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

by Agnes Canestri

  I swallow to send the lump forming in my throat on its way. “Well, I was wrong. You’re rather a six-point-five. Good that we checked. So you need to measure twice your palm and then add a bit to get the right distance.”

  Eva pulls her hand back, but just before we separate, her thumb brushes on a rougher patch of skin on my index finger. “How did you get this? Probably not from hovering over a keyboard, right?”

  “My favorite sport is climbing. The pressure on your grip is prone to giving you calluses.”

  “Climbing? Huh, that explains the—” She breaks off and bites her lip.

  “Explains…what?”

  “Your wide shoulders. I wondered how you got those.”

  She wondered about my figure? Now if that isn’t a good sign…

  I arch my back a little so that my pectorals become more evident. “Ah, so you noticed them.”

  The previous dark pink returns to her cheeks, making my chest quiver. Eva drops her gaze and begins to measure the right distance with her palms. When she’s done, she throws a questioning look at me. “Good?”

  “That seems about right.” I agree distractedly because my thoughts are still occupied with how adorable Eva looks when she’s flustered. “I can dig the holes,” I add. “Let’s keep your palms for our measurement.”

  We spend the next twenty minutes or so working side by side. We use Eva’s hands to establish the correct spots for the seedlings, and I gouge the pits with my spade. After we’re done with one line, I carry a crate over and set it by the holes. The one with red flowers, since it’s the one Eva wanted to begin with.

  Eva, meanwhile, procures us gloves so that we don’t get dirty when actually planting the begonias. The ones she gives me must have belonged to her step-father, and they sit too tight on my hands, but I don’t complain. To tell the truth, I hardly notice the uncomfortable pressure at all. I’m too distracted with the chat Eva and I are having.

  Our movements are synchronized like a well-oiled machine, so that we don’t have to waste any words on establishing who pinches the transplants out of the pots and who covers them with soil. This leaves us plenty of occasion to discuss our lives instead.

  I can’t fathom how easy it is to speak with Eva and how much fun I’m having with her. I don’t have to pretend that I care about what she has to share with me because I actually do.

  Eva seems at ease with me, too. It’s as if the common denominator, gardening, dissolves all the barriers that should supposedly stand in our way. Like that we come from different cultural, social, and financial backgrounds.

  We touch upon so many different topics like how I refurbished my house, Eva’s dancer friends, her grandmother’s church, Murphy’s weird sense of hairstyle—she brings it up, so I don’t feel that bad about commenting on it.

  We even speak about my work. A subject I’ve been meaning to avoid, because bringing it up with the bet on the line, would tense me up. But guess what? Explaining to Eva about what I usually do in the office feels natural. I soon find myself narrating to her a tough negotiation I just recently had with the head of a big medical device firm.

  Eva asks me questions about my meeting partner, then throws in such interesting insights that I almost gasp. “I understand your annoyance about Mr. Richmond’s reluctance to let your team take over his office when that’s exactly why he contacted you.” She nods. “But you should look at it from his perspective, too. If your men invade his offices, his employees might start to feel disposable. I know I would. I’d think, ‘Hey, here are these new people doing the same job I’m supposed to do, but they are better at it. It won’t be long before I’m fired.’”

  I move to lift a begonia, but freeze in mid-movement.

  My gaze snaps to her face. “I think you just pinpointed the real issue, Eva.” How can this be? Zach and I discussed Mr. Richmond’s contradictory attitude over the phone, yet neither of us managed to see Mr. Richmond’s deal as clearly as Eva just explained. Thanks to her, I realize that if we offer for our analyst to work remotely so they won’t invade their office space, then the sign-off process will likely turn into a piece of cake.

  Eva blushes as she hears my kudos. “I’m glad if I helped,” she mumbles, then her gaze moves to the line of flowers we’ve just finished and she smiles. “These begonias give so much color. I think Abuelita will be in seventh heaven. She’s wanted me to fix this garden ever since I came home from Silver Hills.”

  The garden does look a lot neater, and we’ve only planted half of the flowers I bought. But my attention is hung up on Eva’s last words. “Silver Hills? You lived there?”

  “Yes. I moved there three years after Mom died. Shortly after my step-father’s death.”

  I tilt my head to the side feeling slightly fazed. Despite the variety of subjects we’ve addressed, the fact that Eva has lived anywhere but San Sebastian never came up.

  Why did I assume she has always been tied down to this town?

  I sit back on my heels and take off my gloves. “Did you need a change of scenery? After all that happened to you, nobody could blame you.”

  Eva shrugs. “I guess. Though if I’m honest, losing my step-dad was also a tiny bit of a relief. Henry was a great guy, but with Mom gone, he’d lost his way. He started to drink and eventually the alcohol got the better of him.”

  “I’m amazed how you and your family managed to endure so much misfortune. How did you cope with the pain and stay so normal?”

  “I’m not sure I qualify for that term.” She gives me a sweet smile.

  But she certainly does. Eva, despite the bad cards that were handed to her, seems a balanced person. Very vigilant, yes, but still full of fire and spunk. What’s her secret?

  She pulls off her gloves, too, and wipes her forehead with her hand. “Abuelita always says that there are two ways of facing challenges. One is to lie down and pretend you’re dead so that nobody kicks you. The other is to pick up the fight and give it all you’ve got.” Her eyes drift to the window behind my back. “Of course, the way my grandmother interprets a fight is different from how I do—she is so good and forgiving that I constantly feel inept when I’m with her.”

  I reach out and smooth a curl behind her ear. “I’m sure she’s proud of you. People, above all those who are the closest to us, often have the hardest time showing us their appreciation.”

  “That’s a pretty wise thing to say,” Eva whispers while she plays with her glove.

  I nod and keep to myself that I’ve borrowed my aunt’s wisdom. Even if, as I say the words, I realize how true they are for the first time. Indeed, Marjorie’s favorite phrase perfectly describes my relationship with Murphy or Mother too.

  To distract myself from this bothering thought, I steer the conversation back to Eva. “Why did you move back home?”

  Eva throws me a quick side-glance. Her eyes are wide and her jaw clenched as if she didn’t expect my question and isn’t particularly happy about it. “Abuelita is getting old. There’s need for a firm hand with my siblings if we want them to become honest citizens in this barrio. My grandmother isn’t able to bear this responsibility alone anymore. So I need to be here to help her.”

  I detect a dark edge in her voice when she mentions her neighborhood. Before I can inquire more, a loud yell cuts through the air.

  “Eeeevaaaa! Come! ¡Apurate! Hurry! Juan messed up! Biii-iiiig time!”

  The voice sounds like it’s coming from the driveway and belongs to a young girl.

  “Oh, no. Not again.” Eva’s jaw tightens and she jumps up. Without looking at me, she sprints along the path leading to the street. A second later a squeaking, “¡Oh, santo cielo! Dear heaven!” echoes from their house’s crumbly walls.

  My Spanish isn’t good, but I know this exclamation. Eva’s voice is an octave higher than I’ve ever heard her speak. I straighten, and without wasting time to dust off my pants, I rush to her.

  Chapter 12

  (Nathan)

  As I reach the porc
h, I look around. I can’t find anything that should have prompted Eva’s shock.

  She stands beside a little girl who has the same rich shade of brown hair as her, except the child wears it in two cheeky pigtails.

  I follow the direction of their gazes, and then I see it.

  My new Bentley has gotten some…decorations. Its metallic grey color, the hue of the stormy Pacific Ocean, if I recall the vendor’s pitch correctly, is partially covered up with yellow smudges. Chalk spray paint maybe?

  Eva blinks at me with wide eyes. “Oh, Nathan. I-I-I…it was Juan…my brother. He’s been playing the artist lately.”

  “I see,” I murmur, still studying the curvy lines on my car door. Are they meant to be a spider or somebody’s head? It’s difficult to tell.

  Eva grabs my hand. “I’ll pay for your damage. I will. Don’t worry.”

  I turn and see her lips trembling. She isn’t going to cry, is she? It’s just a car. Nothing world-shattering. Of course I liked my ride’s original color better, but it isn’t irreparable damage. “No, Eva. It’s okay,” I reassure her, while secretly enjoying the warmth that seeps into my skin from her touch. “It’s not a big deal. There’s always a risk of getting some damage when you park outside.”

  Sure, I’d anticipated a broken mirror and not some doodle in the shade of a sunflower…but still. It isn’t anything money can’t fix.

  The little girl points at my car. “Look, Juan didn’t even paint those trees properly. They have no trunks.”

  Oh, so they aren’t spiders.

  Eva narrows her eyes. “Espie, stop! Rather, go and get your brother. I reckon he’s hiding upstairs.”

  Her sister disappears.

  Eva releases my hand, dropping her gaze. “As I said, I’ll pay for the damage, Nathan. No question about that.”

  What? Does she think I would accept money from her to renew my car’s glossing? I shake my head. “I hope you’re kidding. It’s not a tragedy. I don’t want you to pay me anything. Kids play stupid games sometimes. No need for you to use your family’s savings to adjust my Bentley. A good scrubbing will be probably enough to erase your brother’s painting. If not, I’ll just get a new color or sell the car. It’s not like this is the only one I own.” I add this last part with a grin, not to make an impression on her, but to ease the obvious tension she’s feeling.

  Eva bites on her lower lip. “No, no. I insist. I can’t fathom what got into Juan.”

  Just as she mentions his name, the boy appears. Espie is dragging him by his elbow. “Here he is. I found him,” she declares triumphantly.

  Eva steps to Juan, her face an unreadable mask. I expect her to scream at him, given how enraged she looked when she first saw my car. And I thought she’d been furious about the begonias.

  Eva, however, surprises me by kneeling down eye-level with the boy. “Abuelita told me that punishment can’t teach anything. Only love can. So first come here.” She pulls him into a hug.

  Juan’s face drifts into a confused grimace. “Aren’t you angry?”

  Eva releases him. “You bet I am. Absolutely infuriated. But I don’t want to unleash it on you before knowing why you did this. So, tell me…why did you paint on Nathan’s car?”

  Juan punts a stone, and it flies through the air with a loud swish. He throws me a side-glance.

  Is he evaluating my take on the situation? Or maybe he’s afraid of speaking in front of me?

  Looking at his guilty little face, I recall the time I filled my step-father’s drawers with raw eggs and broke them once I settled them on his underwear. A mean prank now that I think of it. Almost as stupid as chalk-painting a luxury car.

  Eva’s patience seems to diminish the longer Juan’s silence stretches. She straightens up and stomps her left foot. “Juan! I’m really working against my basic instinct here. I want to follow Abuelita’s peaceful approach, but I can tell you that if you don’t start speaking soon, I’ll—”

  I put a hand on her back. I don’t want her to say something she might regret later. I’m responsible for this whole situation. If I hadn’t forced my gift and company on her, maybe her brother would’ve found a different way to channel his Picasso vibes.

  Eva turns her head to me and our eyes meet. She lifts a brow.

  “Would you let me talk to Juan? Like man to man?” I ask.

  Her mouth opens into a circle as if she’s flabbergasted by my words, but she steps back. “All yours.”

  I drop down to the boy’s height and stretch my hand toward him. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Nathan.”

  The boy observes my hand, trying to guess what kind of a game I’m playing with him.

  I need to ease him into speaking with me, so I add, “I see you’re a bit of an artist. Do you have a favorite color when you paint?”

  His lips twitch. “Yellow.”

  Well, that figures. I blink at the bright scribbly lines on my car’s hood.

  Juan sucks in a breath as if preparing for my scolding.

  I turn back to him and widen my grin. “I like yellow, too. Though I guess the best place for this color isn’t a car. Maybe it would look nicer on a stone wall. Or on paper. What do you think?” I wink at him.

  Juan’s mouth moves into a smile. “I guess.”

  “So if we agree on this, would you tell me why you decided to use my car as your canvas?”

  Juan’s eyes flick to Eva, then he bends forward to me, lowering his voice. “I wanted to teach you a lesson. I can paint much nicer things than the ones on your car.”

  My brows arch. “A lesson? Why?”

  “Because you’re rich,” Juan says matter-of-factly, as if his words explain everything.

  I hear Eva stir behind us. I blink up at her. She’s chewing on her lower lip as if she’s embarrassed by her brother’s words.

  “Rich people need to learn they can’t expect things to fall into their laps,” Juan continues, encouraged by the fact that nobody is screaming at him.

  I wonder who taught him this? I stifle a smile. “Oh, really? How interesting. And you thought I would learn this if you paint on my car?”

  Juan bobs his head side to side so that his thick black curls flutter. “I don’t know. But I thought you might be furious. And perhaps Eva would be happy.”

  “Eva?” I echo.

  “Yes. Eva says rich people should work for things like the rest of us. I don’t know why she hangs out with you. Probably because you look like the Duke.”

  “The Duke?” I flash a questioning glance at Eva, who is almost as red as the ruby necklace Mother bought herself last month.

  “It’s a guy in Eva’s favorite TV show,” Espie chimes in, but Eva pokes her on the arm and she stops.

  I return my attention to Juan, still intrigued that I apparently look like some royal figure from Eva’s preferred serial. Would that be a plus or a minus point for me? Should I get the title and google this Duke person?

  “So you don’t like me hanging around with your sister?” I ask the boy.

  Juan eyes me from head to toe. “Well, you’re way cooler than I expected. But if you’re going to keep turning up here, you have to get your rich stuff straight, okay? I’m the man in the house now since Alejandro is in—”

  Eva jumps over to Juan and puts her hand on his mouth. “That’s quite enough cockiness for a little boy who just destroyed a half-million-dollar ride, don’t you think?”

  Juan’s glance darts to the floor.

  “Why don’t you ask Nathan for his forgiveness instead and come up with a clever way to remedy your error?”

  “Sorry,” Juan mumbles, mortified, but then his face reanimates as if something just occurred to him. “If you want, Nathan…” He blinks at me. “I could wash off the paint for you. It’s just chalk. Abuelita always makes me wash her sedan, so I’m a real pro.”

  My heart squeezes from his offer and his cute way of selling it to me. The sight of the proud glint in Eva’s eyes at Juan’s words deepens t
he twitch in my chest a tick more.

  If they aren’t a lovely family…

  I smile at them. “That’s a wonderful offer, Juan. Thank you. But as I told your sister, there is absolutely no need for this. My car gets washed each morning anyway. Though probably not as professionally as you could do it.” I wink at him then turn to Eva. “I’m sure Juan could use his time more wisely…as long as you agree with it, of course.”

  Eva nods. “Yes, if you are fine with his apology this way, then yes.” She squints at her siblings. “Juan, Espie, say goodbye to Nathan, then go upstairs and get on with your homework for school tomorrow.”

  Before the kids leave, I bend to Juan’s ear and I lower my voice to sound conspiratorial, while just loud enough for Eva to hear. “Just between us, I think your sister is right. We rich people sometimes do take the easy way out instead of putting in the effort. But I, for one, don’t want to do this ever again.”

  Eva blushes at my words.

  Juan glances up at me. “We might become friends.”

  “I’d love that.” I grin at him.

  “Now, you two, hurry inside and go straight to your rooms,” Eva commands.

  Espie takes Juan’s hand and they head to the entrance.

  When her siblings are gone, Eva and I stare at each other, as if neither of us can establish what to say next. Well, from my side, it’s actually a strategic silence. I want to know what she thinks about my last words and whether she has seized the real meaning behind them.

  Eva runs her fingers through her hair. “I wouldn’t have thought so when I saw you in the bar, but if you weren’t about to become CEO, I could totally picture you as a teacher.”

  “A teacher?”

  I almost choke on my words.

  “Yes, you were so great with Juan. Really tuned in with him. I bet other kids would be just as easy for you to handle.”

  “You just say this because you’ve never seen me with my employees.”