Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 15515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 78(@200wpm)___ 62(@250wpm)___ 52(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 78(@200wpm)___ 62(@250wpm)___ 52(@300wpm)
I am so fucking out of my element. Tonight, when I get home, I’ll watch those tutorial videos. I vow to never embarrass myself like this again and learn how to fucking dice onions.
“Blanch the chicken? Isn’t it already pale?”
Alice snorts out laughing. “You’ve never cooked?”
I can lie, but I refuse to dig a deeper hole for myself. “No.”
“Hmm. Well, then, just go back to the living room. Dinner is in thirty minutes.”
If my goal is to impress her, I’m already failing, and I walk back to the sofa with my tail between my legs, feeling like an utter failure.
I sink on the couch, right on the sag in the middle, my hands on my lap, looking around the small but cozy home. The framed photos on one wall, the seashells and stones lining the windowsills, and a conch shell by the TV. My minimalist penthouse has nothing on this.
My eyes travel to the mismatched mugs hanging in hooks above the sink and the colorful plates and bowls filling the open shelves. I saw the interior design plans for the resort, and it didn’t look half as charming as Olivia’s home.
“Hey,” a small voice whispers.
I twist at the waist to find Samantha behind the couch, her elbows resting on the backseat. “Hi.”
“Are you really gonna kick us out of our home?”
Her voice is so low I’m pretty sure both Olivia and Alice, who are busy in the kitchen, cannot hear. “No, Samantha. I’m not.”
“Oh good. I love my bedroom, and it’s gonna suck so bad if you destroy it. I got lots of paintings and stuff. You wanna see?”
“Sure.”
She leads me to a small room filled with so many drawings and paintings tacked to the walls. A single bed with a mermaid blanket is pushed up against the window, and papers are strewn everywhere. I have to be extra mindful of where I step.
Samantha hands me a drawing book and motions for the seat beside her on the bed. Her mattress isn’t as soft as I would’ve liked, and I make a mental note to tell my assistant to buy her the softest one he can find.
I flip through the pages and can’t help but smile. The colors are so vibrant, and her strokes are just a bit aggressive. Drawings of the beach, coconut trees, two stick figures (who I assume are Olivia and Alice) on the sandbar, and finally, four stick figures (this time, including Samantha and probably her father judging by the mop of hair) in front of this house. Underneath it, she scrawled, “Home.”
A strange emotion flickers in my chest, and I close her book. “These are beautiful drawings, Samantha. You’re very talented.”
“Call me Sammy. Everyone does. And thank you, not to brag or anything, but my whole family’s talented.” She jumps up from the bed, grabs a small frame, and drops it on my hands. “This is Mom’s painting.” I barely have time to look when she picks up a necklace full of tiny shells and drops it on top of the frame. “Oli made this for me.” She pulls open a drawer and gingerly takes out a headband with more shells. “Dad gave me this for my fifth birthday.”
She hands me the headband slowly, like she’s afraid of damaging it. I take it from her and handle it with care. “These are beautiful, Sammy.”
“Right? But if you take away our home, I won’t have anywhere to keep them in.”
There’s not even a question in my mind anymore. In terms of acquiring their land, I won’t do it. I will leave them alone. But as for Olivia, that’s an entirely different matter and something I won’t discuss with her younger sister.
I put all three things on her bed and stare at Sammy. “You’re keeping your home, Sammy. I promise you. No one will take it from you.”
The joy on her face is enough to extinguish the slight fear for my brother’s reaction when I tell him we’re not buying these lands anymore.
“Mom! Ol! We’re keeping our house. We’re staying!”
Sammy runs toward the kitchen, and I follow her, closing the door behind me. Olivia and Alice turn to me in unison, identical hopeful looks on their faces.
Olivia approaches me first, her steps cautious, like I’m a predator about to pounce on her. “Is it true? Is it final? Like 100% sure and no backing down? No harassment or random men knocking on our door, demanding we sign papers?”
“Yes. The company is going to back off. No one will come to bother you again. You have my word.”
Olivia launches herself at me, while Alice and Sammy do silly little dances behind her. As someone who grew up with only Mom as the affectionate one, this feels surprisingly nice. Most days, Dad and Paul share a meal with me at one of our favorite restaurants and that’s it. Conversations are usually about the company and our other businesses—nothing more, nothing less.