The Billionaire's Princess - Ava Ryan Page 0,24

is the part about her not needing to impress me. But me not needing to impress her?

Big-ass lie.

I’m all about impressing her. Hence the cooking tonight. I want to show her my real estate holdings, my investment portfolio and my bank account balances. I can’t wait to show off my various luxury cars and the jet. Don’t get me started on my penthouse with its 360-degree views that include the rivers or our family home in the Hamptons.

I want her to see all of it. To understand that I plan to hit the billionaire mark—both with the company and personally—or die trying.. To know that I can afford and protect a woman like her.

And none of it has to do with the fact that she’s a royal.

When I get a minute, I’m going to think about how ironic it is that I’m positive both that Percy could never be the man for her and that I am the man for her, yet equally positive that she will wise up to me and/or I will blow it if given half the chance.

Can I pedal hard and put a good face on it? Yeah, sure.

But the bottom line, independent of my financial bottom line, is that I’m a worthless loser who drives people away no matter how hard I work to keep them. My mother walked out on me. Carly has already walked out on me once. The clock is ticking on when she does it again.

My only job? To impress her enough to make her think twice before she does it.

“Can I come in?” I ask.

She stands aside with a flourish, ushering me inside a great apartment with plenty of light and space. Gourmet kitchen. The works. Exactly what you’d expect, even if it does seem like a lot for one person. But my own apartment is huge, so I can’t talk.

“Nice,” I say, then set my things on the counter and wash my hands before diving into the bags. “I’m making pasta with vodka sauce and salad in case you’re vegetarian. I can add meatballs if you’re not. If you’re vegan, you’re making your own damn dinner. You’re in charge of the salad. I assume you can chop without losing fingers.”

She grabs a knife and a cutting board, brows raised. “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent cook.”

“Yeah?” I eyeball her with new respect. “How’d that happen?”

“Mum wanted to make sure I had one foot in the regular world. She wanted me to be a normal kid who knew what to do without a nanny or a housekeeper fussing over me. I’ve always cooked, cleaned and done my own laundry. My father was baffled by the whole thing, but there you have it.” Her expression turns wistful. “She had the common sense in the family. I miss her.”

I pause, riveted by any detail about her personal life and determined to show her that she can trust me. “When did she die?”

“Couple of years ago. She and Daddy had a terrible divorce that lasted roughly as long as the marriage. In case you’re interested.”

“I am interested.” I pass her the veggies and choose my words carefully, surprised that I’m willing to share these shameful details from my past with anyone, much less share them this early in the relationship. “I know about nasty divorces. My mother walked out when I was ten. When my father went through some financial difficulties and almost lost everything.” I clear my throat, my voice turning husky. “Married my father’s richer best friend. They had a custody war. Then she, ah, died in a car accident before we ever really reconciled.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says softly. “And your dad?”

Shaky laugh from me. “I’m supposed to be cooking dinner. Not sure why I’m getting into all this with you.”

She regards me with steady warmth, as though she knows exactly how hard this is. “It’s because I’m an incredibly special person. Anyone can see that.”

I sure as fuck can.

“My dad never quite recovered from her walking out. He rebuilt the companies to some extent. Brought me and my brothers in once we got out of school. And then got lung cancer and died before we took things to the next level. Never got to see what my brothers and I could do.”

Sad nod from Carly. “Very inconsiderate of him.”

I snort. “We thought so.”

Another nod as she takes her time about choosing her words. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Yeah, well,” I say gruffly, looking around for a