My heart started beating out of control when I saw his name. I didn’t have the courage to immediately read the text because no matter what, I knew it was going to disrupt the calm mood of this night. I didn’t know why I was so scared. It wasn’t like things with Elec could have gotten any worse, unless of course he was contacting me to formally announce his engagement, which would have devastated me.
I breathed in, finished off my wine in one long gulp then counted to ten before looking down at the message.
I want you to read it.
CHAPTER 18
One simple sentence, and any small progress I’d made this weekend in trying to forget him went down the tubes. My hand was shaking as I pondered a response.
He wanted me to read the autobiography he was working on. Why now? Of all the things he could have said, this was the last thing I expected.
The thought of finding out everything I’d always wondered about was absolutely exciting and terrifying all at once—mostly terrifying. Even though I was certain there were parts that would upset me, I already knew what my reply to him would be. How could I have said no?
I would love to read it.
Elec: I know this is out of left field, especially after how we left things.
His response had been immediate as if he were waiting for my answer.
Greta: I certainly wasn’t expecting this.
Elec: I don’t trust anyone else to read it. I need it to be you.
Greta: How will you send it to me?
Elec: I can email it to you tonight.
Tonight? I knew then and there that I’d definitely be calling out of work tomorrow. There was no way I would be able to stop reading once I started. What was I getting myself into?
Greta: Okay.
Elec: It’s not finished, but it’s pretty long.
Greta: I’ll check my email in a bit for it.
Elec: Thank you.
Greta: You’re welcome.
I poured the rest of the bottle into my glass and couldn’t inhale the night air deeply enough. The smell of the neighbor’s previously appetizing barbecue was now making me sick.
I climbed off the balcony and into my bedroom through the window. Opening my laptop, I anxiously typed in my email password too fast, having to try it several times before it went through correctly.
There in bold right at the top was a new email from Elec O’Rourke. The subject simply was My Book. There was no message in the body of the email, just a Word document attached. I immediately converted it to another format so that I could read it on my kindle.
I knew that this story was going to devastate me. There were going to be revelations that would explain Randy and Elec’s behavior toward each other.
What I wasn’t expecting was to be completely gutted by the very first sentence.
***
Prologue: The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far
I am my brother’s bastard child.
Confused yet?
Imagine how I felt when that bomb was dropped on me.
From the time I was fourteen, though, that revelation has defined me.
My miserable childhood would have made a hell of a lot more sense if I had become privy to that minor detail sooner.
The secret was never supposed to come out. The plan was to have me believe that the man who degraded me for as long as I could comprehend words was my father.
When he left my mother for another woman, Mami would eventually have a nervous breakdown and spill the truth one night about how I actually came to be. Once she’d divulged all of the sickening details, I couldn’t figure out who was worse: the man I always believed was my father or the sperm donor I never had a chance to meet.
The fucked up story of my life actually began over 25 years ago in Ecuador. That was where a U.S. businessman who emigrated from Ireland, Patrick O’Rourke, spotted a beautiful teenage girl selling her artwork on the street.
Her name was Pilar Solis. Patrick always had a penchant for art and beautiful women, so he was instantly mesmerized. With her exotic beauty and extreme talent, she was unlike anyone he’d ever come across.
But she was young, and he was leaving soon. That didn’t stop him from going after what he wanted.
Patrick was a higher-up at a U.S. coffee powerhouse. They’d tasked him with overseeing the purchase of some crops outside of Quito.
The only thing Patrick had been overseeing was Pilar.
He’d visit her street cart every morning and bought a painting each day until eventually, he’d purchased them all. Pilar’s paintings were a main source of income for her large, impoverished family. All of the images depicted intricate stained-glass windows painted from memory.
Patrick became obsessed—more with the girl than her art. His trip was supposed to have only lasted three weeks, but he extended it to six.
Unbeknownst to Pilar, Patrick wasn’t going home unless he could take her with him.