Carrying The Billionaire’s Heir

Ophelia

Each weekday followed a monotonous routine. Walking hand in hand with Cecilia, I braced myself for the judgmental stares as we entered 42nd street. Her middle school, a red brick building, exhibited the classic old Bostonian architecture, refurbished much like the mothers of her classmates. As we neared, a cluster of women perked up, their perms meticulously styled, and ankles gracefully encased in heels. Their Monday morning attire seemed almost criminal. Adjusting my work uniform, I smoothed out wrinkles, my thumb catching on a hole in the apron.

Raquel Camille, the crew coach, engaged in boisterous conversation with others. Her incessant chatter about her husband, the congressman, became a background noise that I tried to drown out. The woman seemed incapable of discussing anything beyond her husband.

Spotting me, she flashed a grin, her impeccable teeth almost blinding. "Ophelia!" She planted kisses on both my cheeks, a tradition I found perplexing. We weren't in Europe, and our relationship didn't extend to friendship. Then, she treated Cecilia as if she were a dog rather than a ten-year-old, tapping her head. "So good to see you two. How was your weekend?"

While I had worked the entire weekend, Cecilia had been teaching the regulars at the restaurant how to play Solitaire. Of course, I wouldn't voice that. Instead, I opted for a more intriguing response. "Oh, you know, just dined with the Pope. Smoked a cigar with the Prime Minister. Had drinks with the Mayor."

Most of the women were accustomed to my responses, their chuckles carrying a trace of insincerity. Yet, a newcomer with pale skin and big blue eyes genuinely smiled. "Oh my God, what a weekend!"

Raquel shot her a stern look. "She's joking, Helen." Turning back to me, she rolled her eyes, suggesting a shared understanding of the joke. "No, Ophelia here is just a waitress."

Mentioning my job before nine am—quite an achievement, even for Raquel. "Not that that's a bad thing, by any means," Raquel dismissed with a casual wave, as if swatting a fly. Sometimes, I wished I could swat her. "Being a single mother, I couldn't imagine." Raquel continued, offering unnecessary details. "But her daughter, Cecilia here, is so smart she almost got a full scholarship to Warren's Prep."

It was the “almost” that irked me. You could throw anything at me, but messing with my kid was a big, resounding nope. Before I could articulate my displeasure, Cecilia squeezed my hand three times, our secret code signifying her support. "Didn't you just turn forty?"

Suppressing laughter, I responded, "Children," with a grin. "So direct. Gotta love 'em." At twenty-eight, I was the youngest among the moms, a significant reason for their disdain.

To my pleasant surprise, the newcomer, Helen, burst into laughter, causing Raquel's posture to snap up straight with an audible crack.

She cast a disdainful look down her pointed nose at Cecilia. Though her shoulders quivered with anger, Raquel refrained from directly snapping at the child, especially not in the presence of others. Her professional reputation hinged on caring for children, and she wouldn't risk tarnishing it openly.

Raquel's attention shifted as a BMW SUV pulled up to the curb, prompting a smile from me. The timing was impeccable. Raquel could downplay her passive aggressiveness all she wanted, but she would never openly berate a child. It was a significant reason I found pleasure in observing her interactions with her own kids.

The backdoor swung open, and two energetic identical boys tumbled out. Raquel eagerly awaited them, half squatting in her four-inch pumps, arms wide open. "Bentley! Astin!"

However, the twin boys raced past Raquel, seemingly indifferent, swatting each other with their lunchboxes. Raquel's cheeks flushed red, and her nanny, emerging from the passenger seat, apologized in Spanish and chased after the boys. Even Raquel's so-called "friends" found the scenes amusing.

I couldn't decide what was more shocking: Raquel Camille driving separately to the school from her children to save face or her kids being named after cars.

As the first bell chimed, Cecilia wrapped her arms around my waist. "Meet you at the diner after school?"

Squeezing her tightly, I hesitated. There was no need for Cecilia to know that my boss had scolded me for bringing her to work over the weekend, arguing that children playing cards with customers looked bad.

"I actually changed shifts, baby, so now I can pick you up."

Cecilia's jaw dropped. "Oh, yay!"

"Have a good day, baby." As she joined the crowd of children heading towards the door, Ms. Stephens appeared in the courtyard, moving swiftly with her short legs. Wind tousled her pixie cut of red hair. Despite her height of barely five feet, she instilled fear in me. I spun around, hoping she hadn't noticed me.

"Ms. Wellington! Ms. Wellington!"

Oh no. At least the wigs' wrath had dissipated, including Raquel. Putting on a smile, I greeted, "Ms. Stephens, I didn't see you. How are you?"

Her voice lowered. "Ophelia, I know you're avoiding me. I have tried to call you five times in the last two weeks."

"What? No. That's strange."

She scanned the surroundings. "Ophelia, I recognize you're facing challenges, and I empathize with it, but Cecilia doesn't possess a full scholarship, and your behavior implies otherwise."

"I assure you, that's not the case. I will arrange the remaining funds for you."

"Three months, Ophelia," Ms. Stephens stated. "You're in debt by 3,600 dollars, and I've extended it as much as possible. If you can't provide the payment by next week, I regret to inform you that I'll have to let go of Cecilia."

Before I could even protest, Ms. Stephens twirled around and vanished back into the recesses from whence she came.

Across the courtyard, Cecilia giggled with her friends, their arms interlinked as they broke into a dance move. Spotting me, she waved, and it required every ounce of strength to muster a smile in return.

Damn it.

I pivoted on my heel and marched out the gate before the wig-clad enforcers could detain me. My mood had plummeted, and if Raquel Camille dared to mock my attire, I was perilously close to telling her exactly where to stick her stilettos.

Without a car, I had to take two buses to reach the diner where I worked. Normally, the commute was a breeze, one I didn't mind, but today my thoughts fixated on a single worry. What if Cecilia lost her scholarship? Managing the current twenty-five percent payment already stretched my resources. If I failed to meet these obligations, her scholarship would vanish, and the only positive aspect in my life would crumble. Cecilia found happiness at that school, and that was my top priority – providing her a future I never had.

The diner stood on the outskirts of downtown, a charming mom-and-pop establishment that offered better pay than most eateries. I considered myself fortunate to have found it, and the owners, a couple hardly older than me, never missed a chance to remind me of my good fortune.

Draping my apron over my shirt, I stowed my purse in the locker. The morning rush was in full swing.

Diana Simmons peeked around the corner, her lips pursed. "Ophelia, you're twenty minutes late."

I was twelve minutes late, but Diana deemed anyone not early as already behind.

"There was a lot of traffic."

Diana's husband, the portly chef Henry, rang the bell signaling the next order was ready. "This is the third time this week, Ophelia."

Diana handed the plated order to Nancy, a veteran server with over a decade here. Nancy shook her head. "What else is new?"

Kill me. So, this was the trajectory for today? Fantastic.

As I prepared to step onto the floor, Diana sidled in front of me, blocking my way. "How many times have we discussed this, Ophelia? Time management is crucial in this business."

Tying my hair into a ponytail, I restrained what I truly wanted to say. Unlike them, this wasn't the industry where I aspired to build a career. Diana, a privileged woman who inherited this restaurant from her affluent mother but acted self-made, was oblivious to my goals.

"I apologize, Diana. I had to drop Cecilia off at school."

"Perhaps you can start leaving earlier? Or have your brother pick her up like he used to?"

I detested that she knew about Alistair. The more Diana delved into my life, the more she sought to exploit it against me. "My brother and I aren't really on speaking terms right now."

"Then why not hire a babysitter? Huh?"

Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, I refrained from expressing that the idea hadn't escaped me. The truth was, I couldn't afford even the most economical babysitter, and I wasn't about to entrust Cecilia to just anyone. "I'll consider it."

Diana fluttered her long eyelashes. "Well, I'll need you to work late tonight to compensate."

Inhaling deeply, I explained, "Diana, I can't work late because I lack a babysitter, and I have to pick up Cecilia from school."

"I don't know what you expect me to say, Ophelia."

"Order up!"

Halting Diana as she reached for the order, I reminded her, "Diana, I submitted the request over the weekend. I plan to work the nine-to-three shift during the week and then take double shifts on Saturday and Sunday. You approved it."

Diana tilted her head. "I'm pretty sure I'd recall that."

"Are you kidding me?"

Diana's jaw fell, and she almost let go of the order.

"Ophelia!" Henry exclaimed. "No chance. Absolutely not."

I took a deep breath. "I apologize, Diana, but I scheduled everything around this. If I don't leave by three, there won't be anyone to pick up Cecilia. I really have to go."

Diana shook her head. "You've got the wrong attitude today, Ophelia."

I pressed my hands together. "I'm sorry; I don't mean to have an attitude."

Henry glared at me. "We don't use profanity in this establishment, Ophelia. You know the rules. And you certainly don't speak to my wife like that."

Diana placed the plate down and motioned to Henry. "It's okay, honey. Listen, Ophelia, we hired you in good faith, and for some reason, the customers adore you. We've kept you here even when I questioned if you were the right fit. We are a family business."

"And I have a family," I smiled. "I'm just trying to do right by my daughter."

Something she couldn't grasp because she didn't have kids.

"And I love little Chloe."

"Cecilia."

Diana blinked. "Why don't you take the day off, Ophelia?"

My heart skipped. "Diana, please don't let me go."

"I'm not letting you go, Ophelia. I'm taking a break. Why don't you return next week?"

My stomach sank. "Next week?"

Diana licked her lips. "This will give me time to reassess the schedule, and I'll see if I can accommodate the shift you want. In the meantime, work on finding a backup babysitter for your daughter, just in case."

I clenched my jaw. "Can I at least pick up my paycheck this weekend?"

"You can collect it next Monday. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Henry shook his head. "If it were up to me, you'd be gone. But my wife sets the rules."

Without another word, I turned around, grabbed my purse, and stormed toward the back alley door, my phone buzzing in my hand. Three missed calls from Gerald, my landlord. As a series of texts appeared, I quickly opened them.

Ophelia, I gave you two weeks on last month's rent. If you don't have the money by Friday, you're out.

I stumbled into the back alley, my head spinning. As the door slammed, I clenched my fist around my phone.

"Damn it!"