Page 13 of The Billionaire's Lost Family

With her hand in Wesley’s, Hazel ascended behind Ivan, with Franco bringing up the rear. At the stop of the stairs was an alleyway between ramshackle buildings. Ivan gestured to the home on the far left. Standing at the end of the collection of houses sprouting out of the forest, there was an open sandy place where small children were kicking a ball. Several older women sat in the shade, peeling husks from corn, and Hazel’s heart became a cantaloupe in her throat.

A woman emerged from the building with a bowl in her arms, smiling as she stirred. She was about Hazel’s height, five foot five, and her graying hair was pulled into a braid down her back. She wore a stained apron over a purple dress with a bold pattern.

Ivan called to her. She scowled at him as if confused by the newcomers. Next, her wilted expression turned into a pleasant smile at the sight of Wesley. When her gaze landed to Hazel, it became downright shocked.

“Quem são eles?” Hugging the bowl, she jutted her chin in Hazel’s direction. Hazel feared her heart was about to beat itself right out of her ribcage.

Ivan prattled on, gesturing first to Hazel and then to Wesley again. The woman’s scowls vanished from her lined face, replacing instead with amazement in her widened eyes.

“Franco,” Hazel begged. “What are they saying?”

“He’s explaining who you are and how he found you,” Franco said. “He’s calling her Elina. Does that name sound familiar?”

“Oh goodness,” Hazel breathed. It was a good thing they were no longer on those stairs or she would have fallen right down them. Elina Silva. Pinching herself was such a cliché notion, but she was suddenly tempted by it. She’d hoped—she’dprayed—that this day would come. She’d thought of this woman every day since she was ten years old. And now here she was, standing right in front of her.

Elina Silva. Her birth mother.

Elina spoke then. Her voice was high-pitched and sweet. She seemed overcome with emotion, her lips quivering, tears building in her eyes. In a rush of breath and prattled words, she shoved the bowl containing a yellow dough of some kind toward her husband, spat a few more words at Ivan, and pulled Hazel into the warmest hug Hazel had ever received.

Her heart pounded against her mother’s, and Hazel couldn’t fight back the tears that spilled from her cheeks either. Elina continued speaking as she pulled away. She took Hazel’s face in her hands, turning her this way and that.

“She says you are beautiful,” Franco said. “She has thought of you every day since the doctors took you after the earthquake struck all those years ago. She worried you had died with the fever, but here you are.”

“Here I am,” Hazel said, smiling through her tears. She placed her hands on her mother’s, which still cupped her cheeks.

Elina’s smile spread. She spoke on again, gesturing to Wesley. “E ele é? Seu marido?”

“She asks if this is your husband,” Franco said.

Hazel clutched Wesley’s hand so tightly he probably had no circulation left. He gave that sideways smirk Hazel loved and inclined his head toward the Silvas.

Hazel’s heart swelled with so much love. Wesley had such a role in this. If it wasn’t for him, she never would have made it this far. “Yes,” she said, smiling through her tears. “This is my new husband, Wesley. We were just married.”

Franco translated.

Ivan and Elina both began talking at once. Ivan had set the bowl down sometime between the time Elina had passed it to him and this moment. Hazel wasn’t sure when that had happened. Then again, she hadn’t been able to peel her glance away from her mother.

Wesley handed Hazel a goofy grin and nod combination. “They’re great,” he muttered under his breath.

Before Hazel could so much as agree, Elina let out an excited noise. “Ontem?” she asked, once again gathering Hazel into her arms. Everything fell into place in that embrace. Everything Hazel had been fighting and fearing for years. Her mother was here. She was still alive. Hazel had found her, and everything was right with the world.

Epilogue

“Now this is luxury,” Wesley said, staring around at the Rio de Janiero Elir resort lobby. Hazel had to agree with him. Blue colored tiles peeked through along a fountain in the center. Palm trees climbed to the massively high ceiling. The soothing strums of a guitar played on the overhead speakers, and men and women came and went, dragging suitcases in sundresses and shorts, ready to see what the city had to offer.

Hazel and Wesley spent several days in Calma with Elina and Ivan. Franco had gotten his car fixed and devoted those days by their side, helping with their conversations. Hazel explained how her life had gone, how she’d managed to become a successful businesswoman and had bought a home in the Ozark Mountains. She and Wesley recounted the story of their love, how they’d dated in college, how they’d broken things off and then eight years later, thanks to the hat Elina had given Hazel when the Stricklands had adopted her and taken her away, Hazel had been drawn to give Wesley a second chance.

The Silvas had several other children who were all grown and living their own lives. Hazel was disappointed to not have a chance of meeting any of them. But finding her parents was enough. It turned out that they had email addresses, and she intended on keeping in touch with them as well as she could.

Hazel also offered to give them money or even to take them to live in the states with her, but both Ivan and Elina declined. They were pleased living where they were. And their happiness, they claimed, was now complete because they knew Hazel was alive and well.

She breathed in a long draft of salty, sea air, and smiled. Wesley wore a backwards baseball cap, a t-shirt with a parrot, and shorts with flip flops. She wanted to remember him like this, this trip, to remember her birth parents, to remember every moment they spent here. And since the Silvas had had to work, she and Wesley decided to finish out their honeymoon in Rio.

“Look there.” Hazel pointed to the elegant shop lodged across from the hotel restaurant.

“Is that where you wanted Le Chapeau to go?” Wesley asked.

When she’d first found him at his mother’s hat shop, she’d been on an errand to locate the perfect shop for Aaliyah Elir’s Rio resort. She’d tried all she could think of to get Wesley and his mother to agree to set up a hat shop here in South America, but obviously, that hadn’t worked out.

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