Chapter Five: Under the nose

Annabelle's POV

The subway ride into Manhattan gives me time to think about what Mom was trying to tell me before she died. A billionaire father whose name starts with B. Someone who threw us away but might have left me something in his will. It sounds like something out of a movie, but the desperation in Mom's voice was real.

Marcello's is exactly as elegant as I expected, with white tablecloths and candles flickering in glass holders. The hostess looks at my dress with barely concealed judgment, but her expression changes completely when she realizes I'm meeting Ronan.

"Right this way, Miss. Mr. Thompson is already seated at your table."

Thompson? I thought his name was Ronan something else, but maybe I misheard him at the café. The hostess leads me to a corner table where he's waiting with a glass of red wine and a smile that makes my heart skip beats.

"You look absolutely stunning," he says as he stands to pull out my chair. "That dress is perfect on you."

"Thank you. This place is incredible." I look around at the other diners, all of them obviously wealthy and sophisticated. "I feel a little underdressed."

"You're the most beautiful woman in this room." He reaches across the table to take my hand. "How was your day?"

Horrible. Devastating. Life-changing in ways I can't even process yet. "It was fine. Busy at the café as usual. How about yours?"

"Complicated work stuff. Nothing I want to bore you with." He squeezes my hand gently. "I'd rather talk about you. Tell me something I don't know about Annabelle Callahan."

The way he says my full name makes something flutter in my stomach. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Your dreams, your fears, what makes you laugh, what keeps you up at night." His eyes are intense and focused completely on me. "I've been thinking about you constantly since I first walked into that café."

"Really? I thought you were just being nice to the coffee girl." I'm trying to keep things light, but there's something in his expression that makes me feel like this conversation is more important than I realized.

"Trust me, it's much more than that." He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles softly. "I've never felt this way about anyone before, Annabelle. Like I need to know everything about you or I'm going to lose my mind."

My breath catches because I feel exactly the same way. "I know what you mean. Sometimes I catch myself watching the door at work, waiting for you to come in."

"Good, because I plan on coming in every morning for as long as you'll have me." He signals the waiter. "Should we order some wine? I promise I'm much more interesting after a glass or two."

We order dinner and wine, and for the first time since Mom's confession yesterday, I start to relax. Ronan is funny and charming and seems genuinely interested in my opinions about everything from books to politics to whether pineapple belongs on pizza. He tells me about growing up wealthy but feeling disconnected from his parents, about the pressure to take over his family's business, about how he sometimes feels like he's living someone else's life.

"That sounds lonely," I say after he describes a childhood spent mostly with nannies and tutors.

"It was. Still is sometimes." He refills my wine glass. "What about you? Tell me about your family."

My throat tightens. "It's just me and my mom. Or it was just me and my mom." The words come out before I can stop them, and I immediately regret the slip.

"Was?" His expression changes to concern. "Annabelle, what happened?"

I take a large sip of wine and try to figure out how to explain without falling apart completely. "She died last night. At the hospital. She'd been sick for a while, but I thought we had more time."

Ronan's face goes completely white. "Oh my God. Why didn't you tell me? Why are you here instead of... I don't know, making arrangements or grieving or whatever you need to do?"

"Because I needed to feel normal for a few hours." Tears are starting to burn behind my eyes. "Because I've been sitting in that hospital room for weeks watching her die, and I can't do it anymore. Because I don't know how to plan a funeral or pay for one or even where to start."

He's around the table and pulling me into his arms before I realize what's happening. I bury my face against his chest and let myself cry for the first time since the machines started beeping yesterday. He holds me tight and whispers reassuring things while I soak his expensive shirt with tears.

"I'm so sorry," I mumble against his shoulder. "I'm ruining our first real date."

"Don't apologize. Not for this." He pulls back to look at me, his thumbs wiping away my tears. "Let me help you. Whatever you need for the funeral, whatever arrangements need to be made. You don't have to do this alone."

"You don't even know me that well. I can't ask you to pay for my mother's funeral." But even as I say it, part of me is desperate enough to accept any help he offers.

"You're not asking. I'm offering. And I know you well enough to know that you're kind and strong and you've been carrying way too much by yourself." He kisses my forehead gently. "Please let me do this for you."

I nod because I don't trust my voice to work properly. The relief of not having to figure out funeral costs on my own is overwhelming.

"I need to use the bathroom," I say, trying to pull myself together. "I probably look like a disaster right now."

"You look perfect." But he lets me go, and I head toward the restrooms in the back of the restaurant.

In the bathroom mirror, my eyes are red and my mascara has smudged, but I don't look as awful as I expected. I splash cold water on my face and try to process everything that's happened in the past two days. Mom's death, her confession about my father, and now Ronan offering to help with expenses I can't afford.

Maybe this is what Mom meant about everything changing. Maybe meeting Ronan is part of some larger plan that I can't see yet.

When I come back to the table, Ronan is staring at his phone with an expression I've never seen before. His face is completely drained of color, and his hands are shaking slightly as he holds the device.

"Is everything okay?" I sit back down and reach for his hand, but he pulls away like I've burned him.

"I... there's something I need to tell you." His voice sounds strange and hollow, like he's speaking from very far away.

"What is it? You're scaring me." The happy, caring man from five minutes ago has disappeared, replaced by someone who looks like he's seen a ghost.

He sets his phone down on the table, and I can see it's displaying some kind of photograph, but I can't make out what it shows from my angle.

"My name isn't really Thompson. I lied to you about that." His eyes won't meet mine. "My real name is Ronan Blackthorne."

The world tilts sideways. "Blackthorne? Like the company? The billionaire family that's always in the news?"

"Yes. My father was Harrison Blackthorne. He died six months ago." Ronan's voice is barely above a whisper. "We've been looking for someone. A girl who was mentioned in his will. Someone he left a large inheritance to."

My heart starts pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. "What girl? What are you talking about?"

He turns the phone around so I can see the screen, and I'm looking at a photograph of myself. It's one of those candid shots someone took without me knowing, probably while I was working at the café.

"Her name is Annabelle Callahan. She's twenty-two years old, and she works at a coffee shop in Queens." His eyes finally meet mine, and they're filled with something that looks like horror. "Her mother was Elena Reyes, and according to my father's will, she inherited thirty-five percent of everything he owned."

I can't breathe, I can't think nor process what he's telling me because it's too enormous and impossible.

"That's impossible," I whisper. "You're saying my father was Harrison Blackthorne? The same Harrison Blackthorne whose son I've been..." I can't finish the sentence because the implication is too sick to say out loud.

"We're half-siblings, Annabelle." The words come out like he's choking on them. "I've been hunting for you for six months, and I've been falling in love with my own sister.”