CHAPTER TWELVE
AURORA
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I t’s been days since I saw Parker. Since I seduced him, and he slid between my legs and gave me the two best orgasms of my entire life.
I can still feel his touch.
A shiver runs through me.
I’ve never taken drugs, but I can imagine it’s like having heroin once and then feeling the absence of it forever. Nothing will be the same again after.
Parker was the perfect gentleman at the funeral—despite my behavior—and I let myself think he was mine for a short time. I knew he wasn’t looking for anything serious, and certainly not with me. I had accepted it.
That was before we were intimate.
Now his absence hurts.
I’m trying to focus on what I’ve learned about my mother, her death, and my yo-yo relationship with Parker.
Life feels very strange right now.
“Babes, you’re super rich.” Chloe drops the letter into her lap and stares at me from across the room. She’s sitting cross-legged on the sofa and looks much happier about the situation than I do.
Then again, she only has part of the story.
Then again... I don’t think I have the full story myself.
“Hmm,” I reply and glance at the pillow I was clutching as my body roared to life under Parker’s tongue. Jesus the man has talent.
Surely, if he was interested, he would have messaged me. Why would you ghost someone you’re interested in? I have his number, but I am not going to make the first move.
I can’t help but think, if he’s not that into me, why did he turn up at Mom’s funeral? Why kiss me as if I’m the only woman in the world and set the room on fire around us?
That was not some vanilla kiss.
He consumed me like I was his favorite cool drink on a hot summer’s day, and there wasn’t enough.
Then ran.
I would go crazy if I kept trying to understand what Parker was thinking. If he was the kind of guy to fuck and run, I was better off cutting my losses now.
It was likely not going anywhere anyhow.
Refocusing on Chloe, I nodded at the letter on her lap. “Yes. She left me the penthouse and over two million dollars.”
Two million fucking dollars cash.
“Did you know she had that much money?” Chloe shakes her head.
I glance around my shitty apartment. “What do you think?”
“Is it weird she never helped you?” Chloe asks tentatively.
I walk over and flop down next to her, letting out a sigh. “Yes. I don’t know. I haven’t told you something.”
“Oh no. You have a surprise brother?” she gasps.
My head spins.
My god. Do I? Does she have a whole other family? I have no idea what other surprises could be awaiting me when I find out who Marianne Baker truly is.
“No. Well. Maybe. I don’t know.”
Chloe frowns.
“Mom wasn’t...Mom. Shit. Her name isn’t Mary-Anne Whitlock, it’s Marianne Baker.”
I watch as the information finds its way into her brain cells and she gives up, waiting for me to say I’m joking.
“Woah.”
I nod. “That’s all I know.”
“Holy shit.”
I drop my head back and stare up at the dirty ceiling and let out a loud sigh.
“So, was she on the run?”
“Dunno.”
“I bet she saw something bad happen and ended up in witness protection.” I turn my face and watch her start conjuring an entire life for my mother, like it’s a fiction novel. “Mafia. I bet it was the Italians.”
I turn back to the ceiling.
Next minute, Chloe sits bolt upright and I lift my head.
“Maybe she was some princess needing protection, and they sent you both to the United States. So, you’re actually royalty.”
I snort.
Trust her to turn this into some fairytale.
“Hence the British sandwiches at her funeral. See where I’m going with this?” Chloe presents her evidence.
I chuck a cushion at her.
“I chose those, thank you, you idiot. There were limited options—and don’t you think some king would’ve swooped in by now to tell me? I’m twenty-six!”
“You could be the illegitimate child of one of them.” Chloe holds up her finger. “And—”
“Fine. Let’s say I am. No one is ever going to tell me and with Mom dead, all proof is gone.”
“There might be something in her house.” Chloe gets all excited and untucks her legs, turning to face me. “My god, you might own an estate in Scotland and have wardrobes full of beautiful gowns and tiaras. Hypothetically.”
I purse my lips.
“I’d also lose my anonymity and need to have personal security for the rest of my life.”
“However, you get to marry a duke or some shit and have staff. Damn. You know, this might mean I end up your lady servant.”
We start laughing.
“I don’t wash come-stained sheets. You need to know that now.”
“Gross.” I throw another cushion at her. “And yes, if I order you, you’ll have to. Start practicing your curtsies.”
When we sober and catch our breath, I send her a sad smile. “It’s more likely she was a criminal; you know that right?”
Chloe takes my hand and squeezes it. “Yeah babe. Use that two mil and hire a detective. Then you might get some answers.”
Good idea.
My own detective skills are average at best.
I spent quite a few hours researching Parker Stone and still don’t know much more than he’s told me. He’s a company director of about seven businesses, a billionaire, as I suspected, owns a private jet and helicopter. He’s also in the news regularly for some of his business decisions and... has some extremely hot friends.
I’m not telling Chloe.
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I MOVE INTO Mom’s penthouse the following week, leaving behind all my old furniture for the next tenant and just taking my belongings.
I’m told the cash I’ve inherited could take months or longer if someone contests it—which hasn’t happened so far—which means I only have the small savings in my account to use for moving.
It doesn’t extend to hiring a van, so Chloe helps me move. I ring for a cab and fill it with bags of my stuff.
It was a tough decision, but I leave all but one of my paintings behind. The driver was already annoyed and stuffing them in, damaging them anyway.
Someone else can enjoy them.
Or throw them out.
What do I care?
I do care. Painting is something I love doing. Being alone as a child for such long periods, I would lose myself in imaginary worlds and bring them to life on canvas.
Mom always looked at them in judgment. “Where did you learn to do that?”
I’m sure I was wrong, but she almost looked scared.
Why?
She was such a strange woman.
“I don’t know. I just painted it. Do you like it?” Nine-year-old me asked.
“No.” Mom turned and walked out of the room.
I supposed that’s when I realized I would never be a famous artist or make money from it, but that’s not why I did it. I painted as if it filled my spirit with joy. I felt free, like a bird flying through the sky with no limits.
I could wave at imaginary friends and soar across the world, landing on islands, sand dunes, mountains, or rivers. I could go to a theme park, a ball game, or a circus.
It all happened in my imagination and no one could stop me.
Then, I’d paint it.
My own little world.
But I hadn’t become a famous artist, and while Parker commenting on the one hanging in my apartment had made drunk-me smile, I would have to be careful with how I lived at Mom’s house. The utilities could be far bigger than I could afford.
The first thing I did when I stepped through the door was turn off the underfloor heating. Who the hell needs that? Especially in spring.
I’m still coming to grips with how this is going to change my life. I’m a multi-millionaire. Or will be one day.
I just wish I knew how Mom had earned the money.
Something keeps tapping at my mind and nudging me to ask more questions.
“Maybe just accept the gift horse and all that,” Chloe says after I voice my concern again while she drops the last of my bags on the floor.
I could.
Then again, what if I don’t and her alleged illegal past comes back and bites me in the butt?
I walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park and watch the world below us. How many people are dreaming of owning property in NYC right now? To be standing where I am?
Is Chloe right?
Mom’s death has set me up for life.
“I know what you’re saying.” I turn to my best friend. “But wouldn’t you wonder every day of your life where the money came from and be worried?”
Chloe glances around the penthouse as she props her hands on her hips. “Yeah, fuck. I would.”
Even if she hadn’t admitted it, I knew she would. Chloe is sassy, but her morals are all lined up.
“I need to find out who she truly was. And who that makes me?”
“You are still you, Aurora. My best friend. Nothing she did can change that. Perhaps she kept all these secrets to protect you.” Chloe walks over and rubs my arm. “Legally, she may not have been able to tell you anything. Don’t think the worst of her.”
I sigh.
She might be right.
Parker’s blue eyes flick back into my memory, and I stare out at the Manhattan sunshine. Why do I keep thinking about his eyes whenever I am reflecting on my childhood?
When I push for the answer, the vision of that little boy, that I’d long forgotten, returns.
It’s silly. How many people have blue eyes?
Millions.
Now I’ve moved in, I can spend time going through Mom’s things. Mr. Lynch said her name was changed legally, but there’s no more information aside from her name, the place, and date of birth.
A detective could unearth more, but I don’t have the cash yet to do that.
But one day I will.
For now, I’ll dig through her boxes and see what I can learn.
“You are right. I need more answers before I judge her.”
“Atta girl. Enjoy this insanely gorgeous home in the meantime.” Chloe hugs me. “I have to go to my yoga class. Call you later.”
“Okay.”
“We’re having a big housewarming party for you, right? Invite your boyfriend and his hot friends.” She grins, skipping backward toward the lobby where the elevator is tucked around the corner.
Boyfriend?
The one who spread my legs, made me come, and has now ghosted me for a week?
He’s not my boyfriend.
“That’s over.” I shrug like I don’t care. “Go do stretchy things.”
“That’s what my last boyfriend said.” She wiggles her brows. “It didn’t look like he wanted it to be over. Have a party. Invite his friends. It’s your best friend duties to hook me up with them.”
“Goodbye Chloe,” I reply pointedly.
“You are boring now that you’re rich.” She pouts, then winks and disappears.
I snort into the empty room.
There was no chance of us not being friends the day we met at college. She chose me and I had no choice. Thank goodness.
Chuckling, I glance back outside at the million-dollar view and then spin around, taking in all the luxury furnishings.
I’ve been here many times, but somehow I’m now seeing it through a different lens. Seeing my mother’s life in a new way. There are no photos—not even of me, her daughter—and the home is perfect, as if staged for a photoshoot.
I walk through the house slowly, taking in all the expensive décor, paintings, and fittings before dropping my bag into one of the large guest rooms. Then I wander down to the master.
Resting against the doorjamb, I stare at the space she slept in. The housekeeper has been here, so the bed is made and the room spotless.
“Who were you Mom? Who were you really?” I say out loud.
My phone beeps in my pocket, making me jump. Ridiculously, I felt like Mom had caught me and was messaging me from the other side. She always hated me being in her room.
When I glance at the screen, my heart thuds even harder.
Parker.