anything. She just turns away and walks back to her room, slamming the door behind her.

As I stand there, relief and sadness swirling within me, Quentin turns to me and touches my cheek. ”You ready to go now?”

I nod, finding a smile. ”Whenever you are.”

We leave without another word, and I can feel the weight of my mother”s disapproval lighten as we reach the door. The sound of our footsteps echoes as we exit onto the rickety wooden porch, the nighttime air cool against my skin.

I take a deep breath of fresh air, feeling like I can finally breathe again as my feet move quickly.

Before I can even process why, I head off in the opposite direction of our parked car. I make it several steps before Quentin stops me, grabbing my shoulders.

”Hold on there, Speed Racer,” he says, his voice low. ”Where exactly are we going?”

I sigh, realizing I didn”t even have a plan. ”I don”t know. Just away from there.” I pause. ”Actually, I”m lying. I used to walk this way as a kid. There’s a beautiful view of the Bay nearby.”

”The Bay, huh? Sounds like a good place to clear our heads and figure out what the hell we”re going to do next.” He turns to the driver standing idly by the car. ”Eddie, got a blanket in the trunk?”

Eddie nods and quickly retrieves a small blanket, tossing it to Quentin, who catches it easily. We start walking towards the hillside, the sound of the Bay waves growing louder with each step.

We finally reach a grassy patch along the hill, and Quentin spreads out the blanket on the sand. ”Ladies first,” he says, gesturing for me to sit.

I sit, my knees drawn up to my chest as I stare out at the dark water. Quentin sits next to me, his shoulder brushing against mine. We”re both silent for a few minutes, lost in our thoughts, listening to the waves crashing against the rocky shore.

Finally, I speak up. ”You know, I used to come here all the time as a kid. Whenever I needed to escape from my parents or school or just life in general.”

Quentin nods. ”I can see why. This place is beautiful and peaceful.”

”Yeah,” I say with a small smile. ”It really is. I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess with me.”

He turns to face me, his expression soft. ”Hey, don”t apologize. I wanted to be there.”

”I didn”t. And I shouldn”t have done it. I wanted you to see, to know what I was up against. Who I am. What my family’s like. What we’ve been through.” I blow out a long breath, a chill running down my arms. “If only my mom admitted that the reason she was always trying to find a husband was because she thought she needed help. Raising the girls. Keeping the house. It’s one of the reasons she’s so mad at me. For not being her. For doing it alone.”

Quentin”s hand finds mine, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of it. ”You”re not alone, you know. And you did the right thing.”

”Tell that to my mom. There”s no glory, apparently, in being a woman without a man. Alone. Defective.”

He glares at me in the moonlit dark. ”Is that what you think of yourself as? Defective?”

”Well, yeah. It”s hard not to when that”s the message your own mother constantly feeds you.”

Quentin”s grip tightens on my hand, his fingers lacing with mine. ”You listen to me, Carmina Elena Sanchez. And you listen good.” I look up as his jaw ticks, his green gaze fixed on me. His hand squeezes mine. ”There isn”t a bone in your body, an inch of your skin, or a hair on your head that is defective. You understand? Not one part.”

”But I just?—”

He cuts me off with a gentle tug on my hand until our hands brush against his chest over his heart. His other hand comes up to run through my hair, his fingers tangling in the dark waves.

”You are smart and strong and beautiful. And you have a heart of gold that shines brighter than any star in the goddamned cosmos. And to be clear: You don’t need a man, just to have one. The man who is worthy of you, who deserves you, who loves you, will stand beside you, not in front of or behind you....He”ll be your partner, not your savior.” He wipes the tears pooling at the corners of my eyes, his touch sure. ”And I”m not going to lie by telling you, Carmina, that I hope to God that man is me.”

It”s a confession that leaves me breathless and aching, my heart pounding in my chest. I turn into him, pressing myself against his warmth as he wraps his arms around me.

For the first time in my life, I feel seen. Truly seen for who I am, not what others have told me I am.

Usually, by now, my brain sends the signal to stop, but this time it lets me feel. It lets me sink into Quentin”s touch as he holds me close.

Our bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, and my brain begins to wonder if maybe this was meant to be all along.

If every heartbreak and disappointment led me to this moment.

To him.

His pine-green eyes search mine for any hint of doubt or hesitation, but all he sees is fierce determination reflected back at him. A determination I feel when I grab his face and stroke along his stubbled jaw.

”That man is you, Quentin. He”s always been you.” My gaze falls to his mouth. ”And I would like that man to please make love to me now.”

Quentin”s lips touch mine in a gentle, lingering kiss before he pulls back and smiles. “Sweetheart, it would be my honor. More than you know.”