1Love Redesigned (Lakefront Billionaires, #1)(31)

My mom waves me off. “I know. I know. Never mind.”

“Who’s Annabelle?” Dahlia can’t hide that special glint in her eyes.

“She is someone newer to town whose family moved here from Chicago. Julian dated her a couple of months ago, although their relationship ended rather abruptly.”

“You don’t say,” Dahlia dryly replies.

“Annabelle Meyers?” Lily frowns. “I had no idea you dated her.” The expression of distaste on her face probably matches mine.

I pull at my collar. “She wasn’t worth mentioning.”

“Julian!” my mom calls out.

“How long did they date?” Dahlia asks with the softest, fakest voice.

My mom clasps her hand against her chest. “Not long, although that didn’t stop my son from breaking her heart.”

“Surprised she found him worthy of it to begin with.” Dahlia smirks.

She didn’t. I bite down on my tongue in an admirable display of self-restraint.

“Don’t start, mija,” Rosa warns her daughter.

“Sorry, Mami.”

My mom shakes her head. “It’s okay. I should have warned her mother before they started dating.”

“Warned her about what?” Dahlia perks up.

“Julian leaves a trail of sad women behind him.”

“No, I don’t.” I don’t know why I feel the need to defend myself, but I stupidly continue. “And I didn’t break Annabelle’s heart.” She would need to possess one to begin with, and our exchange proved otherwise.

“How would you know?” Lily asks.

“Because we only went on three dates.” All of which ended with me politely escorting her to the door each night and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

There was no buzz. No chemistry. No special spark that had my blood rushing and my head spinning.

It was hard to find her attractive in the first place with how she mistreated those around her, including servers and those she deemed below her status.

Despite Annabelle’s shortcomings, I know the problem lies within myself rather than with the women I’m set up with. They expect a charismatic billionaire who will wine and dine them around the world, but I’m not that guy. I prefer listening rather than speaking, quiet actions instead of elaborate displays of affection, and working hard to share my money with others rather than finding a way to spend it all on myself.

And while some were willing to accept that about me at first, all of them had the same reaction when I told them I wasn’t interested in having kids—at least not in the way they wanted.

My mom frowns. “Her mother said Annabelle felt something special between you two.”

“Better wife her up before she comes to her senses,” Dahlia adds.

I glare at her. “She wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Obviously not if she thought you two were special.”

Remember that apology you practiced? Forget it.

“Dahlia!” Rosa chides.

She winces. “What?”

Her mom shoots her a look. “You know what.”

“Perdón.” She sinks deeper into the dining chair.

Perdón: Sorry.



I fight back a smile.

Dahlia scratches the tip of her nose with her middle finger.

“That’s it.” Rosa throws her napkin on the table and points a finger at her daughter. “You’re in charge of dishes.”

“But I got my nails done yesterday.” She holds up her hands, showing off her intricate nail art.

“Wear my rubber gloves, then.”

“Here you go.” I place my plate on top of Dahlia’s cleared one, making her scowl.

My mom throws her napkin on the table with a dramatic sigh. “Since you’re in the mood to be helpful, you can do the dishes too.”

“What?”

“Dahlia wouldn’t be in trouble if you didn’t keep bothering her all day.”

“She’s the one who started it.”

“And I’m ending it. Go.”

I scoot my chair out and stand with a scowl. “Fine.”

Dahlia and I silently collect everyone’s dishes before entering the kitchen.

“You wash and I dry?” she asks as the door swings shut behind her.

“You don’t have a dishwasher?”

“It broke last night.”

Great. “I’ll take a look at it once we’re done.” I place the dirty dishes in the sink before rolling up my sleeves.

Dahlia tracks my every move with heated fascination, making my stomach clench.

Shit. “Do you have gloves?” I ask.

She snaps out of whatever trance my arms had her in. “Um, yeah.” She digs through the cabinet beneath the sink and pulls out a large pair of pink gloves.

I grab them from her, ignoring the tingle of her fingers brushing across mine. Both of us pull away a little too fast. I put the gloves on with too much force, nearly ripping one of them.

Dahlia searches the laundry room for a clean towel while I busy myself with the dishes.

She returns, only to pause midstride so she can snap a photo of me washing a plate. “Aw. The color of the gloves really brings out your cheeks.”