‘If you want. I will stick around until you tell me to piss off. I love you, I want to marry you and I have made a huge mess of things. But do I think we can make it? Absolutely.’
‘You think we can move on?’
‘Nothing’s impossible.’
Grace started to cry.
‘Oh Gracie, it still can be about us, can’t you see that? Do you think – I am just floating this idea – that your anger at me is actually anger at everything? Your Mom? Your job? Your Dad?’
Grace nodded. ‘Probably. I guess.’
‘I am not saying I did the right thing. I have done two stupid things since I met you. One was to lie to you about my life and one when I acted like some giant knight with a cheque-book at the board meeting. You have to understand, I keep my life private because there aren’t many girls like you in the world, Grace. The minute a woman knows I have money they change. Although this is the first time I have ever been rejected because of my money.’ He made a face.
Grace smiled. ‘I grew up with money, Frank, and it didn’t make my family happy. My parents’ marriage was a relationship based on money and threats. I don’t want that.’
‘You won’t have it. I will give it all up and be a bike courier for real if you want me to, Grace. I will do anything for you,’ he implored.
Grace wiped her eyes with the napkin. ‘Well, I do want something,’ she said, looking at his lovely face.
‘What, anything?’ said Frank, desperate to please.
Grace took a sip of her water and made her decision. ‘I want to get married and start that life you have been banging on about.’
Frank’s eyes widened. He stood up and walked to her side and got down on one knee. ‘Graciela Valentine de Santoval, will you be my wife?’ he asked, and reached into his pocket and pulled out a black velvet box.
Grace took the box, her hand shaking. She opened it and saw the ring from the email that Alan had sent her. She took it from the box and Frank gently slipped it on her finger.
‘How did you know?’ she asked, her voice breaking.
‘Alan helped me.’
He waited as she looked at the ring on her finger. It matched the dress perfectly and sparkled under the lights.
‘Does that mean yes?’ he asked still on one knee.
‘Yes, Frank, I will be your wife. But if you lie to me again I will grind up this fucker and put it in a glass of milk and you will die a slow and horrible death,’ she said calmly.
Frank laughed. ‘Deal.’ And he kissed her passionately.
While he embraced her Grace held out her hand and looked at the ring on her finger. She was right; this ring would make some woman very happy.
37
Leon, Morocco – December 2010
Leon sat in his chair in the villa he was sharing with Melanie and Matthew. He had little time for Matthew but he was his flesh and blood, unlike those little sluts Birdie had given the de Santoval name.
Morocco was Melanie’s choice and he had agreed because its laws were vague and there was little concern for men who had money or who put their wives in a coma. When he had heard about Birdie, he hoped she wouldn’t wake up and name him. On an impulse, he had taken the money from the Pajaro account and shifted it into his offshore account, where no one would be able to touch it. Bless the Swiss and their need for privacy at all times, he thought, as he drank his wine.
Melanie was revelling in being a family, as she spouted at every interval. Leon couldn’t have cared less about family. He had other ideas about his future. A new brand, called Leon, for men. Women had too much in this world already, he thought, thinking of Birdie and the women whom he once thought were his daughters. Giving Matthew the shares was inspired, a final fuck you to those whores. He had wished Birdie was awake to find out what he had done. He finally had the last word.
Matthew was annoying and not very bright, much to Leon’s disappointment. He had hoped for a son and when Birdie pushed out three screaming girls that looked like tiny ferrets, Leon lost interest immediately.
He had tried to bond with Matthew over the years but Matthew’s constant desire for attention from his father wore thin and eventually Leon pushed him away, keeping him and his acne at a manageable distance. Matthew’s gratitude at receiving the Pajaro shares from Leon and his idea to sell to Berconi was embarrassing as far as Leon was concerned. The boy needed to be a man, and his tears and hugs made Leon uncomfortable. Now Matthew was back in Marrakech, limpid and useless, as far as Leon was concerned. He had fucked up the deal with Berconi and sold to some unknown for not even close to what it was worth.
Leon stretched out and closed his eyes. He had all the money he could want, and he had Melanie who still gave great head, and he had a son – a fool, but he was his child after all. Leon thought he might try a little harder with the boy tomorrow.
He sat up straight, smelt smoke, and then the lights went out. He heard Melanie scream his name and then Matthew’s name and then felt the heat. What the hell was happening? He fell to the floor and crawled in the darkness, knocking over his wine glass; resting his hands on a shard of glass, he screamed in pain. He tried to get his bearings in the darkness and dragged the rug from underneath him and wore it like a cloak.
