Page 48 of The Runaway Billionaire's Inconvenient Baby
Is that an overreaction? Maybe. But I’m so angry I can’t think what else to do. This lets out some of the rage inside my chest, like bloodletting or popping a blister. It’s messy, but it helps. I’d like to say I’m angry with Jacob, but that’s not really true. I’m angry with myself because Jacob never lied to me, not really.
His goal was clear from the beginning. He wanted the island. His coming here was just a formality to tell us.
No, if I’m honest, I’m not angry with him. I’m angry that I thought I could change him. People don’t change. Especially not people like that. Definitely not for people like me.
For a second it looked like he was realizing the joy of community, but he’s proved himself to be exactly the man I thought he was. I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s not his fault that in pretending I could fix him, I’ve been humiliated in front of the whole island.
I ask Lantigua to cover for me in the cafe for a few days after Jacob leaves. I don’t think I can face other people right now. The idea of them walking in and looking at me, knowing that they’re wondering what happened between me and Jacob, knowing that they want to ask or have been gossiping about it at home… I can’t bear their pity.
On the third day of moping around, my mother comes to visit me. That’s how I know things must be really bad.
She lets herself in and boils some water. I’m upstairs when she comes in, and for a second I think it’s an intruder. But she calls up to me, and the sudden spike in adrenaline washes away. Not that there’s anyone in this town who could truly be counted as an intruder. I just don’t need any person wandering in and seeing me at my worst. At least my mother won’t judge me too hard for this.
But I do have to face her.
I drag myself down the stairs in the shirt I’ve been wearing for days. I don’t know when the last time I showered was. I don’t remember how much I’ve slept.
“Mom, what are you doing?” I ask as I step into the kitchen, my bare feet warm against the floor.
“Making us tea,” she says. “Herbal, calming.”
“I don’t need tea.” I sigh, slumping into a chair at the table.
“Okay then, I’ll have it.” She continues to futz around at the counter, a spoon clinking against the mugs as she makes me tea anyway.
Closing my eyes, I say, “Mom, why are you here?”
“Is a mother not allowed to visit her daughter anymore?”
“I know you, Mom. I know there’s an ulterior motive for this. Actually, you don’t even need to tell me. I can guess.”
She comes to sit at the table, pushing a mug toward me. My favorite one, faded blue with sailing ships that have worn with time. “Well, if you can guess what I’m going to say, where’s your smart answer to it?”
I don’t have a smart answer to her question because I barely have a stupid answer.
Why have I distanced myself from everyone over the last few days? Why did I let Jacob in? Why was I so stupid to think that any of it might be a good idea?
The more I think about it, the more it makes my head hurt. It’s like all this is happening in a dream, or far away. Like I’ve turned so numb I can’t even feel any of this happening to me.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say quietly. “I don’t know how to stop this.”
“Honey,” says my mother, taking my hand as her face twists into pure pity. “This isn’t your fault.”
“Isn’t it?” I snap. “If I’d tried harder, if I had shown him more. If I’d?—”
“Then it would have been the same. It was always going to be like this.” Mom looks into my eyes, hers the same blue as mine. The blue she gave to me. “You were never going to be able to fix him. You tried your best. You can’t blame yourself for a decision you didn’t make.”
“But…” I start, trailing off because I don’t have an argument. She’s right, of course.
The fact is, I was never going to change Jacob’s mind. He’d already bought the place before we even talked. As far as he was concerned, it was his for the taking. Maybe he looked like he was changing his mind, but not enough to take any action. He had already committed to his plan.
“Go to the cafe,” says Mom. “People miss you.”
“Sure, they do,” I huff, hearing exactly how much like a petulant kid I sound.
“They do.” Mom rolls her eyes and fixes me with apull yourself togetherkind of look. “I can’t tell you what to do anymore. You’ll always be my baby girl, but you’re grown up enough to be able to make your own choices. But you can’t hide away here forever. It’s not good for you. Go to the cafe, speak to some people. Live here while we still can.”
“What about when we can’t?” I whisper.
