Page 5 of The Grumpy Billionaire
By the time I had grown old enough to understand that the Neelys were the “haves,” and Mom and I were the “have-nots,” it was far too late.
I was already madly in love with the Eastport Bay power couple’s only daughter.
Mara’s mother was a socialite who was far more interested in her tennis game and her friends than in her daughter. Her dad, the state’s Attorney General, was an aloof, distant figure who was rarely around.
When he was, he seemed to regard his pretty daughter as a possession at best—at worst, he treated her like a campaign prop.
My mom was always busy working somewhere around the property, and Mara’s twin brothers were so much younger they weren’t suitable playmates, so Mara and I were essentially on our own—which was fine with us. We’d been inseparable.
When we weren’t in school, we’d spent our time running around the estate building forts, climbing its iconic European Beech trees, spending time at its private beach, swimming and building sandcastles.
It was an idyllic life for children lucky enough to grow up on New England’s “classic coast.”
Now that we were older, we still spent nearly all our time together, but the nature of our friendship was different. The change had happened gradually. Our conversations now were deeper, as was my understanding of the impossible gulf separating us socially.
Some of us were a little luckier than others, it turned out.
Mara spent more time away from the estate these days. She was sixteen, and her parents had her on the debutante circuit, which meant she attended numerous dances and society parties I would never be invited to.
“I hate the whole thing,” she would claim. “It’s so boring and stupid. I’d rather be here with you.”
When shewaswith me, all was right in the world. We took walks along the shore or through the wooded area of the property, rode her family’s horses together, or just sat on the rocks near the water reading books or talking or fishing together.
My favorite times were when everyone else was in bed. I climbed the tree beside her house and settled onto the large branch just outside her room. Mara would sit by the open window, and we’d stay up late into the night, talking, watching movies, or listening to music.
It didn’t matter what we did—it was all magical. Those stolen nighttime hours were our secret, our own private world.
But I knew it couldn’t last. The parts of her life that did not involve me would gradually overtake the rest.
As the daughter of a powerful politician and one of Eastport Bay's premier socialites, Mara would naturally move more and more into her role in society.
Our friendship was bound to fade into the background eventually.
Which was why I didn't let my continually strengthening feelings for her make their way into our intimate conversations. Ever.
One evening when her parents were away at some fundraising gala at Bellevue Manor, Mara and I walked down to the beach and spread out a blanket. We lay on our backs, side by side, listening to music on her phone as we watched the sun go down and the stars come out.
When one of her favorite songs came on, she jumped to her bare feet and held her arms out to me in invitation.
"We have to dance," she declared, a bright smile on her beautiful lips.
“You know I don't dance,” I argued, but I could already feel my resolve weakening. Basically there was nothing this girl could ask me to do that I would refuse. Well almost nothing.
I wouldn't kiss her for instance, even if she begged.
Fuck.I should never have even imagined it.
Just the mental image of Mara’s sweet pink lips touching mine had my heart racing and sweat popping out along my brow, not to mention what was going on below the belt.
That was another reason I couldn't dance with her unless she was talking about some stupid line dance or something. If I were to take her in my arms and hold her against my body right now, she'd know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my feelings for her had gonewaybeyond friendship or childhood crush.
Thankfully she seemed completely unaware of my condition. And my mad love for her.
“No, I know that youwon'tdance,” she said. “Saying you ‘don’t’ dance is just a cop out. I’ve seen you play tennis. Anybody who can move likethaton the court is capable of dancing if he wants to. So… I’m asking you to make a decision to dance with me right now.”
Her lips curved in a knowing, persuasive smile that did nothing to help the heart palpitations—or the hard on.
“Please,” she added in the softest, sweetest tone.
