Page 167 of Blue Gold

“Can we move here?” he asked, making me frown.

“I beg your pardon?”

“To California. Maybe we can move here.”

My face scrunched up because was he delusional? Me, a proud New Yorker, moving to… California? Never. Ready to shut down his insane idea, I turned to scold him when I saw the big smile he had on his face, stretching from ear to ear. He seemed so happy and calm⁠—

“We could.”

Wait, what?

“Really?” Elliot gasped, hands pressed together.

Of course not.

“Yes, why not?”

For God’s sake, Daniel, shut your mouth⁠—

“Thank you!” Elliot beamed as he tossed himself at me, his arms wrapped tightly around my body.

As I melted into his hug, the idea of moving here slowly sank in. I mean, I always complained about New York anyway… so I guess it wouldn’t be too bad? Of course, Maya would make it a bit more complicated to pull off, but having her live with Claudia made it easier. I could always go back and forth, as I had for the last four months⁠—

“You’re already thinking about how to make it work, aren’t you?”

Looking down, I found Elliot smiling at me. Being locked under his captivating eyes made my cheeks heat up. Hoping he wouldn’t catch me blushing like a kid, I looked aside, only to notice the bag I’d brought with me.

I had nearly forgotten about it.

“Come here,” I said, taking his hand as I walked us back to the stone bench. I made him sit first before doing the same.

“What is it? Did Vito send something with you again?” he asked as I grabbed my bag from the ground and placed it over my lap.

“Not quite.”

Pulling out what I was looking for, I handed it to Elliot. With a scowl, he stared at the thick paper folder.

“Are you bringing me divorce papers again?” he asked, flipping the folder to look at its back.

“Just look inside,” I urged him.

“Someone really needs to teach you what counts as romantic,” he laughed, shaking his head after he opened the folder to take out⁠—

“More files.” He grimaced.

“Stop being a brat, and read what it says.”

“It’s all in English.” He tried handing the file back to me when I pushed his hand away.

“Try.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

For once, doing what he was told, Elliot dropped his eyes to the file as he started reading aloud, the crease between his brows growing the more he read.

“C-certtificat-e of i-incor— What is this word? Why so long?” he snarled in English.

“It says certificate of incorporation,” I clarified, pointing over the line.