Page 102 of Yours, Forever

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"I know. You need people to belong with, too."

Her heartbeat raced under my ear. I let her take her time; I hooked one of my legs over hers and put my attention on the drumming in her chest.

"Tell me something true," she whispered.

"What do you want to know?"

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"Would you tell me how you ended up in all of this? With your dad's deal and all."

It took me a while to find the words. At the end, I started in the middle of the story.

"My parents used me as a pawn in their divorce." I gulped. "They didn't last a year married. She filed for divorce when she was six months pregnant with me, eight months into the marriage. She couldn't get out fast enough, after she heard from one of his lovers that the affair resulted in a pregnancy. He'd been cheating on her throughout, but this was la gota que rebalsó el vaso... the drop that made the glass overflow. My mom couldn't take it. She felt humiliated. My father said the divorce was humiliating tohim. Later, my mom learnt that the other pregnancy wasn't real, but it was too late. Everything was signed."

She secured me in her arms, one set of fingers continuing the hypnotizing rhythm in my hair, the other making soothing circles on my skin.

I sighed. "When my father complains about my mother, he insists he loved her. That she should have been happy with the life of comfort he gave her and should have complied with her role as his wife. To look the other way when he relieved stress or had a bit of fun with a side piece or two—his words. That having relationshipfranchisesis expected of a man of his position. That the fact she chose to divorce him was an attack on his status and reputation. In that caste in Chile, people don't divorce, simple as that. The wives are just expected to put up with it."

Her heart, now calmer, became the diapason to my story. My words tuned to the pitch of her beats.

I listened to the pattern in her chest. "From the pieces I put together through the years living in Chile with my mother, and then living with my father; plus what my lawyers explained fromtheir divorce documents and my mom's will, they put all of this on paper back then. Apparently, my dad said something to the effect that she would see she'd been in the wrong when their son—me—grew up to be just like him. That if she couldn't love my dad, then she wouldn't love me. That he could hold my future in his hands in any way he wanted. My mom said she'd raise me to be different from him, and prove my dad being who he is was a choice. One thing led to another, and he challenged her to prove it. That if she trusted I'd be so different, despite having the same privileges, the same circles, the same culture, the same gender, his genes, the money… then she wouldn't mind putting it into paper. My mom took the opportunity to protect my inheritance but ended up sacrificing a lot. My dad strong-armed her and got lost in his own ridiculous terms, just to prove a point. And now we're here."

Her gasp was faint, but I heard it in the quiet of our room. Felt it in the rapid shift to her chest. "All while you were a baby. Not even born yet. So you grew up with all of that hanging over your head?"

"I think my mom tried to be better. She found comfort in the fact that no one could touch what she saw as my rightful patrimony, even if he ever had children with someone else. He didn't, and he kept on making more and more money, to the point where I'm the sole heir to an obscene fortune. He can't even dissolve it and give it to the shareholders without my permission… and I'm not giving it tohisshareholders.Looking back… I think that, even though my mom was bitter, she tried to teach me to be different from him. She planted enough seeds that when she got sick and died, I already knew I wanted to be different from him. Except that I went through my teen years living with him, and he worked hard at pointing out all the ways in which I was growing up to be just like him."

"Oh, Max." She kissed my forehead. "You're not like him. He's just too self-grandiose to realize that and love you as you deserve."

"Am I that different, though? Here I am, asking you to play the role of my wife, and asking you to think that the money I offered you is enough. That's exactly the way he thinks. By marrying you the way I did, I'm doing what he would have under the same circumstances. In a way, I'm proving him right, except I still get the prize."

"No, darling—" she shifted on the bed, so we could look into each other's eyes. She didn't seem to have useddarlingon purpose, or to tease. "You're missing one hell of a difference here. I agreed to it. Your mom never did. You've respected not only our deal, but what I wanted every step of the way. Your dad wouldn't do that."

Her eyes, always so serious, shone with conviction. My heart redoubled its pace.

My head on her arm, I closed my eyes and rested my forehead on hers.

"I don't want us to be together for money," I whispered. "I really, really don't want to be like my dad."

"You're not. I would have noticed, don't you think?" Her fingers raked my hair. It made me want to purr, and dissolve into her. "I told you when you found me at rEvalution two weeks after Vegas. I would have divorced you two weeks into it if I didn't like you. It's not the first time I tell you this. Will you believe me, this time?"