Epilogue #2
“Delphine, I’m not going anywhere.” His voice is firm.
“I have plenty of life left, God willing, and I intend to spend it watching my children build lives that make them happy.” He gives me a smile, the way he used to do when I was small and afraid of thunderstorms. “Go to New York. Please, no scandals, not after the cleanup that we’re still doing with Louis and Addison.
There have been enough rumors and drama to last a lifetime. ”
I laugh through the tears. “Thank you, Dad.”
Father leans back in his chair and gives me that knowing gaze that always sees too much. “You have fire in you, Delphine. I’ve seen it since you were a child, burning through rules and expectations and anyone who tried to tell you who to be. You haven’t found the thing worth fighting for yet.”
“What if I never do?”
“You will.” He says it with such certainty that I almost believe him. “I’ll let the council know that you’re planning to take some time away. And when you’re ready to come home, we’ll be here.”
I lean over and hug him, breathing in the familiar scent of an evergreen cologne he’s worn since I was born. He holds me tight, and I let myself be held because I don’t know when I’ll have this again. January feels like forever away, but also like tomorrow.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you too, little one.” He kisses the top of my head. “Now, I’ll let you tell your mother yourself.”
“Thanks a lot. I thought you’d do me a favor and let her know,” I say, pulling away, wiping my eyes.
I can’t help but laugh at myself for being so emotional. I’ve been trained to keep composure in any situation, but nothing has prepared me for leaving the only home I’ve ever known.
I stand with a smile. “Thank you for allowing this.”
“You’d better go before I change my mind and lock you in a tower.”
I’m still laughing as I slip into the corridor and close the door behind me.
When I’m back in my quarters, I pull out my laptop and open the listing I’ve been staring at for three days.
For weeks, I’ve been daydreaming as I searched for the perfect place.
Money isn’t the problem. I have access to my trust fund, and my father has always been generous.
The issue I’ve run into is finding somewhere I can actually disappear.
Most of the luxury buildings in Manhattan are crawling with the kind of people who summer in Monaco and winter in St. Barts.
Being in those neighborhoods would automatically out me because I’d be recognized in a glance.
I’ve come back to this one listing at least fifteen different times and scrolled through every image.
The West Village is postcard-perfect, and this home, with its dark brick and stoop, reminds me of Carrie Bradshaw’s place in Sex and the City.
It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. It’s far enough from the elite zip codes that no one will look twice at me as I walk down the street.
I’ve done my research, and the tenants are young professionals, grad students, and artists.
People who are too busy with their own lives to care about mine.
The problem is, it’s a roommate situation, not a place that I will have to myself.
This place was recently renovated. It has high ceilings, an open floor plan, a large kitchen with marble countertops and high-end appliances.
There’s a private terrace with views of the surrounding neighborhood and a spiral staircase leading to what looks like a rooftop deck.
It’s stunning, the kind of place that should cost a fortune, but the listing price for the room is surprisingly reasonable, which makes me suspicious.
Why would someone with a penthouse like this even need a roommate?
The listing doesn’t say much, but there is a phone number.
I stare at the number for a long moment, then pull out the burner phone I have with a US number. I drop the French accent and put on my best American one.
A man answers on the third ring.
“Yeah?” The voice is deep and sounds clearly annoyed.
“Hi. I’m calling about the room listing.”
“Right.” I hear papers shuffling in the background, like he’s doing something else while talking to me. “You saw the ad?”
“I did. I’d like to tour the place before making a decision.”
“It won’t be ready until January. The current tenant isn’t out until after the holidays,” he says. “It’s not a good time.”
“The January timeline works for me. But I’d still like to view it first.”
He gives me a long sigh, like I asked him to solve world hunger. “I travel a lot for work. I won’t be back in the city until then.” There’s more shuffling along with a keyboard clicking. “I can meet you on the twenty-seventh of December. That’s the earliest. Take it or leave it.”
I bite back a retort. “Fine.”
He clears his throat. “Actually, wait. I should mention, I’m not really looking for a female roommate, so if I find someone before December twenty-seventh, I’m renting to them first.”
I blink at the phone because I’ve never met anyone so arrogant. “Excuse me?”
“It’s not personal.”
“It sounds personal.” I bite my bottom lip so I don’t continue the rest of what I want to say.
“It’s not.” His tone is flat, like he has explained this before and finds it tedious. “Mixed-gender living situations can get messy.”
“That’s incredibly sexist.”
“Yeah, well, you haven’t met me.”
I’m sitting up straighter now, my grip tight on the phone. “What does that mean?”
“It means women tend to get the wrong idea and fall in love with me quite often. So, I’d have to set additional rules with you that I wouldn’t need to make if I could find a guy to room with me.”
I sigh and almost end the call, but then I glance at my screen.
“How often do you travel?”
“Depends,” he says. There’s an edge to his voice now. “Look, I don’t have time for quaint conversation. I need to get back to work.”
“Okay. So, I suppose you’ll let me know if you haven’t rented it?” The words come out before I can stop them.
“Want me to text you in a month?” he asks.
“Yeah. That would be fine,” I say. “Why do you need a roommate so bad?”
“I prefer not to leave my place vacant while I’m traveling. So, if you plan to be away a lot, you’re not getting the room.”
“Fuck, you’re worse than my parents.”
Silence on his end. Then a short exhale that might be a laugh.
“Don’t waste my time, kid.”
“Kid? I’m twenty-six. I’m not a fucking kid.”
The line goes dead, and I stare at the phone in my hand with my heart pounding.
He’s rude, arrogant, and dismissive. He’s everything I can’t stand in a person, but I’m absolutely going to be his roommate, even if I have to get Louis to do me a favor.
In January, I will be in New York, living in that penthouse with a man who is apparently God’s gift to women.
I have no idea what I’m walking into, but it doesn’t scare me.
It thrills me.
Continue Delphine’s love story in the brand-new Billionaire Arrangement series!