Isabella was not interested in falling in love. Marco was not looking for a relationship.
The perfect combination for a foolproof agreement.
Right?
*
Isabella Hammond, the first female billionaire in her city, is a smart, straightforward and stunni...
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SEVEN YEARS AGO
I don't know for how long I sit in my car, parked in our driveway.
I don't know how I even got there in the first place without actually hurting myself.
I don't know for how long I drove.
I just sit there because I can't see anything because of how my vision is constantly flooded by the tears that won't stop spilling from my eyes.
When I finally get the courage to open the door, I get out and stand there, looking up at the house I called home since I was nine and wondering how in the world I got to this exact place.
I'm sure my Dad is at work and no one inside the house knows I'm here.
Slower than I ever have, in a daze, I make my way to the door and knock.
An eternity passes.
An eternity of pain, where I relive what happened.
My Mom opens the door.
My Mom.
My Mom who was more of a mother to me than my own ever was.
My Mom who is my rock.
My Mom who became a Mom to a child who isn't even hers.
My Mom who loved that child who isn't hers so much more than he ever thought that he would be loved by any woman who walked into his father's life.
My Mom says one thing: "Mickey."
I collapse on to her.
She's so much shorter than me, and tinier than me, but she manages to hold me up.
I throw my arms around her and sob heavily on to her shoulder.
She doesn't ask me anything; she just strokes my hair and hugs me back, holding me as tightly as she can.
I don't know for how long we stand there.
The next thing I know, I'm sitting on the couch in the living room with my head in my hands and my Mom rubs a comforting hand over my head.
She doesn't ask me to stop crying.
She doesn't ask me to tell her what's wrong.
She lets me be upset.
It's a long time before I turn my head to face her.
Seated beside me, my Mom gives a small smile as she brushes hair out of my face. "Let the bad feelings out, Mickey. Tears just mean that you've been holding it in for too long."
It makes me cry all over again.
I wrap my arms around her and cry into her shoulder.
Pulling my legs up on to the couch, shoes and all, I lay my head down in her lap and cry.
