In the Age of Love and Chocolate (Birthright #3)(40)

“He is dying, Theo. And he wants me to inherit his business so that I can do for Ono Sweets what we have done in New York.”

“Puta,” Theo spat.

“What?”

“It means ‘whore.’”

“I know what it means. Are you calling me a whore?”

“I am calling you a person who chooses money over love. That is a whore.”

“I don’t love you, Theo. I don’t know how else or how many times I can say this. And even if I did love you, I’m not sure it would be enough.”

Theo muttered something in Spanish.

“What?”

“You are a sad person, Anya. I pity you.”

My phone rang. “That’s my cab,” I said. “I’m leaving.”

He didn’t reply.

“Congratulate me. I would congratulate you.”

“You cannot honestly think that. Sometimes I feel I have never known you at all.” He left my room and then I heard him leave the apartment.

I picked up my rumpled clothes and jammed them back into the suitcase. I would be lying if I told you my spirits hadn’t also been slightly rumpled by Theo’s words.

As I went into the hallway, Scarlet came out of her bedroom—she and Felix were now using Noriko and Leo’s old room. Scarlet was still in her Dark Room uniform from the night before. She must have fallen asleep in it. About a month ago, Scarlet had been cast in a play. Something experimental in a black-box theater. Something for no pay. Her character was called Truth. Between her job and the play, I barely saw her despite the fact that we lived together. “Anya!” she said. “Wait.”

“Are you going to try to stop me and tell me what a terrible person I am, too?” I asked.

“Of course not. How could I judge anyone, especially you, my darling? I wanted to say be safe and call me when you can.” She put her arms around me. “Also, wish Natty a happy graduation for me.”

* * *

Two years ago, I had graduated in a room with a broken-down air conditioner. In contrast, Natty graduated in a garden on the most perfect day in May. Navy-blue and white ribbons hung from the awnings and the trees. Roses were in bloom and their scent perfumed the air. The church kept peacocks, and there were peacock feathers strewn about the grounds, which I found strange but charming. Natty, who had cut her hair into a short bob, was tall and lovely in her pale yellow cap and gown. Next year, she would be going to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Her valedictory speech was about water and the importance of developing new divining technologies. I loved watching the way other people listened to her. My sister was going to be someone.

People clustered around her after the graduation was over. I was milling about toward the back of the crowd when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Annie,” Win said. “How are you?”

I knew Natty had invited him—they had been friends in Boston, and it did not escape my notice that their friendship had outlasted my relationship with Win—and so I was not surprised to see him. He was wearing a light gray three-piece suit. The pants were cut very slim, and he was as handsome as ever. I offered him my hand, and he shook it. “It is good to see you,” I said.

He was carrying a peacock feather and he smelled like citrus and musk. “How are you?” we both said at the same time.

I laughed. “You first. Your dad says you are still thinking about medical school?”

“I can see exactly what type of conversation this is going to be. Yes. Yes, I am.”

“What would you rather talk about?”

“Anything. The weather,” he said.

“It’s a perfect day for a graduation.”

“Your hair.”

“I’m thinking about letting it grow out.”

“Though I don’t have a vote, I would approve of such a plan.”

I picked up the peacock feather. “What’s this?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll write my novel with it,” he said.

“Oh yes?” I asked. “What will it be about?”

“Hmm. Bad girl meets good boy. Ambitious father gets in the middle. Girl chooses business over boy. That kind of thing.”

“I think I’ve read that story before,” I said.

“That’s probably because it’s a cliché.”

“What happens in the end?”

“The girl marries someone else. That’s what I’ve heard.” He paused. “Is it true?”

“Yes,” I said, looking away. “But it isn’t what it looks like.”

“Will it look like you walking down an aisle?”

“It will.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, you have always known what you want. You have always known your own heart.”

“Have I?”

“I think so,” he said. “I … I made a mistake two years ago in trying to tell you what to do. I still think I was right, but the reason I liked you in the first place was because you were so independent, so stubborn, and so much yourself. One cannot change Anya Balanchine’s mind about anything. I was wrong even to try.” He looked at my sister, who was talking to one of her teachers at the podium. “You must be so proud.”

“I am.”