16. Anna

CHAPTER 16

ANNA

A s we set off back on our walk, Joel contemplates my question out loud. "I don't think I've ever thought that much about it. I guess some part of me knows that I've been getting worse because that's the only way people notice me for more than the net worth."

"And the pretty face," I add, both teasing and trying to see how he reacts. Trying to see if he realizes I'm pretending to be less sincere than I am.

He chuckles. "And the pretty face. I was homeschooled, you know."

I don't bother to hide my surprise. "Really? I don't think I know anyone else who never went to real school."

"There's more of us than you think." He shrugs. "I had the best tutors that money can buy."

"Of course."

"And that's when I started becoming the Joel you know and love today."

I'm glad I'm tipping the last of my drink into my mouth because the cup obscures the panicked look on my face. He's joking. I know he's joking. He doesn't know quite how close to the money he is though. Not that I love him. I'm not going that far, even if there's a little voice in the back of my head that's saying yet .

"Actually, it was Nanny Padilla that started it. She was an enormous woman with an enormous voice and I loved her so much. She was basically a mother to me because my mom's always off in Dubai or Milan or Delhi or wherever doing something glamorous. But Nanny Padilla used to read me a story every night, and she always told me, Mijo, to get noticed in this world you have to be something fabulous. "

He doesn't look at me while he speaks, his attention focused instead on passing crows and the dark, swaying branches of the trees. I don't interrupt. This is Joel unfiltered, honest. My heart is racing with the knowledge that he doesn't say this stuff to just anyone. He trusts me. He wants me to know him. So I listen.

"She got fired when I turned eight. Never knew why. I cried for weeks about it and when I got a new nanny I used to draw on all the walls to get her into trouble."

"Now it's all making sense," I say, unable to help myself from chipping in.

He smiles but it's sad, a brave kind of smile trying to hide the real feelings beneath. I don't want to feel sorry for him — as far as tragic backstories go, my parents were mildly absent isn't the biggest sympathy winner. But it does explain a lot about him and it's making me see just how lonely he is. Even all the money in the world can't buy its way out of that.

"From that point on, it became all about underage drinking and minor acts of arson and trying to be as outrageous as possible because then I would be noticed. Maybe I could have been noticed for doing something else, I don't know. I donate to charity. I write off medical debt. I buy books for schools, all that kind of shit. But that never gets you noticed . You get a pat on the back and a faint glow of doing good, but no one really sees you. But jumping on a casino table and getting your dick out? That gets headlines and a call from your dad."

"You're kind of messed up, you know."

He gives me the hollowest chuckle I've ever heard. "I know. There's like, starving kids in Africa — hell, there's starving kids right on the streets of this city and here I am whining on about being a billionaire."

"So do better," I say as if it's that simple. I've been living in Ben's shadow forever, I know how much it sucks to be the disappointment, the failure, to sink into your own guilt because it could be so, so much worse. To be doing all you can but still feel like it's never enough because you still hurt and there's still suffering in the world. To feel like you're drowning in it.

It reminds me I need to call my therapist.

Joel tosses his empty cup into a trash can and it hits the edge, balancing like an acrobat for a second before plunging into the bag. "Nice idea," he says. "But I don't think I can change now."

"It's never too late. If the kids who don't have enough make you sad, give more. It's not like you'll miss a few million, right?"

Slowly, he nods, pondering my words as our feet crunch over the gravel. The end of the park is approaching fast and I don't want our moment to stop, to go back to bantering and being distant. I liked who we were in the park.

"If it's never too late, why are you so sad too?"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Whatever's going on with you. You can make it change too. If you believe I can change, you must believe anything can."

That look is back on his face, the one where he's studying me. I'm not sure that it's in fascination though, not in the way I first thought. I think he might actually find me interesting, like for real.

I take a breath to try and make my leaping heart calm down.

"I wish more people could see you like this," I say, deflecting. I know he's just been so open with me, but Mariana is still such an open wound that I don't even know the words to explain it.

"What, fully clothed?"

He grins and I bump him with my elbow. "No, idiot. I mean, I wish they could see that you aren't the dumb jock you pretend to be. That you're kind, and kind of funny."

"You can't say something like that when I'm not prepared with a joke, it's ruining my reputation." He shakes his head dramatically, pretending to be wounded. Maybe it's my imagination, but I think I can see his eyes shining like he's on the verge of tears.

Someone needs to say nice things to this boy more often.

We stop three paces from the edge of the park, neither of us quite ready to step back into the city beyond.

"Where to next?" he asks.

"You're not ready to go home yet?"

"Are you?"

"No."

"Good. Me neither." He throws me that bright, bleached grin again and I mirror it, conscious of my own wonky teeth. No braces could ever fully align them and I wore those things for years.

He sets back off and I have to do a half run to catch up with him before he merges back onto the sidewalk and disappears into the crowd. Even though the hat isn't subtle, there are enough people out that I could lose him in a hurry. "Hey, wait. Where are we going?"

"You hungry again yet?"

"Not really…?" I say, confused. We literally just ate. How can he want to eat more?

"Great!"

I throw him a raised eyebrow. "You did hear me, right?"

He shrugs. "I know a really great bakery, it's kind of out of the way and they might know me in there but it's not a big deal. It's not popular enough that anyone important will be there."

"We've really got to work on the way you talk about other people." I raise my eyebrow even higher.

To his credit, Joel nods. I don't think he does it deliberately, but it makes me wince when he talks about normal people like he's above them. It makes me wonder how he truly feels about me.

"No journalists or bloggers will be there. But a handful of other lovely people will be." As he says this, he looks at me as if for approval. I dip my head slightly in return. "And it's really good so people should be there."

"I was sold the second I thought about pastries."

His whole being lights up again, all the weight of our park conversation blowing away on the breeze. He really is like a puppy. Unfortunately, it's kind of cute.

"That's because pastries are the best. Which ones do you like?"

We turn a corner back towards the bustling downtown as we enthuse about chocolate croissants and cinnamon rolls, dodging oncoming people who come at us like bumper cars with packages and strollers. Everyone rushes around so much. It's exhausting to always be in such a hurry, something I'm guilty of too.

It's been so great to just take it a little slow with Joel, roaming the city aimlessly without worrying about a thing. I'd almost forgotten what chilling out was like. Just chatting with a friend about stuff, important and not.

This is the closest I've felt to anyone in a long time.

"We're nearly there," Joel announces, turning us onto Jubilee Boulevard. This is one of the richest streets in town, lined with hotels and exclusive shops that I would never be able to afford to enter. The Christmas decorations are at full strength in the window displays, bright red Santas laughing at trees that don't grow like that in the wild.

As we pass one of the exclusive five-star hotels, a door opens on a balcony above us. I don't really understand why you'd want wedding photos on a gross-looking street like this, because despite its opulence, it's still kind of dirty and really busy. But I guess they can afford a good editor. I glance up at them and catch a glimpse of the bride in a puffy white dress, smiling beautifully at the camera. I'm not pining for that, exactly — my dream wedding is on a beach with no one else around — but it sure would be nice to love someone that much.

Sighing internally and trying not to picture anything remotely like Joel in a tuxedo, I keep following him down the street. The photographers above set to work.

And Joel stops dead.

"Did you hear that?" He looks like a baby deer, terrified and about to get hit by a car, his eyes darting about, his body stiff and tense like one touch would shatter him into a million pieces.

"What?"

"The camera!" he says. "There! Again! God, they're here. They're going to get us."

I don't get the chance to say anything at all because before I can even react, he's grabbing my hand and we're running from whatever demons he's conjured up inside his imagination.