Miranda Sparks’ wonderful life. Danny Osipenko
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I think you and I are going to have to slow down.
– Convinced?
– 300,000, one.
– I’m afraid so.
– But it’s your mom’s brooch!
– I know.
– 300,000, two.
– But should I stop there? – We looked each other in the eye. – 350,000!
There was an uproar in the hall.
– Sir, I don’t have that kind of money! – I whispered.
– 400,000 bucks! – my father bellowed.
I imagined his face, scarlet with tension, and grinned bitterly. My neighbor was about to raise his sign, but I stopped him.
– Don’t. I am grateful to you for responding to my request. But now I ask you to slow down.
– 400,000, one.
– Ma’am, I’m afraid it’s a matter of principle. – He made me feel uncomfortable. – 500,000!
I saw Aunt Jo standing up from her seat next to my dad, and she looked in our direction. We met her eyes, and then she sat down again and said something to my dad.
– 500,000, one! – The host’s voice sounded an octave higher than before. – 500,000 two!
The whole room fell silent, waiting for the next bet.
– Please, Daddy, don’t do this. – I pleaded with my eyes squeezed shut.
– 500,000, three! Sold to the man at number 205!
There was applause.
– Congratulations, you finally made it!
I was a little worried when I said those words.
– So are you.
Now that everything was behind me, I was relieved. Never had a charity auction been as exciting for me as this one. People began to rise from their seats to continue the evening over good wine and dancing in the museum’s large banquet hall.
Well, now it’s time for me to settle up for a huge thank you!
Chapter 5
– Here’s my card. – With a trembling hand, I pulled a small piece of paper from my purse with all my contact information written on it. – Call me when you feel comfortable, so I can keep my promise. I am very grateful to you for believing me and redeeming my mother’s brooch. Thank you, sir!
– I couldn’t help you, Miss…» The man looked at my card in his hands. When a young woman asks for help, a man shouldn’t stay away. Thanks to you, this evening doesn’t seem so sour to me now. Here, in case you need my help again.
I took his black platinum card and ran my eyes over it.
– Mr. Moreau? Right?
– That’s right.
– It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Moreau!
– Likewise, Miss Spikes!
– I apologize for dragging you into this adventure. I’m really sorry that you had to spend so much money on such a little contrivance.
– It’s okay. It was kind of fun. It’s not every day that you get something really valuable, like this brooch.
We were standing by the champagne table, which we approached as we walked out of the auction hall. My lifeguard was eight inches taller than me, if not more. I was standing with my head held high, and my neck was starting to hurt.
The man was not only tall, but also quite good-looking, so many of the ladies present, threw intrigued looks at him. I was a little taken aback myself when I finally got a good look at my neighbor, after the tension had finally subsided in my whole body. Apparently I was so used to ignoring the people around me that now any of them became, in my eyes, impersonal.
The first time I met Mr. Moreau, all I could see was a gray-blue three-piece suit. And for some reason I thought he was, like, over the age of 50. Even after I clutched at his hand and begged for help, I still didn’t pay any attention to his appearance. Now that the invisible shroud of excitement was out of my eyes, I could finally get a good look at the man. His dark-blond hair, hazel eyes, light stubble, and straight, aristocratic nose. All in all, there was a man standing in front of me who, on my friend Miranda’s «Attractiveness» scale, could get nine points, if not all10.
– Means Henry Spikes, your father!?
– Yes, that’s right. Do you know him?
Mr. Moreau took a small sip of champagne from his own glass.
– This is inevitable if you are a major partner in a large company like Spikes & Spikes.
– The truth?
– Yes, ma’am. – The man leaned toward me a little. – And since you’re his daughter, I’ll give you some advice. Don’t ever try to stop me again. It’s not my policy to give up before I get to the end, even if the risk is great.
I didn’t like what he was saying.
– Would you like to say that I am very impulsive?
– Is it?
– I would call it determination.
Mr. Moreau grinned and placed his own glass on the table.
– So be it! At this point, ma’am, please excuse me.
– Oh!» I got a little confused. – Yes, of course. It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Moreau.
– Me too, Miss Spikes! And me!
The man looked at me again and, with a slight nod of his head, strode confidently toward the center of the banquet hall.
Chapter 6
Heresy. All is heresy. A deception of untainted water.
At this point, I was lying to everyone. My dad, Miranda, Aunt Jo, my personal therapist Brenden Cooper, and even our concierge, Frank. And they all believed my heresy.
In fact, I was in pain. Reckless, to the point of clinking in my own tiny bathroom, where no one would see my pain. In all four years, I didn’t show it to others. It was only my pain, my torment, and my punishment.
After Mike’s death, my life was transformed into theater. I put on different masks in front of people and played my part. And after another intermission, I would lock myself in the bathroom of my own apartment and indulge in self-torture.
Mr. Cooper, the psychologist hired by my dad, even though he looked like a man who believed in me. Still, from time to time I noticed doubt in his eyes. Maybe if I was a little more candid, then I would be able to tell him what was happening in my life and my soul. But how could he know that? A man with a beautiful wife and two little kids! He lived in a world of happiness and domestic harmony. While I was living in misery and spiritual anguish.
Mr. Cooper loved to repeat, the only word he liked to use was «lingering depression. In just one hour of our meeting, he said it twice20. Apparently, in his mind, that’s exactly how it looks. Part of the reward for me was that he didn’t dig deeper into the very essence of the difficulty. And that annoyed me.
To be frank, I was annoyed by everything. People, whether they were close to me or strangers. The things around me, the weather on the other side of the window, the sounds, the voices, even the silence made me furious. I could hold this feeling inside me for a long time, until I was alone with myself. That was my therapy and I needed nothing else. Over time, this life became the norm for