Chapter six

Eloise

*Five years later.*

"I’d never go to that party if it weren’t for the upcoming exhibition. Gosh, those people only care about showcasing their money!" My father grumbled at the other end of the phone.

"Dad, don’t be like that. You need to meet lots of people to broaden your horizon. It’s not just about the money. Besides, you need money as well."

"Here you go again! You’ve grown so much that you lecture me about money now. By the way, what have you been munching on?"

"Nothing, Dad." I stopped chewing and giggled.

"Nothing? Doesn’t that sound like chips? Have you been skipping your meals because of work?"

I smacked my lips. "No, Dad. I didn’t skip any... I mean, not many meals," I stuttered.

"Not again! I wonder what you’re feeding my grandchildren. I told you that a responsible adult doesn’t skip meals. Who cares if you’ve become one of the best curators if you can’t even feed yourself properly? I’m sure there’s no food there."

"There is... I’ll make something once we’re done talking. Dad, hearing you nag feels like home right now," I said, crinkling my nose.

"Don’t change the topic, little brat!"

"I miss you, Dad. It’s been way too long since I’ve seen you."

"Goodness, don’t pretend to miss me, Eloise. You haven’t come home in five years. It’s unfair. I haven’t even seen my grandchildren. Maybe I’ll make time and come to you myself."

Dad sounded serious, and I knew I hadn’t been fair. I left Italy a few days after my divorce, and ever since, I haven’t visited him.

"Mommy, are you taking us to Grandpa very soon?" Nicole asked once I dropped the call.

"Hey baby, I promise once I get a little break from work, we’ll go back to Italy. Is that okay with you?"

Nicole chuckled.

My phone rang again, and Giana picked it up before running to me.

"I’m sorry, Mrs. Yanet."

"It’s fine, Eloise. I’m sorry to disturb you on the weekend, but can you attend the founders' party on my behalf?"

"Yeah, sure. What do I need to do, ma’am?"

"You’ll pick Mr. Luciano from the airport on your way, then after the party, take him to his hotel. I’ll send you the details now. Remember, rich people are crazy—except you, of course—so you should know how to deal with him. Thank you so much, Eloise."

It must be urgent for Yanet to ask me this. Usually, she’s the one who forces me to go home and see my kids after I spend too much time at work.

The plan was to stay with them all day since it was the weekend, but now I had to leave my triplets with the nanny again.

Once I was dressed and ready to head out, Kiara and her sister appeared in front of me with a paper. "Mom, we’ve drafted a plan on how to find our daddy."

I rolled my eyes. "I’m not doing this with you girls today. I told you, your father is with Grandpa, and once we travel back, you’ll see them both."

This was the only reasonable thing I could think of telling my kids whenever they asked about their father. I was going to pin everything on Alex when we returned. He’s my friend and wouldn’t hesitate to help me play the husband/daddy role for a few weeks.

Actually, it bothers me that I don’t even know who the real father of my kids is. Whether it was my ex-husband, since we slept together the night before the denial and divorce, or the stranger who left a wristwatch—claimed to be worth millions of dollars—with an apology letter in my handbag.

Once I got to the airport, I brought out the card my children had written "Mr. Luciano" on and waited patiently. About thirty minutes later, a young man arrived and asked a bizarre question.

"Where’s the car?" He dropped his bag recklessly for me to carry, and goddamn, that crazy man had the audacity to wear Crocs with a suit. Oh, it’s true. Yanet said rich people are crazy, and it’s like she knew this one exceptionally well.

"Are you Mr. Luciano?" I asked. Judging by what I’d heard, Mr. Luciano wasn’t supposed to be this young and shameless. He never showed his face, and this was the first time he’d agreed to attend a public event himself.

"Yes."

"My name is Eloise, and I’ll be assisting you since Mrs. Yanet had a last-minute emergency."

His brows furrowed a little. "Sure, whatever. Where’s the car?"

"Over there, sir." I walked hastily with his luggage in hand and opened the backseat door for him to sit while I went over to the driver’s seat.

"What time is the party again?"

"Two hours from now, sir. The drive takes an hour and thirty minutes, so you have enough time," I assured him. At least he wasn’t boring. "Did you enjoy your flight, sir?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yeah... yes, sir."

"First-class tickets are just overly expensive and overrated. There’s nothing different between them and economy class tickets. It’s Eloise, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now listen to my advice: if you want to succeed in the future, don’t take a first-class ticket. Save the extra money and get food. It could buy a whole lot of food from... I mean, a food restaurant I know."

"Sorry?"

This wasn’t the conversation I expected from Mr. Luciano, but I remembered Yanet saying how crazy he is...

I kept my eyes on the road, unsure whether to laugh or be concerned. “Thank you for the… advice, sir. I’ll keep that in mind,” I replied, adjusting my grip on the steering wheel.

"How do you handle these parties?" Mr. Luciano asked suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

He looked at me through the mirror, his dark eyes curious. "You don’t strike me as someone who enjoys mingling with the rich and entitled."

I smiled. "Let’s just say I know how to play the part. It’s work."

"That it is," he murmured, shifting in his seat. "Just remember, you’re not like them."

I raised an eyebrow, unsure how to respond. Before I could come up with something, the venue came into view—lights twinkling from the mansion and expensive cars already pulling up to the valet.

"We’re here, sir," I announced, slowing the car as we approached the entrance.

"I thought it was a hotel?" Mr. Luciano said with a smirk, fixing his jacket as we neared the entrance.

"No sir, the party is at the art gallery," I whispered once we got inside.

"What? Well..."

"Mr. Luciano, it's an honor to meet you!"

"That's the chairman, sir," I whispered in his ear when he clearly wasn’t ready to return the handshake.

"Ohhh. Nice to meet you," Luciano said. A lot more people gathered since they were all excited that Mr. Luciano had honored the invitation.

"Sir, could you say something about any of the paintings that have caught your eye?"

There were several paintings lining the walls. Ethereal landscapes, vibrant abstract works, and a hauntingly beautiful portrait of a woman staring into the distance. Many other highly priced and unique paintings were present, but Mr. Luciano decided to pick one that wasn’t flashy like the others. It had clean lines and simple shapes, mostly squares and circles. The colors were soft—grays, blues, and whites.

He cleared his throat and started. "I’d say this one caught my eye. It’s beautiful. It reminds me of my childhood days when I’d look at my father’s—"

In the middle of his passionate explanation, he reached out too far and accidentally punctured the canvas. A shocked silence followed as everyone nearby froze, their eyes widening at the sight of the small tear.

Luciano blinked, clearly taken aback himself. "Well... uh... I didn’t mean for that to happen." He pulled his hand back, staring at the rip in disbelief.

I must have made a huge mistake. None of his behavior indicated he was the world’s richest art collector. Someone who values art that much would never touch it, let alone that carelessly.

It was when he talked about his father that I realized. The Mr. Luciano I was supposed to pick up grew up in an orphanage.

"Are you really Mr. Luciano Smith?" I asked.

"No... No, Luciano Greco," he said, and I staggered. My legs went weak all of a sudden.