Page 23 of Unwrapped

“How can you afford that? Your business tanked and that’s why you had to come back here and work for your uncle.” I look at her, stunned at her words.

I grab her hands, which are now ice cold, and hold them in mine. I school my features to appear as somber as possible to deliver my news. She watches me, her eyes wide, waiting for me to speak.

“I didn’t tell you before, but I’m an enforcer for the mob.” I didn’t think it was possible, but her eyes widen even more. Her mouth forms anO, she pulls her hands from mine and starts to reach for the door handle.

I grab her elbow and laugh so hard my entire body shakes. She flares her nostrils and playfully punches me in the arm.

“Very funny,” she says.

“You should have seen your face. And where were you going? You think you can run from the mob?” I start to laugh again, and she crosses her arms to look angry, but I can see a smile form on her lips.

“Whatever.”

“Miranda, I have money, okay.”

“What do you mean you have money?”

“And I’m not even going to ask you where you heard my business tanked because I have a pretty good idea. First of all, it did not tank. I sold it for a lot of money.”

“Oh. Okay, whatever.” She asks for her phone back, and when I give it to her, she skims through her apps, and seconds later, Christmas music starts to play.

“Okay. Whatever,” I mimic and still make no move to pull the car out of the parking lot.

“Can we go?” she asks, turning up the volume of the music. I get her attention when I turn the radio off.

“Not until you tell me what the problem is.”

“My problem is that I’m hungry, and you promised lunch.” I stare at her and wait for her to say more. “You want me to drive?”

“You know,” I say, turning my body to face her. “Most women would be thrilled to find out that their boyfriend is rich.”

“Well, I’m not most women,” she says, turning the music back on, only for me to turn it off again.

“That’s one of the things I like about you, but I really don’t understand the issue here.” I reach over and adjust her hat. It’s the same style as the one she wore the first night she came to my house, but this one is all white. “You were so excited to come with me, and now you’re acting like I did something to upset you.”

“I’m not upset. I didn’t realize the circumstances. You just spent six figures on furniture like it’s six dollars, and I work at the mall making thirteen dollars an hour. I always knew we weren’t equal, but we’re really mismatched. I finally understand what you meant when you told me you have a lot of sugar.”

“You just got that?” Unable to help myself, I laugh, which makes her cross her arms and turn to her window. When I lay a hand on her thigh, she tries to shove it away.

“There’s more, sweets. The money isn’t just from my business. I have family money too. I’m telling you now, so we can move on with the rest of our day. I didn’t think the first time you’d be mad at me would be over something like this.”

“What family money? I thought Joe came from humble beginnings.”

“Yes, he does, but my mother, his sister, married a very rich man. My father was Dustin Jones.” Her eyes widen again.

“The writer?”

“The one and the same. When he died, he left half of everything to me and the other portion to my half-brother, Henry. He divorced my mother when I was a teenager. He was horrible to her. Cheated with anything female, and he rarely paid any attention to me. The final nail in the coffin for us as a family was when me and my mom walked in on him with a woman in our house. I cut him out of my life the minute I left for college, but he tracked me down about ten years ago. He wanted to make amends and wanted me and Henry to act like brothers.”

She reaches for my hand, lifts it, and kisses my wrist, waiting for me to continue.

“My mother was his third wife, and Henry’s mother was his first. He’s fifteen years older than I am, and until ten years ago, I could count on one hand how many times we’ve ever been in the same room. I told both my father and Henry to fuck off, but when I told my mother and Uncle Joe, they encouraged me to give them a chance.”

“Did you?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper as she looks at me.

“I did. I had a few good years with my father, but he died about two years ago from lung cancer.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She unbuckles her seatbelt and practically flies into my arms. She hugs me tight and peppers my face with kisses. “What about your mom and Henry?”

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