Law #1: Never Bet on Love: A Sweet Billionaire Love Story (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (i read book txt) 📕

Eva blinks at me with wide eyes. “Oh, Nathan. I-I-I…it was Juan…my brother. He’s been playing the artist lately.”

“I see,” I murmur, still studying the curvy lines on my car door. Are they meant to be a spider or somebody’s head? It’s difficult to tell.

Eva grabs my hand. “I’ll pay for your damage. I will. Don’t worry.”

I turn and see her lips trembling. She isn’t going to cry, is she? It’s just a car. Nothing world-shattering. Of course I liked my ride’s original color better, but it isn’t irreparable damage. “No, Eva. It’s okay,” I reassure her, while secretly enjoying the warmth that seeps into my skin from her touch. “It’s not a big deal. There’s always a risk of getting some damage when you park outside.”

Sure, I’d anticipated a broken mirror and not some doodle in the shade of a sunflower…but still. It isn’t anything money can’t fix.

The little girl points at my car. “Look, Juan didn’t even paint those trees properly. They have no trunks.”

Oh, so they aren’t spiders.

Eva narrows her eyes. “Espie, stop! Rather, go and get your brother. I reckon he’s hiding upstairs.”

Her sister disappears.

Eva releases my hand, dropping her gaze. “As I said, I’ll pay for the damage, Nathan. No question about that.”

What? Does she think I would accept money from her to renew my car’s glossing? I shake my head. “I hope you’re kidding. It’s not a tragedy. I don’t want you to pay me anything. Kids play stupid games sometimes. No need for you to use your family’s savings to adjust my Bentley. A good scrubbing will be probably enough to erase your brother’s painting. If not, I’ll just get a new color or sell the car. It’s not like this is the only one I own.” I add this last part with a grin, not to make an impression on her, but to ease the obvious tension she’s feeling.

Eva bites on her lower lip. “No, no. I insist. I can’t fathom what got into Juan.”

Just as she mentions his name, the boy appears. Espie is dragging him by his elbow. “Here he is. I found him,” she declares triumphantly.

Eva steps to Juan, her face an unreadable mask. I expect her to scream at him, given how enraged she looked when she first saw my car. And I thought she’d been furious about the begonias.

Eva, however, surprises me by kneeling down eye-level with the boy. “Abuelita told me that punishment can’t teach anything. Only love can. So first come here.” She pulls him into a hug.

Juan’s face drifts into a confused grimace. “Aren’t you angry?”

Eva releases him. “You bet I am. Absolutely infuriated. But I don’t want to unleash it on you before knowing why you did this. So, tell me…why did you paint on Nathan’s car?”

Juan punts a stone, and it flies through the air with a loud swish. He throws me a side-glance.

Is he evaluating my take on the situation? Or maybe he’s afraid of speaking in front of me?

Looking at his guilty little face, I recall the time I filled my step-father’s drawers with raw eggs and broke them once I settled them on his underwear. A mean prank now that I think of it. Almost as stupid as chalk-painting a luxury car.

Eva’s patience seems to diminish the longer Juan’s silence stretches. She straightens up and stomps her left foot. “Juan! I’m really working against my basic instinct here. I want to follow Abuelita’s peaceful approach, but I can tell you that if you don’t start speaking soon, I’ll—”

I put a hand on her back. I don’t want her to say something she might regret later. I’m responsible for this whole situation. If I hadn’t forced my gift and company on her, maybe her brother would’ve found a different way to channel his Picasso vibes.

Eva turns her head to me and our eyes meet. She lifts a brow.

“Would you let me talk to Juan? Like man to man?” I ask.

Her mouth opens into a circle as if she’s flabbergasted by my words, but she steps back. “All yours.”

I drop down to the boy’s height and stretch my hand toward him. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Nathan.”

The boy observes my hand, trying to guess what kind of a game I’m playing with him.

I need to ease him into speaking with me, so I add, “I see you’re a bit of an artist. Do you have a favorite color when you paint?”

His lips twitch. “Yellow.”

Well, that figures. I blink at the bright scribbly lines on my car’s hood.

Juan sucks in a breath as if preparing for my scolding.

I turn back to him and widen my grin. “I like yellow, too. Though I guess the best place for this color isn’t a car. Maybe it would look nicer on a stone wall. Or on paper. What do you think?” I wink at him.

Juan’s mouth moves into a smile. “I guess.”

“So if we agree on this, would you tell me why you decided to use my car as your canvas?”

Juan’s eyes flick to Eva, then he bends forward to me, lowering his voice. “I wanted to teach you a lesson. I can paint much nicer things than the ones on your car.”

My brows arch. “A lesson? Why?”

“Because you’re rich,” Juan says matter-of-factly, as if his words explain everything.

I hear Eva stir behind us. I blink up at her. She’s chewing on her lower lip as if she’s embarrassed by her brother’s words.

“Rich people need to learn they can’t expect things to fall into their laps,” Juan continues, encouraged by the fact that nobody is screaming at him.

I wonder who taught him this? I stifle a smile. “Oh, really? How interesting. And you thought I would learn this if you paint on my car?”

Juan bobs his head side to side so that his thick black curls flutter. “I don’t know. But I thought you might be furious. And perhaps Eva would be happy.”

“Eva?” I