lip.
“I’m going to Mumbai after this,” he said.
“You are?”
“We opened a hotel there a few years ago. I’m going to visit, and then my final destination will be Goa. That is actually one of our most profitable hotels.”
“Goa is lovely.” People from all over the world traveled to its lush beaches.
“You’ve been there?”
“No, but I’ve heard it is.”
“May I ask you something without sounding completely ignorant?”
“I doubt you ever sound ignorant, sir.” I braced myself for a difficult question.
“Why do you have a Spanish last name?”
All my bunched muscles relaxed. “As you probably know, the Brits ruled India before independence.”
He smirked. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“But before that, we belonged to Portugal. When the Portuguese came ashore on Goa, they brought missionaries along with the sailors and traders. The missionaries converted many families. Along with those conversions, they adopted Spanish names. Mine was one of them.”
“Interesting. I didn’t know that. So you come from Goa?”
“Originally, but this was centuries ago. We migrated to Bombay eventually…or Mumbai, depending if you use the new name.”
“Does your family still live in Mumbai?”
My quota for easy questions was up. “My parents are gone.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, his striking green-brown eyes shining with a compassion I wasn’t prepared for.
I swallowed down a silent sob before taking an unladylike gulp of water from the bottle. “Thank you. But only my father passed away. My mother ran off years before. No one has heard from her since, not that we were looking.”
“Where did you live after your father passed?”
“In an orphanage until I turned eighteen.”
“Do you have any family?”
I opened my mouth, but was struck silent. The lump in my throat threatened to crack open. Shit.
Liam’s concerned expression only made it worse. Do not pity me, I wanted to scream. But I might have dissolved into a pool of tears if I opened my mouth.
“I’m sorry. Obviously I’m trespassing on your privacy. I noticed you didn’t have an emergency contact.” My mouth gaped, but before I could respond, he continued, “I checked the other employees, too. You’re the only one who doesn’t have one. I’d like to fill that line in for you. Who shall I put down?”
The silence between us stretched. I twisted the cheap silver band on my arm, reminding myself it was time to buy a new bracelet. “Leave it blank.”
He placed his hand flat on the table, close to mine, as if to offer an invitation to reach out. I refused the offer.
“I lost my mum in a car accident when I was sixteen.”
Guilt pricked at me. “Were you close?”
“Yes.”
“She bought you the book. I…I read the card. I’m sorry. The other ones fell out. I probably put them back in the wrong place.”
“I can figure out where they all go. I’ve read them enough times to know.”
“What do they mean? The note cards.”
He considered my question for a moment. We’d been tiptoeing around each other’s boundaries since I’d arrived. His reaction made me wonder if I’d unknowingly crossed into hostile territory. He smiled softly, putting me at ease. “Mum fancied herself a writer. She always bought me a book for my birthday. She put note cards inside with parables or lessons or thoughts she’d written for me. Sometimes, they had to do with the book. Most of the time, they were just generalizations to guide me.”
“What did she write?”
“Poems, short stories, and a novel that never saw an end. It was her dream, but dreams don’t pay rent. She worked as a supermarket cashier and crafted junk jewelry, too.”
The realization struck me our differences were not as vast as the oceans between our homes. Liam Montgomery had been poor once. “Her gifts were very thoughtful.”
He laughed, a sad, cynical laugh. “When I was a kid, I hated them. What the hell was I going to do with
“I’m going to Mumbai after this,” he said.
“You are?”
“We opened a hotel there a few years ago. I’m going to visit, and then my final destination will be Goa. That is actually one of our most profitable hotels.”
“Goa is lovely.” People from all over the world traveled to its lush beaches.
“You’ve been there?”
“No, but I’ve heard it is.”
“May I ask you something without sounding completely ignorant?”
“I doubt you ever sound ignorant, sir.” I braced myself for a difficult question.
“Why do you have a Spanish last name?”
All my bunched muscles relaxed. “As you probably know, the Brits ruled India before independence.”
He smirked. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“But before that, we belonged to Portugal. When the Portuguese came ashore on Goa, they brought missionaries along with the sailors and traders. The missionaries converted many families. Along with those conversions, they adopted Spanish names. Mine was one of them.”
“Interesting. I didn’t know that. So you come from Goa?”
“Originally, but this was centuries ago. We migrated to Bombay eventually…or Mumbai, depending if you use the new name.”
“Does your family still live in Mumbai?”
My quota for easy questions was up. “My parents are gone.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, his striking green-brown eyes shining with a compassion I wasn’t prepared for.
I swallowed down a silent sob before taking an unladylike gulp of water from the bottle. “Thank you. But only my father passed away. My mother ran off years before. No one has heard from her since, not that we were looking.”
“Where did you live after your father passed?”
“In an orphanage until I turned eighteen.”
“Do you have any family?”
I opened my mouth, but was struck silent. The lump in my throat threatened to crack open. Shit.
Liam’s concerned expression only made it worse. Do not pity me, I wanted to scream. But I might have dissolved into a pool of tears if I opened my mouth.
“I’m sorry. Obviously I’m trespassing on your privacy. I noticed you didn’t have an emergency contact.” My mouth gaped, but before I could respond, he continued, “I checked the other employees, too. You’re the only one who doesn’t have one. I’d like to fill that line in for you. Who shall I put down?”
The silence between us stretched. I twisted the cheap silver band on my arm, reminding myself it was time to buy a new bracelet. “Leave it blank.”
He placed his hand flat on the table, close to mine, as if to offer an invitation to reach out. I refused the offer.
“I lost my mum in a car accident when I was sixteen.”
Guilt pricked at me. “Were you close?”
“Yes.”
“She bought you the book. I…I read the card. I’m sorry. The other ones fell out. I probably put them back in the wrong place.”
“I can figure out where they all go. I’ve read them enough times to know.”
“What do they mean? The note cards.”
He considered my question for a moment. We’d been tiptoeing around each other’s boundaries since I’d arrived. His reaction made me wonder if I’d unknowingly crossed into hostile territory. He smiled softly, putting me at ease. “Mum fancied herself a writer. She always bought me a book for my birthday. She put note cards inside with parables or lessons or thoughts she’d written for me. Sometimes, they had to do with the book. Most of the time, they were just generalizations to guide me.”
“What did she write?”
“Poems, short stories, and a novel that never saw an end. It was her dream, but dreams don’t pay rent. She worked as a supermarket cashier and crafted junk jewelry, too.”
The realization struck me our differences were not as vast as the oceans between our homes. Liam Montgomery had been poor once. “Her gifts were very thoughtful.”
He laughed, a sad, cynical laugh. “When I was a kid, I hated them. What the hell was I going to do with
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