Law #1: Never Bet on Love: A Sweet Billionaire Love Story (Laws of Love)

by Agnes Canestri

  Nathan stares at me as if he’s thinking over what I’ve just said.

  His silence gives my treacherous eyes a chance to examine how his biceps bulge forward as he holds the massive crate in his arms. Luckily, he decides to speak again, making me jerk up. Otherwise, my eyes might have stayed glued on his muscular arms for eternity.

  “I see what you mean. Like the diamond earrings.” His cheeks drift into a proud expression as if he’s just figured out some crucial enigma. “I’ll try to keep in mind that you feel uncomfortable with such gallantries for our future meetings.”

  Future meetings?

  Before I can react to his matter-of-fact assumption that we’ll keep seeing each other—an unwise idea, considering the breathiness that overcame me as I stared at his arms a second ago—my brother comes out of the house.

  “What are you doing, Eva?” Juan barks.

  His voice is pretty mature for an eight-year-old boy when he wants to sound accusing. It almost resembles that of his father, Henry.

  The unexpected memory of my deceased step-dad highjacks me, and Nathan chimes in before I can open my mouth. “Hi there, buddy,” he says, greeting my brother. “Would you mind showing me the entrance to your backyard? I need to put these begonias down. They’re starting to feel like lead.”

  Juan’s eyes round into two giant circles at Nathan’s words. He points at the small wooden door to our left. “You can take them this way.”

  “Thanks, little man.” Nathan grins at him. “Could you open it for me? My hands are…uhm, occupied.”

  Juan pulls the door ajar, and Nathan takes the path to behind our house.

  As soon as he’s gone, my brother gives me a glassy stare. “It’s the same man who came by yesterday. You said he was lost. Is he lost again?”

  I shove my hands into my pockets, avoiding his miffed face. Telling my brother that Nathan’s GPS broke down a second time would be futile anyway.

  Juan’s glance wanders to Nathan’s car and his tiny nose wrinkles. “He’s rich, isn’t he?”

  I can’t negate the evidence. Juan is an expert on cars, so I can’t say that Nathan’s Bentley is just a tune-up of a simple vehicle. It’s obvious that no normal guy, or even an average wealthy one, could drive around in this full-option miracle ride.

  I nod reluctantly. “Yes, he is.”

  My voice has a shameful edge I don’t want to have. At least, not in front of my little brother. After all, I’m the older one and I know what I’m doing. Besides, I didn’t break any unwritten rule by letting Nathan drive me home.

  Juan doesn’t seem to think the same way. His cheeks turn rosy as he pokes me in my belly. “Eva, you told us to stay away from Daddy Warbucks. So why didn’t you?”

  I can’t recall having ever used this particular expression with him or Espie, but it’s probably not the right moment to correct my brother. He’s upset with me as it is. So I just bite on my lower lip and keep silent.

  Juan puts his fists to his hips. “You said they take things for granted. Why are you hanging out with one of them?”

  It’s weird to be told off by someone half my size and roughly one third of my age. But I realize that I deserve his words. With Mom and Henry gone, and Abuelita so old, I’m the role model my siblings need to look up to. I can’t preach water and drink wine—or however that saying goes.

  The problem is that I’m starting to have some nagging doubts about whether Nathan in particular is as bad as the rich man stereotype I’ve built up in my head.

  Shoot, Nathan. He could be back any minute for a new load of begonias. I need to soothe my brother’s fury somehow before that happens. I bend down and pat Juan’s head. “Nathan is only giving me a hand with the plants I bought for Abuelita.” Well, technically Nathan bought them, but I’m not mixing that into our chat. “After that, he’ll be on his way. Besides, he might be different than the average wealthy guy.”

  Juan purses his lips. “You’re just saying this because he looks like that hunky man from your favorite telenovela.”

  “That’s not true,” I snap, feeling the familiar sensation of blushing spread on my face.

  Even though, now that Juan mentioned it, Nathan does bear some resemblance to Wilhelm Cockney, the Duke in Roses and Love. Not only in his looks. In the story, Juliana refuses the Duke because of an old quarrel between their families, but the Duke keeps coming back to her until he proves he’s worthy of her attention.

  Nathan returns, and I glance at him.

  Oh goodness, Nathan’s grey eyes are far more bewitching than that British actor’s.

  Nathan gives us a grin. “First crate is in place. I’ll get the next.” He steps over to his car and this time fetches one from his backseat.

  Juan snorts, then shakes his head. Without a further word, he goes back inside.

  “Is your brother okay?” Nathan asks.

  “Yeah, yeah. He’s just…eager to get back to his computer game.”

  Nathan nods. “Oh, I see.” He trudges toward the backyard again.

  I exhale loudly.

  Well, that didn’t go so great with my brother. Maybe it’s not Señor Moreno’s gossip I should be afraid of. I press a hand to my rumbling stomach. A phrase Nathan said me in the car comes back to me.

  You know, people usually are drawn to me because I have money. You seem to flee me for the exact same reason. Isn’t it ironic?

  Somehow Juan’s negative reaction makes me feel sorry for Nathan. And also a little guilty, because the hostility my brother showed must’ve been fueled by my teachings. It can’t be easy to live with the stigma of wealth all the time. Perhaps similar to that of poverty? Or that of coming from an immigrant family? In all of these cases, people observe you through a lens that distorts their vision.

  A cold fills my chest.

  Maybe I should cut Nathan some slack and let him show how he is as a person? Would that be too risky?

  A hand on my shoulder makes me whirl around.

  Nathan is back. “I’m done. All the begonias are in the garden.”

  My eyes flick to the car. Both the trunk and the backseats are empty.

  Did he make all the trips without me realizing? More importantly, did he see me standing here, daydreaming about him?

  I shrug, hoping to jumpstart my brain. It works halfway. A part of me is still contemplating whether allowing myself some liberty with Nathan could lead to peril or not. “Ah, thanks. So, I hope you can get your car clean.”

  Nathan smiles. “Surely. Don’t worry about that. Rather, tell me, where shall we start planting the flowers?”

  “What?”

  “The begonias. Would you prefer them along the fence or closer to the sidewalk?”

  I shake my head. “You’re not planting these with me.”

  “Why not?” His face is genuinely surprised.

  “Because you’ve already done enough. Also, do you even have a clue about gardening?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. I went to a boarding school where my greatest friend was an old gardener. Old Sam. I spent a lot of time helping him out.”

  “Your folks sent you to a boarding school? I thought most rich kids are home-schooled.”

  Nathan lifts a brow. “Why is that?”

  “I don’t even know where I got this idea, either. It’s just what I’ve always pictured. Maybe because, if I had enough money, I’d love to keep my kids at home and get the best teachers. First, to spend time with them between classes and, second, to prevent them from turning into spoiled bullies because they’ve got everything else except parental affection. Oops…”

  I clap my hand to my mouth. Too late. By the time I realize how my words sound, they’re already out.

  Nathan’s face steels, and a quick spasm runs down below his left eye.

  “I’m so sorry,” I mumble, dropping my glance. “I sometimes have a problem keeping my opinions to myself. I didn’t mean to imply that your parents…”

  “No, it’s fine.” Nathan’s mask sof
tens into a weak smile. “You’re not that far off. Even if I don’t think I’m a spoiled bully.”

  Then I must be right about the lack of parental affection. I swallow, not knowing what to say. How did we get from begonias to talking about such a somber topic?

  Think, say something positive. “At least you’ve had your brother there with you, right?”

  “No. Murphy was homeschooled. He was too young when my father died. As a baby, he didn’t have the same problems with my step-father as I did, so Mother never had a reason to send him away.”

  Oh, my! So much for enlivening the atmosphere.

  I kick a small pebble with my left foot, and it flies toward the open garden door. I dare a fleeting glance at Nathan.

  He’s staring right at me.

  Has he been watching me all this time?

  I don’t know if it’s the effect of his penetrating gaze or my guilt about having assumed that his life has been always peachy, but a confession I don’t usually share with random strangers bubbles up. “I lost my mother. And my father. Well, my step-father. My real father, I never even knew him.”

  Nathan’s posture stiffens. “When did you lose them?”

  The tone of his voice is warm, and somehow he doesn’t come across as prying. So I decide to answer. “My mom died seven years ago, just after the birth of Esperanza, my little sister.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. I know what it means growing up without a parent…”

  The sad edge of his words makes me wonder whether my previous assumption was correct and, once again, my mouth moves too fast. “Don’t you have a good relationship with your mother?”

  Nathan’s lips move into a bitter smile. “As adults, we get along fairly well. But I didn’t have much of a relationship with her growing up. At least, not once I went to study at St. James. There, I had more engaging conversations with the aforementioned gardener than with anyone in my family. Perhaps my aunt is an exception.”

  My previous guilt returns, but it isn’t a little twitch anymore. It’s now literally twisting my guts in a painful way. I called Nathan arrogant because he invited me to spend a day with him when we met, but the one who really acted presumptuously was me. I had assumed that even his most upsetting experiences must’ve been nothing but nuisances compared to the issues I had to deal with, because he’s rich.

  Apparently I was wrong. Very wrong.

  I study his face. Though his jaw is still set in the same resentful smirk, his eyes hide a profound sorrow. Something he’s probably not even aware of. Seeing his expression, I’m suddenly sure that Nathan didn’t have a better life than I did. True, I’ve never known my father, but I had a wonderful mother. I’ve known real parental love. Abuelita still loves me with that kind of unconditional affection.

  A wish to redeem myself invades me. I capture his gaze and smile. “You said you’re good with gardening, huh? You know, your help could be useful, after all. I’d love to finish everything before my grandmother gets home.” I don’t care if any of our prying neighbors sees me inviting Nathan in, or his car in our doorway. They can think what they want.

  “Really?” His face lights up.

  I glance at my watch. “Yes. I have only three hours left. So what do you say? Feel like getting dirty with me?”

  His mouth moves into a coy grin. “I’d love to get dirty with you. I thought you’d never ask.”

  As he repeats my foolishly chosen words, their not-so-subtle double-meaning dawns on me. To avoid the embarrassment getting the best of me, I quickly pivot toward garden. “Then let’s go. A forest of begonias is waiting for us.”

  Chapter 11

  (Nathan)

  “So, Mr. Green Thumb, according to your expertise, where shall we start?”

  Eva blinks at me, and as our glances cross, her lips curl up. Her smile is different now than before. It’s more symmetrical, more heartfelt.

  A giddy sensation spreads in my chest, and I’m not entirely sure it’s for the right reason. But instead of stopping to worry about it, I focus on the task at hand. I need to live up to my self-advertised reputation as a gardener. “We need a location where the soil drains well. If there are still water puddles after a hard rain, your begonias won’t like it. They love half-shade and just the right amount of water.”

  Eva’s hand flies to her chest, her fingers opening like a fan. “Wow, okay, I guess you weren’t kidding when you praised your gardening skills. You are good.” Her tone is half-joking, half-abashed but without any hint of mocking.

  Her movement draws my attention to her perfectly sculpted collarbones, appetizingly framed by her white T-shirt’s heart-shaped neckline. “Of course I didn’t,” I reply, trying to keep my eyes from dipping. “I’m not sure if I should be offended that you doubted me or flattered by your unexpected compliment.”

  Eva winks. “The latter, please. I honestly meant it as praise.”

  She turns from me and saunters to a small, dingy shed.

  Though the distance she has to walk is only a few feet—their entire garden is probably as big as the walk-in closet in my condo—it gives me enough time to appreciate how delightfully slender her waist looks in her light-blue jeans.

  It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Eva has fabulously lean legs. She’s a dancer, after all. But my eyes still widen as my gaze glides along her long thighs. A peculiar manly warmth fills my belly, and my head conjures fantasies I probably shouldn’t contemplate at all.

  Gaining Eva’s interest is supposed to be a means to an end. But if I’m honest, there’s already a shift in my motivation. It’s pretty minor yet, but if I let my mind wander unchecked, I could move off track rapidly, and that would have disastrous consequences.

  So when Eva pivots to me, forcing me to look up, I’m relieved and disappointed at the same time. She carries two small spades and hands one of them to me. “Here, this should do the job. Let’s start with the red seedlings. What do you think?”

  “It’s more efficient if we make the holes first, so that the flowers come out in one straight line and are well-spaced. The leaves and stems of begonias store lots of water, which makes them subject to mildew if they’re crowded together.”

  “Seriously?” Eva narrows her eyes. “Is this something you actually knew?”

  For a second, I ponder lying just to impress Eva, but then I remember my aunt’s advice and admit, “No, this last bit I heard from Cathy when I paid for the flowers.”

  My honesty earns me another appreciative grin, which makes me want to prove my worth to her even more. I quickly drop to my knees, not caring that my pants will get dirty. It’s a small price to pay to spend time with Eva and make her smile.

  Eva follows my example, then sits back on her heels. “You first. You’re the boss.”

  The way these last words tingle on her tongue doesn’t help tame my already erratic heartbeat. I squeeze my shovel, hoping to channel my inner havoc into digging a perfect first hole. After a few efficient movements, it’s ready. “Huh, I’m happy Old Sam’s teachings weren’t completely wasted on me,” I murmur, satisfied.

  Eva points her spade at the ground, but the place she chooses is too close to the first begonia. I put my hand on her wrist to halt her movement and a tiny zap sizzles through my fingers.

  Her eyes flick to mine. “What’s the matter?”

  “We need more distance,” I say, but my actual words get lost in a raspy murmur. Why does my voice have this permanent breathy quality when I’m with Eva?

  “How much?” she inquires.

  “Like fourteen inches.”

  “Fourteen inches, huh? That would be…” Her eyes scan the ground as if a ruler is supposed to pop up and advise her.

  I come to her aid. “The length of your palm twice.”

  “How do you know how big my hand is?” Her eyes are alarmed, as if she suddenly suspects me of having climbed into her bedroom while she slept just to measure her palms. Eva’s invitation to join her in the garden has made me almost forg
et how cautious she can be with me. But now, with the wariness back on her face, a doubt that occurred to me during our last meeting rushes back.

  Is there a more profound reason why Eva despises wealthy men so much? Maybe some past trauma? It’d be better to find it out sooner or later. Preferably sooner though. I can’t combat a ghost I don’t understand.

  “It’s an educated guess.” I hurry to calm her before her mistrust has a chance to fully develop. “We can easily check it if I’m right, but to do that, you’ll need to give me your hand.”

  She turns toward me, her facial muscles still tense. “Why would you need that?”

  “Because I know that my own hand is eleven inches long. So if I compare yours against mine, we can get a good estimate of its size.”

  “Eleven inches? Wow…that’s very long,” she murmurs, then presses her lips together as if she regrets what she just said. The color spreading on her cheeks resembles the scarlet hue of the begonias she wanted to start with.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask.

  She avoids my gaze. “Yes, it is.” But she’s still chewing vehemently on her lower lip which makes me think that she’s still feeling embarrassed.

  “It’s not like you offended me by saying I have big hands. It’s rather a compliment. You know what they say about big hands, right?” I wink at her.

  My joke is borderline flirtatious, but my intention is to ease up her tension.

  However, the way she winces makes me realize it might have been exactly this proverbial truth that made her flustered in the first place. Which also means that she might have thought… No, Nathan. Don’t even go there.

  And indeed I shouldn’t. I’m losing my composure with Eva already as it is. Any idea that could increase this odd prickle on my scalp needs to be banished from my head.

  I hold out my palm to her. “Here, let’s see if my guess was right or not.”

  She eyes my hand, then places hers into it. It’s slightly smaller than I assumed, but it sits perfectly on mine. Almost as if it was made to fit in my palm. Not to mention the soothing heat that sears into my skin from hers.