Alexander could’ve left her money, but instead, he’d chosen to give her the mansion. He’d wanted her to live here.
The home was her destiny. She felt it as strongly as she knew her own name. The vision she’d had in George’s office cemented that fact. She put down her fork and finished off her second glass of wine for some liquid courage.
“I know, but I feel connected to this house, as if it were fated to be mine. As a child, I never knew where I’d go to sleep at night. I had a duffel bag with clothes and a teddy bear. That’s it.”
“Two million would—”
She interrupted, knowing if she didn’t tell him her story now, she may never get the courage again.
“It’s not the money. This house is a link to the family I’ve never gotten the opportunity to know. If my mother hadn’t shuffled us around, I might’ve been a part of the Stavros celebrations. My aunt would’ve baked apple pies for me. It’s about having a permanent place to hang my clothes and rest a stuffed animal. You can’t know what it’s like to move one day and realize your favorite and only possession in the world was left behind.”
Pity shadowed his eyes. “Your teddy bear?”
Squeezing her eyes shut to blink back the tears, she nodded. “It wasn’t anything special. Just a brown bear with a red bow around its neck. But I loved it. My mom offered to get me a new one, but she didn’t understand. I didn’t want another bear. I wanted that one. It was the single constant in my life for twelve years. Since I lost him, I haven’t had anything else that belonged to me other than my clothes. I want to go to bed at night secure in the knowledge I won’t have to pack up my belongings the following morning.”
“I’m sorry.” He poured the remaining liquid from the bottle into her glass.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about her vision, but he’d never believe her. Her stomach churned like a tumultuous sea. Already tipsy, she took another sip of wine and shuddered from its bitterness.
He chuckled. “Next time we want to drink, I’ll stop at Braden’s house. He has an extensive wine collection in his wine cellar. He owns a vineyard in Greece if you can believe it.”
“I take it he’s quite wealthy.” Her lips buzzed and her voice sounded far away. Am I drunk?
“Put it this way. My family has billions and it doesn’t come close to his fortune.”
“There’s something I don’t understand. If your family is wealthy, why are you broke?”
His fingers tapped a beat on the table. “Two years ago, I made a . . . bad choice and money had seemed like the only way to make things right. Now it’s all gone.”
Even tipsy on wine, she noticed the guilt in his eyes, heard it in his voice. To her, he’d grown up in the all-American family. Wealthy, privileged, and unbelievably close to one another according to her mother. The family Portia had dreamed of as a child.
“Maybe if you talked to your parents and—”
He shook his head. “It’s in the past. I’m over it. When it did come time for the family to trust me, they let me down and believed the worst.” He shrugged and rocked back in his chair. “We’re still civil to each other. We have dinner at the holidays and I put on my happy face at their charity fundraisers. But I no longer count on them.”
She curled her hand into a fist, suppressing the desire to take his hand and soothe him. “Why didn’t you tell them the truth?”
He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at her. “I shouldn’t have needed to explain to anyone what I did with the money. Not to them and not to you.”
His defensive behavior shocked her. She’d thought after sharing her struggles with her mother, he’d trust her enough to tell her the truth. “Without an explanation, what are we supposed to think happened to your millions?”
For a moment, her words seemed to penetrate, his gaze softening and his body relaxing. Then, as if on fire, he shot out of his chair, tipping it over. “You’re supposed to think . . .” He raked his fingers through his hair. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” He picked up the chair and took a couple steps away from the table. “Thank you for dinner, but I’m going to bed.”
He stomped out of the room and his heavy footsteps pounded on the stairs. When the bedroom door slammed, she flinched as if he’d slapped her.
So much for trust and honesty.
She finished off the rest of the wine and cleared the table, bringing the dishes to the sink. Foregoing the dishwasher in lieu of hand washing in an effort to save on utilities, she scrubbed the plates much harder than necessary and wondered if she and Ryan would ever finish a conversation without one of them storming out of the room.