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“He remembered?” I’m surprised by that, but his moments of clarity have been growing by the day due to the new promising medication he’s been on for a few weeks and it seems to have started working.
Mom was so happy when she called me the other day to tell me he remembered her birthday. It’s the small things that mean the most.
“We good?” I ask, my brothers standing in a semi-circle on the other side of my desk, and I remove myself from it and walk to them.
“We’re brothers, we’ll always be good.” Max lays his hand on my shoulder.
“I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”
“Yes, you do.” He winks.
49
ARI
It’s The Connecting Kids Foundation fundraiser day.
Forty-eight hours of agonizing anticipation have passed since I met with Julie in the bar and I’ve been patiently waiting for the outcome.
Today that ended.
As Max had promised, he moved quickly. This morning, a damning exposé broke—not just in one paper, but across national tabloids and news channels, both online and off—unveiling the shady dealings of Julie and her team atThe Golden Telegraph.
With phone-hacking making the headlines, dozens of people have been posting their stories online all day using the hashtag exposingthetruth with calls to shut down the newspaper and charge everyone responsible.
Separate articles were published about Julie and the several injunctions against her, as well as police reports and charges previously filed against her. For Buzz, it was even worse: extortion, bribery, phone-hacking, fake news; the list keeps on growing.
Max kept his promise to keep my name out of everything and only made reference to the fake crash report she created amongst a long list of other documents she forged.
In comparison to the phone-hacking and everything else she did, the fake crash report is insignificant.
Significant for me, because it would have made me look like a fraud had I taken it to the police.
She was happy to throw me under the bus and let me die there for all she cared, as long as it got her the outcome she wanted—to destroy the Hart family.
I’m glad I am here at the fundraiser day to help distract me. It’s been a long and busy day. Not only did people turn out in their droves to support the foster charity I volunteer for, but they also dug deep into their pockets to help us support foster kids who need it the most, meaning we can now hire two full-time trauma therapists and child psychologists, who are much needed and long overdue.
I take a seat on the bench at the far end of the garden within the grounds of the group home overlooking the city, remove my sandals, and give my toes a wiggle. Having been on my feet all day looking after the stand selling lemonade, which the kids made themselves, my feet are throbbing.
Feeling more like myself than I have in weeks, I let the sun kiss my skin and consider my next move. This coming week I need to get myself a job. I can’t live on my savings for much longer because I need the money for a deposit on a new house I still plan on buying in the future. The prospect makes my heart feel heavy.
I was naive to believe I’d end up living in a luxury penthouse with the man of my dreams—the kind of life anyone would trade a kidney for.
“It’s a beautiful view.”
My heart cartwheels in my chest as the sound of Nathan’s voice cuts through the air.
I snap my head around to discover he’s behind me and I about melt into a puddle, like butter in a hot pan. He looks delicious in a dazzling white Henley and black jeans that more than likely cost more than my monthly rent.
What the hell is he doing here?
I stay glued to the seat, while he walks toward the bench, and I follow his every move as he sits next to me.
“San Francisco at dusk is always beautiful,” I say, keeping our conversation neutral.
“I wasn’t talking about the landscape, Arianna.” Our eyes lock and I realize he was talking about me.
He still thinks I’m beautiful.