Epilogue Gia

"No. I am not having a meeting today, Gia," Elio barks at me.

I roll my eyes and adjust the baby on my hip. "Come on. We just need to go over those contracts with the Russians…"

"I said no. No business today. It's the twins' birthday. We can't have business on such a day," Elio thunders.

Francesca giggles, and Elio's face softens. "Gia, why must you insist on bringing my niece to business meetings? She's going to be two years old, swearing and swindling Russians for all they're worth."

"And I will be so proud of her," I say, snuggling my daughter into my arms.

He sighs. "I suppose it would be too much to ask you to move her to another room?"

"Yep."

There's been quite a few conflicts like this recently. The newborn stage was pretty challenging, but now that Francesca's almost a year old, I'm enjoying her.

Sal and I both dote on this little girl, as does everyone else in the house. Her cousin Luna often refers to Francesca as ‘her' baby, which all of us find hilarious except for Caterina.

Elio puts out a hand and Francesca latches onto his finger. She giggles and he smiles.

"Fine," he says softly. "You do the video call with the Russians, and I will make sure the bounce castle is installed correctly."

"Deal." I smirk.

Elio leaves the office and I hop into the desk, opening the computer. Elio and I use the same laptop. Same computer. Same accounts. Same everything.

This is a tag team situation. Elio and I both run the Rossi enterprise. Equally.

It's the only way that we can make this work, honestly, with all the kids and whatnot.

The call opens, and Stassi's father, Boris Novikov, beams at me. "How is the little one today?"

Francesca's face is halfway in the frame. "She's ready to get this deal done."

He laughs. "Already so fierce, like her mother. I agree. Let's get to the brass tacks, as you would say."

The trade deal is a good one, and when we're done, Boris nods. "Say hello to my Stassi for me today."

"Will do." I smile.

With that taken care of, I sigh and look at my baby. "You ready to go party, nugget?"

She coos back at me.

Leaving the relative calm of the office, the house is a whirlwind of activity. There's catering. Flowers, vendors, toys, everything is just flowing through the mansion.

I'm so glad that Sal and I have our own place, but it's kind of fun to be here. It's always chaos.

"There are my girls," Sal says.

I turn and Francesca giggles, putting her hands out for her dad. He takes her and peppers kisses all over her before tucking her under his arm.

I sniff. "I see where I rank."

"Ah, but I just needed a little longer for your kiss." Sal smiles.

He leans in and makes good on that, leaving my heart pounding and my blood pumping after a very, very good kiss.

"How did the call with Boris go?"

"Good. Signed, sealed, delivered."

"Excellent. Now, ready to celebrate?"

My nose wrinkles.

"You know, a birthday party for one year old babies is really a lot," I say for what is probably the millionth time.

I mean, when I look at Francesca, she's just happy to be here. She giggles her little baby giggle and smiles her little baby smile, and she's good to go.

For her one-year-old birthday, Sal and I are going to invite family over. We're going to have a picnic and take a few pictures of Francesca eating some cake.

Then we're going to send everyone home.

"Let's go, amore mio." Sal offers his other arm.

I take it, and we head outside.

The twins are also just a year old, and they're halfway toddling around outside, carefully supervised by Caterina as they take in the chaos around them.

The only one who's really having a hell of a time today is Luna, and she's practically shrieking with delight as she bounces off the exorbitant bounce castle that Elio rented.

Dino's sulking in the corner.

Marisol didn't come back from Brazil with us. She chose to go to Florida instead, where, by all accounts, she's living in peace away from her father, with her mother and her children.

But not with Dino.

While Elio and Caterina know something of Dino's story now, they don't know everything.

That's Dino's business to tell.

Luna's face lights up as she looks past us to the patio. "Auntie Stassi!" she shrieks.

Like a tornado, she barrels over and knocks into Stassi, who is holding the single largest mass of balloons that I've ever seen in my life.

"Oh my god, babe." Stassi looks at Luna. "I totally love your hair. Did you do it?"

Luna requested an elaborate mass of braids, including some that look like bows, from the hairdresser Caterina hired. "No. But my mommy let me." She beams.

"Totes adorbs. Hey girl, and Sal," Stassi says, smiling at us.

I like having Stassi around more. She keeps everyone on their toes, and since she's been in the running for the Nobel prize with her work on sea moss lately, she's been in New York more frequently.

I smile. "Hey, Stassi."

"How's the world's tiniest tyrant?"

Francesca burbles as Stassi takes her. "Yeah, I know," she says in a high-pitched voice. "Auntie Stassi is here, so the fun can begin."

"Sure." Sal rolls his eyes. "What am I, chopped liver?"

"Ha. Very funny, Sal," she winks.

The party begins to heat up, which means that there are just more children screaming. And food.

Okay, it is kind of fun.

Or at least, it is fun until my brother sidles up to me and whispers something in my ear that makes my skin feel cold.

"Gia," Elio rumbles. "There's a woman and two children at the front gate."

Sal and I shoot each other a look. I hand Francesca to Caterina, and together, Sal and I head for the front gate.

By the time we get there, the guards have basically swarmed out front. They're standing in front of someone, weapons drawn.

The second I realize who it is, I yell. "Stand down!"

Sal and I push toward the front and open the gate. "Who is it?" a voice rasps.

I look over and Dino is at my elbow.

I don't know what to tell him, so instead I just wave him forward.

The guards, bemused, look over at us.

The woman, and two children, in front of us look battered. They look like they've been through hell. Their clothes are torn, and they're covered in mud, and the woman is bleeding from a cut on her forehead.

It takes me a second to realize who this is.

But, when I do, my heart feels like it's going to collapse.

It's Marisol.

She looks at me. "Help," she whispers.

She pushes the two children toward Dino.

Then, she collapses.

* * *

Thank you for reading Sal and Gia's story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed creating it.

Please leave me a review, it helps me grow as a new independent author.

If you haven't read the first two books in The Ruthless Mafia Kings, you're in for a spectacular treat.

Book 1 Mafia Heir's Secret Baby: An arranged Marriage Enemies To Lovers Romance. Xander and Mel's story.

You will loose your mind over Xander's alpha male protective and possessive nature. "Nothing is enough when you're my woman Mel…".

Book II Mafia King's Secret Baby: An Enemies To Lovers Billionaire Romance. Elio and Caterina's Story. They will leave you breathless and aching.

Coming soon is Dino and Marisol's story so don't miss out, follow me on Amazon to be the first to know when it's on pre-order.

If you have completed the mafia series, I have a dangerously hot alpha and a Secret Baby he just about faints when he discovers.

Your next book starts now in Sera and Alan's story, Broken Billionaires Secret Baby: An enemies To Lovers Boss Romance.

Blurb

He broke my heart eight years ago when he left me pregnant and disappeared without a word.

Mr. Grumpy billionaire took over my family's resort, which made him my boss.

After all these years he's back, pretending like nothing happened.

And yeah…he's still my type.

One look is all it takes and I'm against the wall begging for release in a public bathroom.

We have a deal. Agree to pretend to be his girlfriend for one week, and he will leave me and the resort alone.

Against my better judgment I'm falling for him again.

And I have a secret, one that is eight years old. She has his eyes and his stubborn personality.

I have to protect her from him.

Trouble is now I am expecting his second child, and he has a bigger secret of his own, the reason he left us.

Read Broken Billionaire's Secret Baby: An Enemies To Lovers Dark Romance.

Here is a little sneak peek into Sera and Alan's story…

Prologue

SERA

His hands traveled over every inch of my body, igniting skin, and his soft lips planted kisses on my hair, on my eyelids, on my nose, on my mouth, underneath my jaw, behind my ears, and down and down he went, his lips creating a moist trail across my body.

There's a hunger to his touch, a ferocity to his kisses like he's desperate to claim me.

Every touch, every kiss, every bite is an act in the private symphony that he's directing. His hands maneuver me expertly, deftly, prompting me to follow.

Every stroke of skin, every light brush of his lips is a deliberate attempt to unravel me.

And it's working.

In one fluid motion, he tugs his shirt over his head, revealing rock-hard abs, a ripped chest, and perfectly sculpted, yet surprisingly tender, arms. His muscles ripple as he moves, like waves undulating under his perfect skin.

I let my hands travel across his neck, his chest, his stomach, his arms, and his back. I dig my fingers into his back, feeling more turned on by how hard the muscles plating his back are.

I push my fingers into his hair, enjoying how soft it feels under the pressure of my finger pads. How can one man be so beautiful? I wonder to myself, but I know the answer to the question. It's because he's Alan Dirkman.

I lean into him, reducing the inches between our naked skin, savoring the feel of his sweat-slicked body against mine, his scent, and his warm breath on my neck.

In the dark, his eyes blaze like pinpricks of blue light, and I feel myself falling into them, eyes that seem deeper than any well, any pool, any ocean.

He plants kisses under my chin, on my throat, and slowly, torturously, begins to make his way down between my breasts, my navel, the hair between my legs ... Ooooh.

He flicks his tongue over my lips and a shudder ripples through me. His expert tongue explores me, kissing, licking, biting, nibbling, each motion a glorious slice of heaven.

I arch my back, raising my hips to meet his tongue, his fucking glorious tongue. I feel his grin against my vulva, and it's the thing that undoes me. I feel myself unraveling, seismic waves of pleasure rippling through me all at once, a sensation I never want to end.

It's his name that escapes my lips as I cum around his mouth, a silent prayer, a dark secret. Goosebumps erupt all over my skin, and a brief nothingness blossoms in my mind as my entire essence seems to stretch in every direction.

After an eternity, I come back into my body. And in the dark, I see that he's grinning. I must look like a mess for him to find this funny. Soundlessly, he pulls himself over me, and he kisses me, forcing me to taste my delicious wetness.

Quick as an eel, he flips me over, and I'm lying face flat on my stomach. I feel the heat of his skin as his weight presses down on me, his hardness pressing against my ass. His hands travel across my back, massaging my shoulders and rubbing my arms.

Despite the non-sexualness of the act, the very fact that he's doing it only serves to turn me on the more. His hands on me ignites me, and I know without a doubt that I've never felt as alive as I feel at this moment.

The sharp sound of ripping foil pierces through the air, and I turn to look at him. A lone shaft of moonlight spills into the room, illuminating his face. Silver strands of moonlight ripple across his hair, and in the low light, the condom glistens.

Then he moves out of the light, and once again, he's obscured by the darkness, his silhouette one of lust and sin.

He presses against me, and he kisses my earlobes, occasionally pausing to give each of them a delicious bite. He splays his fingers under my stomach, a low moan escaping the back of his throat.

"How can you be so soft all over, Sera?" he whispers against the back of my ear, his words punctuated by kisses. "What are you doing to me?"

I want to ask him what he's doing to me, but I don't get the chance. He raises me up gently and slips a pillow under my stomach, guiding me with the back of his palm.

He angles me until my back is arched and my ass is literally high-fiving the ceiling. He spanks me, the sharp pain only compensated by the pleasure that tears through me. He rubs my ass cheek gently as if apologizing for being unable to resist spanking me.

"You're so soft," he says, and he leans and plants identical kisses on both of my cheeks. He saves one for the lips of my vulva, and I have to bite down hard on the pillow to keep myself from howling in pleasure.

He kneels behind me, his legs pushing my thighs apart. He leans in and trails kisses from the back of my neck down my spine until he gets to my waist.

Then he traces his way back.

"Don't scream," he whispers against my ears, a threat, a warning.

Then he slams into me.

And I scream.

His hardness stretches me, filling me—a sweet sensation. I bite into the pillow to keep myself from howling out in pleasure, but it's no use.

There's absolutely no way I haven't woken up the entire neighborhood.

He pushes himself in and out of me, filling me, claiming me, each practiced thrust a deliberate attempt at unraveling me. "Yes, yes, yes!" I moan into the pillow because I want it too. I want this.

His thrusts are merciless. The bed jerks underneath us, and in some part of my mind that isn't addled by the feel of this man inside me, I register that it would be really embarrassing if the bed broke down under us.

"Give it to me," he groans against my ear like he's angry I'm not coming apart yet. "I can sense that you're holding back. Don't. Or you'll regret it."

I want to tell him that I'm not holding back, not intentionally anyway and that I just don't want this to end. That this is what I want to be doing for the rest of my life until I die.

But the words don't come. His dick must have hit the part of my brain that oversees my motor controls, and my tongue feels clumsy in my mouth, like a bloated thing.

"Fuck this," he growls, and he pulls out of me, ruining the magic. But I don't have time to complain because he lies down back on the bed and pulls me on top of him. "Climb," he orders, and I hasten to obey.

There's a cruel smile on his handsome face, and I know that this is his way of punishing me for holding back.

Grabbing each of my hips, he guides me onto his waiting member. I shut my eyes, savoring the feeling of Alan pushing into me because that's what he does. His hips meet mine in the air, and a moan escapes from the back of my throat.

Then he's moving, really moving, his pace and speed torturous. I hang my head back and let out a cry as he pushes in and out of me, each of his thrusts perfectly aimed and merciless.

It's like our lower bodies have merged. I don't know where the opening of my vagina begins and where the shaft of his dick ends. It's the way he fills me and seems to fit me perfectly like we were made for each other, like there's no way I could feel this same way if I was doing this with another person.

At this moment, there's no one but Alan Dirkman, no sound but the moans that escape his lips, no sensation but the feel of his skin against mine.

"Sera," he says, his tongue rolling across each syllable in my name like it's a prayer, a plea. His eyes snap open, and his fierce blue eyes pierce into my green ones, and time seems to slow around us.

There's a rising feeling in my chest, and it's like I'm floating through the clouds. But that dark look in his eyes forces me back down. "Sera," he says again, no trace of warmth in his voice, no trace of anything but hot, dark lust.

"Come for me, Sera," he whispers breathlessly, and I unravel at his words, exploding around him as I climax and splinter into a million pieces on top of him. And as he comes, he calls out my name, thrusting hard, then stilling as he empties himself into me.

We lay that way for a while, my head resting on his chest as I try to time my heartbeat to coincide with his. We don't say anything to each other, and the comfortable silence is only broken by our ragged breathing.

I feel worn out like I have just run a marathon, although sex with Alan might have been just that.

"Sera," he whispers against my ear, but there's a wrongness in his voice. I whip my head around, hoping to see those same blue eyes I want to stare into for the rest of my life, but the eyes of the man underneath me are the wrong color.

"Sera," he whispers again, but it's like he's far away.

He raises his hands and grabs my throat and begins to squeeze. My vision is tinged with a sick red, and when I'm about to pass out, the pressure of his grip loosens. My eyes snap open, and I'm staring at a formless void that had once been the man I loved.

"Sera," he whispers again, but his voice is unnatural, and he seems to be falling apart, dissipating like clouds of black smoke.

"Sera," he whispers again, and I feel the bedsheets tugging at me, like snakes, wounding themselves around my arms and legs as they pull me into the bed.

"Sera," he whispers again, only he's no longer here. He never was. And this time, he never will be.

"Sera," he whispers again, and I wake up ...

... In a pool of my own sweat. My heart hammers against my chest like it wants out, and it takes me a moment to realize that I was dreaming, that Alan wasn't really here.

My fingers find the area between my legs, and they come away sticky. I flush with embarrassment at the erotic dream I had of Alan.

My bedside clock glows an emerald 2:30am, and I know without a doubt that I won't be able to go back to sleep again. I climb out of bed and make my way downstairs.

"Mo?" I call when I see the only other person that lives in this house with me.

Her hair hangs around her face in wild tufts, and she rubs her eye with her fist. "I can't sleep," she says as a manner of explanation.

I sigh. "I can't sleep, too."

"Bad dream?" she asks. And I'm grateful for the shadows that hide the faint blush that appears on my cheeks.

"Something like that," I reply, biting my lower lip.

"Me too," she says. And we just stand there, mother and daughter, staring at each other. The silence hangs between us for a while before I decide to break it.

Then finally, I say, "Come on. I'll read you a story, then we'll see about you getting some sleep."

"I'm eight, Mom," she says, but her eyes light up. And when I extend my hand to her, she places hers in it.

* * *

Chapter 1

SERA

The sky above Seattle is as clear as a calm sea, with only thin wisps of cloud drifting across its dark surface. It's 6 am in the morning, and only the purple tinge of the horizon is any indication that the sun plans on rising today.

Despite the hour, traffic rages on the main roads, a beast with a thousand glowing eyes. There's a light downpour, and people shuffle around with umbrellas and discarded newspapers held over their heads as they make for their respective destinations.

I sit on the floor with my legs crossed. Across from me sits an eight-year-old child, and she's jutting her chin out stubbornly. A sketch pad sits between us, like a barricade, and it is covered in a swirl of so many colors that it would have rivaled any rainbow. I sigh, fingering the dark shadows under my eyes and patting my ragged hair into place.

"You were supposed to paint a fire extinguisher, Mo," I say, shaking my head.

"I know," Mo says. And we sit like that for the next two minutes, me staring at Mo, Mo staring at her sketchpad.

"Right," I say, finally breaking the silence. "You know you're going to have to redo it, right?"

She snaps her head and faces me, and her bright green eyes flash with obvious malice. I face her scrutiny head-on, giving her a look that I hope says, "I'm your mom, young lady; your glares won't burn holes through me like heat vision."

When she finally looks away, I let out a breath I don't know I've been holding in. They're the wrong color, I think to myself, They're the color of leaves in summer, but they're the wrong color. She has his eyes.

I shudder at the thought, trying to hide the heat that flushes my cheeks as I remember the erotic dream I had with Alan in it.

Mo is content with glaring at the sketchpad in front of her as if reprimanding it for tricking her into painting something else. For a moment, I'm sure she looks surprised that the sketchpad isn't apologizing.

"Fine," she says, wrinkling her nose like she has smelled something particularly disgusting. I raise my arms and smell both pits to be sure. "Okay," I say when I'm convinced I'm not the one.

With my help, we get to work immediately. There's no way to salvage the ruined page, so I tear it out. Out of the corners of my eyes, I see Mo's nostrils flare, but luckily she doesn't say anything. With that page out of the way, I directed her on how to paint a fire extinguisher.

It's more like we argue over what to do and what to put where, with Mo stubbornly insisting that we do it her way, despite my arguments that the only reason we're doing it again is because we did it her way in the first place.

Being a mom is hard work—don't let anyone tell you differently. Being Mo's mom is even harder.

"You should be helping me," she says, exasperated, so I apologize and get to work immediately.

With my hands busy, my mind is free to wander. I think about a lot of things in the space of precious seconds, but it's hard to keep my mind trained on any of them. My mind, like water passing through holes in a basket, always finds its way back to the one thing that's truly been bothering me: Alan.

His name stirs up a wave of emotions inside of me, and it's hard to make sense of any of them. It's been eight years since I last saw him, eight years since Mo and everything her coming along meant for me, eight years since my world broke cleanly along its center, eight years since the best thing that could ever have happened to me did.

Those eight years haven't been the easiest, and being a single mom who just got her heart broken and still had to try her best to save the resort that Alan left to its devices in his haste didn't make any of it easier.

But I pulled through. The days were dark and darker, and on some of them, I didn't feel like waking up. But I did. Partly because I had a little girl to be a superhero for now, because anyone who knows anything about anything knows that little girls need superheroes like Fredrik Backman would say. And partly because I wanted to prove a point.

There's no doubt that when Alan left, he was expecting that my walls would come crumbling down ... And they did, but I didn't want that to be the end of my story. So I pieced back those walls as best as I could, and I went on functioning, losing myself in my efforts to be a not-crappy mom and a not-crappy CEO.

And it worked. At some point, everything got a whole lot easier, and the nightmares and the panic attacks lessened somewhat, and I could finally look forward to the next day like a slightly normal person.

But now, I'm surprised that I'm thinking of Alan again, eight years after I promised to bury him under a mountain of new memories. I shudder at how my dream-self responded to his touch, how she craved his lips on her throat, wanted ... no, needed him inside of her. I want to drown myself in a bathtub of too-hot water and scrub till my skin is red and raw.

Till I forget what it felt like to be kissed by a man as impossibly and annoyingly perfect as Alan Dirkman. Till I forget what it felt like to be loved by such a man, even if it was for a moment too brief for words. But above all, I want to forget the gnawing hole he created in my heart when he left. Because, despite my best efforts, that hole has stubbornly refused to be filled up.

It's 8:12 am, and one look at the sky is all the promise I need that it's going to be a beautiful morning. The clouds look like some god had left their creation to an eight-year-old. They're all in odd shapes; if I squint my eyes, I'll see that one of them is shaped like a boot.

I'm driving Mo to school, partly because I feel guilty that we're not spending enough time together—with work and all the drama in between, I feel like we're drifting apart, and my daughter is growing too fast. But the other reason I'm driving her to school is because I don't trust her to get to school by herself.

As if on cue, Mo snorts. "You don't have to drive me to school every day. I CAN GET THERE BY MYSELF!"

"Stop yelling," I say, perhaps less authoritatively than I intend to. With Mo, it's hard to know who the parent is.

"I'M NOT SHOUTING!" Mo shouts. Then she falls back into her chair and, thankfully, in a much quieter tone, adds, "You don't trust me."

I bite my lip. "You don't make it very easy," I say, looking ahead, so Mo has to glare at the side of my face. I can tell from her petulant snort that it's not as gratifying.

I sigh. The last time I let someone else take you to school, you convinced her that you had permission from me and the principal to go to the zoo. By the time I got there to get you, the poor woman was in tears.

Mrs. Tamara was just trying to help, but you made doing even that such a hell for her." I frown. The incident happened some weeks ago, and I'm surprised that I'm still mad about it.

Mo is special in that she doesn't have the grace to seem chastened. "It's not my fault she wasn't so smart," she says, pouting.

I sigh. "Mrs. Tamara is not dumb, Mo."

"I DIDN'T SAY THAT!" Mo roars, exasperated, and I'm sure if someone was looking in through the car windows, they would think that one of the two of us needs hearing aids. "‘Dumb' is a bad word," she says as if that explains everything. "I just meant she wasn't so smart."

"And that's why you intimidated her into helping you skip school?" I ask.

Mo glares at me, and this time I see it. The unmistakable way her lips press against each other like they're trying to hide away from something. The way her nostrils flare like a bull's when it's setting up for a fight. When Mo glares at you, she does with her whole being, and there's only one other person that glares as she does.

"I didn't intimidate her," Mo says after a while, turning so she's facing the road. "I asked her to take me to the zoo instead. It's not my fault people always do as they're told when I'm the one giving the orders.

"Okay," I reply after a moment's hesitation because I know that's Mo's equivalent of an apology. Being a mom is hard work; I'm sure I mentioned that earlier.

I drop Mo off, and in hindsight, I realize that our goodbye had been too hasty. And that's only because it's hard not to look at her and see the man who turned my happiest memories into ash in my mouth.

And I'm happy Mo is too angry to look at me because that way, she won't see that her mom doesn't want to look at her because she's afraid that she'll see the man who hurt her in those emerald green eyes.

"You're just stressed," Piper says the moment I'm done narrating the events of the morning, which, to my eternal shame, includes my erotic dream with Alan in it. "Not to mention horny," she adds, and I can swear that she's grinning on the other line of the phone.

I'm sitting in my office. Golden sunlight pools in through the window, falling over the polished black tiles. I tap my fingers on the mahogany table, mainly to have something to do with my hands.

"It's hard to argue with that analysis," I say rather glumly. It's just the thing I've been expecting to hear her say, but I'm surprised by how much it stings.

Because I am stressed. We're weeks away from the holidays, and things at the resort have been hectic. I rub my eyes with the ball of my palm, knowing, without having to look at the mirror, that I have crescent-shaped dark circles underneath them.

"You should get laid," Piper says, as she has been saying for quite a long time as if getting laid will magically fix all of my problems. "How have you avoided meeting anyone? Beats me. You're smart, you're beautiful, and you're the fucking CEO of one of the most popular and successful holiday resorts in Seattle. You should have hot studs coming out of your ears."

I grin, surprised that it's genuine. It's hard not to feel a swell of pride at Piper's words, even if it lasts only a moment. "I can't," I say, uttering my line in this play we've both been participating in for as long as I can remember. "Things are not at their best right now, and I don't know how Mo will feel about me seeing someone."

"My goddaughter is eight, Sera," Piper says. "Five years ago, what you're saying would have been a valid excuse, but it isn't anymore. You're stalling, and now that you've told me that you're having dreams about him"—there's so much vehemence in her tone when she talks about Alan—"I think I know why."

"This is not about Alan," I say, rolling my eyes even if she can't see me.

"Then what is it about?" Piper asks, exasperated. "You're refusing to see anyone. You keep finding new ways to dodge out of taking a vacation?—"

"That sounds like a good idea at the moment," I say, even if I don't really think it's the right time for a vacation. But at least it'll keep Piper distracted, and hopefully, she won't keep pestering me about seeing someone, and I won't have to confess that I've tried, but none of them seem to work out, and I think that Alan broke something inside of me when he left, and there's no way to fix it.

Piper is quiet for some time, and I wonder if she even heard me. "You're agreeing to a vacation?" Piper asks like she can't believe her ears.

"Yeah," I lie through my teeth. "Mo can stay with my mom. She and Bob seem to get along quite well. At least, she doesn't think he's incompetent at being an adult, and he doesn't think she's a complete idiot, which is about the highest compliment anyone can get from either of them. So she'll be fine."

"THIS IS brILLIANT!" Piper roars through the phone, and she's so loud that I have to take the phone away from my ear to keep myself from going deaf.

"God, this is brilliant!" Piper exclaims like I didn't hear it the first time. "I should start making plans. So much to do ... So much to do. It's a terror." She pauses, then in a slightly more menacing tone, she says, "You could have made up your mind sooner, you know? Ugh."

I want to point out that until this very moment, I wasn't planning on going on a vacation, but it's no use because Piper interrupts me. "It's no use dwelling on such issues now," Piper says. "Where are we going?"

"Paris," I blurt out immediately. Alan promised to take me once but ... but ... Don't think about Alan! I tell myself firmly.

Piper snorts in the way only people that have been around the world and consider Paris a poor venue for a vacation do. "I'll get back to you with tickets and an estimate of our expenses," she says. And after that, there's not much to talk about, so we say our goodbyes and end the call.

And I spend the rest of my day trying to be excited about going to Paris. It doesn't work out very well however.