LOVE AND SECRET- THE BILLIONAIRE SECRET

LUCIANA'S POV

"_Mierde_," I let out softly in pent-up frustration as I looked at my phone screen, staring at yet another rejection notice. Funny how most of these white collar corporations make use of really similar words for these kinds of letters. They usually always begin with "We are sorry to say" or "We apologize for" or something along those lines. Always sorry, always apologizing. Not that they actually meant any of these anyway. Because, for people like me; the ones being rejected, we don't even truly register to these companies. We don't matter.

I put down the device on the cafe table in front of me and tighten my fists, my medium length nails digging into my palms. This was unfair- all of this. My eyes slowly begin to water as I will myself to snap out of it. The pain from my nails jolts me and brings me out of my thoughts.

"Breathe," I whisper to myself softly. "Just breathe, Luciana," I try again so I won't end up bawling in the middle of this almost unnoticeable, but charming little tea shop I just came across while walking the streets of Dublin.

My gaze catches the gray ones of the middle aged man sitting alone at the table adjacent to mine. He was the only other person in this tea shop, besides a young couple holding hands and whispering to each other a few seats away. We hold gazes for a few seconds longer, with neither of us even blinking. I simmer inside, waiting for him to stand up and come to me, to inquire if I'm okay, as so many others I've met have done, not that they ever really cared.

Nothing happens. He does continue to stare though, before his face slowly breaks into a small smile. And in the depths of his ashen eyes I see something akin to understanding and, perhaps, kindness.

I turn my eyes away from his and stare down at my table, my eyebrows coming together in a frown. As if on cue, the brown haired waitress who had taken my order a few minutes ago shows up beside me and places down my cup of tea gently on the table.

"Would that be all?" She asks with that familiar but faint Irish lilt to her words, her honey brown eyes staring at me with a professional smile plastered on her face.

"Yes, thank you," I responded quietly.

The waitress turns away while I pick up the cup and take a small sip. I sigh as my eyes flutter and close, trying to enjoy this moment. I feel better and calmer than I did a few moments ago. The tea helped and probably the kind smile I received from the older man sitting close to me. I need to pick myself up and try again at finding another corporation looking to hire. I can't continue doing these part-time jobs forever. Although, at this point, I probably am qualified to be called a part-time ancestor since I've been at this even before coming to Ireland a few months ago.

I chuckle. Part-time ancestor. What a dumb name. Sounds like something my ma could come up with. She's always been goofy, that one. Thinking about her now reminds me of how much I miss her, even though we talk almost every day. I really do miss her.

I sniff, my mood now taking a familiar downturn. I pick up my phone and text her a short greeting while downing the rest of my still hot tea. It burned, but I didn't really feel anything due to my mind being occupied by a lot of other thoughts.

After waiting for a few minutes for her to respond, she doesn't. I then proceed to place the money for the tea down on the table and pick up my purse. As I walk out of the quaint tea shop, my dark brown boots making slight noises as the heels meet the floor, I turn and stare again at the gray eyed man. As if feeling my gaze, he turns away from the newspaper he was reading and stares at me. Then he waved me goodbye, much to my surprise. I almost stumble, but I end up regaining myself and nod slightly at him before turning and walking through the glass door of the cafe.

The cold winter air rushes into my system as I step out, making me sneeze. I blow my nose with my hankie, and feel that familiar headache beginning to bear down on me. The cold almost always inflicts me with headaches of varying degrees. I'm still not sure why. Although I could find out if I went to the hospital for a check-up. But such expenses were really out of my budget for now.

I step onto the snow covered pavement and stare up at the sky which was beginning to darken, as is typical of winter. And, although it was really cold and this down jacket I wore wasn't quite warm enough, I turned my bare palm outwards and a few flakes of snow fell into it but soon melted due to my body heat. I breathe in the cold Dublin air shakily with my eyes closed, willing this city to be kinder to me.

A few hours later...

"...and then, Miss Sarah said my spellings were all correct, but Ryan had a few mistakes and he began to cry, mama," I held Rodri's hands carefully in mine while listening to how his day at school went as we walked home.

"What happened after he cried, chipmunk?" I inquired while softly dusting off the snow that lay on his adorable off-white beanie.

My son pouts, his adorable light brown eyes staring up at me, "I'm not a chipmunk, mama. You're always calling me that even when I tell you not to."

My lashes flutter, and then I smile gently at him. "Really?" I let out in false surprise. "I believe I forgot not to, my little chipmunk."

He pouts, but then smiles, his noticeably deep dimples showing on both cheeks. "You're so silly for always forgetting, mama. But it's alright. I'll always remember you." He says in his cute little voice while slightly skipping on the snow paved footpath.

I let out a small chuckle and pulled his little body up into a big bear hug. "Thank you, my little chipmunk," I whisper softly as I inhale the comforting scent of his milk-flavored hair shampoo.

"I love you the most, mama," he whispers back and lays his head on my shoulder after settling down from the giggles he had when I pulled him into the hug.

"Me too, my darling. Me too."

Rodri still lies in my arms, our conversation about Ryan's crying momentarily forgotten, although, knowing him, he will bring it up again later when he remembers and give me the entire gist.

I look up to see that we're already at our apartment building. The building is a slightly old residential one with four floors. We moved here immediately after arriving in Ireland five months ago. The rent was quite cheap, plus our apartment was small, but manageable for both of us, and it was in the quieter part of the city, so I decided to take it after the agent took me to three other apartments with higher rent prices. Over the course of the few months we've been here, I've grown to like this place. The serenity of it and a few of the neighbors themselves, although most of them were quite eccentric to say the least.

There is Old Joe who was half American and had spent most of his life in America. He was thorny and suspicious at first when she moved in. I had thought this was because he didn't like me, but later found out from Mary who lives on the first floor that he acted like that to every new tenant who moved in. There is Mary herself who is in her fifties and plays the role of a typical gossiping neighbor. But she's been really kind and welcoming so far, although a bit intrusive at times. There are the two Emma's who school at the University of Dublin. They'd moved in shortly before me and till date, no one knew if they were sisters, lovers, friends or just mere roommates. They live on the third floor, an apartment down from mine. There's also Lorcan and Claire, the friendly couple who live on the second floor. Lorcan is in his thirties and teaches at the Dublin University, while Claire is a beautiful part-time yoga instructor in her late twenties and full-time self proclaimed medium who's been trying to get me to take yoga lessons and come to her apartment for a séance since we became friends.

There are a few other neighbors in the building, some of whom I've never even seen since I first moved here. My next-door neighbor is one of them. Mary did tell me when I first moved in that he works as a surgeon in some private hospital and is almost always being called away for emergency surgeries. Although I've never seen him, I do hear faint sounds coming from his apartment occasionally.

I quickly walk up the few flights of stairs while still holding my son, trying to not make any loud noises to avoid attracting the attention of the other tenants. I wasn't really in a talking mood this evening. When I get to the first floor, I see Mary by the stairs about to go down, all wrapped up to prevent the cold air from getting to her body. I sigh slightly but still smile at her in greeting.

"Mary, hello," I say while putting down Rodri who was wriggling out of my hold, trying to get down.

"Oh my. Good evening, Luciana," she says, her clear green eyes crinkling up at the sides in a smile upon seeing me. "I wondered who was running up those stairs like that. So it was you".

I smile sheepishly and nod while I watch her talking to Rodri, asking him how his day went. He smiles and answers her and she pats his hair softly with a smile in response.

"Anyway, I need to go out for a bit. No more running. Most especially not when you're holding little Ro," Mary scolds in her soft motherly tone before walking down the same stairs I just climbed up.

I take my son's hand and we walk up the remaining stairs slower than we did before we got to our floor. As we walk past Claire's apartment, as we hear the faint sounds of music sung by a particular French singer she almost always listens to.

The cold greets us as we step into our small, mostly bare two bedroom apartment. Rodri's tiny body shivers and I quickly go to turn on the heater after turning on the lights. He lets out a small thank you while yawning in tiredness after his busy day at school. I picked him up and took him to his bedroom to get him out of those clothes and changed into house clothes after a warm bath.