Delia's Heart by V. C. Andrews Page B

see a helicopter on a helicopter pad.
    “My father bought that a year ago. He hates being caught in traffic.”
    “He flies it himself?” I asked.
    “No. We have a pilot for that and for our plane.”
    “Plane? Where’s the plane?” I asked, looking around.
    Both Adan and she laughed.
    “It has to be kept at the airport, silly. We have a lot of land but not enough for that, and besides, we couldn’t have an airport because of some zoning laws or something.”
    I was speechless. Was there any end to the wealth of these people? No wonder she moved like someone walking on a cloud. To have all this money and be beautiful as well—it made me wonder what wonderful things her ancestors had done for them to inherit such happiness. Or was it all a matter of luck?
    “Adan’s father has a plane, too,” Fani told me.
    “Yeah, but your father’s plane is bigger than my father’s,” he said.
    “You have a yacht. We don’t have a yacht. My father isn’t interested in a yacht,” she said.
    “You have your own golf course and your own tennis court.”
    “I don’t play golf much, and you have a tennis court.”
    “Your pool is bigger than ours.”
    “Your father owns horses, we don’t. My mother wouldn’t want horses on the property.”
    “You want to trade houses right now?” he challenged.
    Fani laughed.
    I felt as if I were watching a ping-pong game being played with a ball made of gold. It wasn’t that long ago that I was proud of the fact that we had two bedrooms in our small house and an old black-and-white television set that worked occasionally when the electricity worked.
    “You’ll have to come to my house and make comparisons,” Adan told me. “Fani likes to pretend she’s modest, but she considers us the poor relatives.”
    “Relatives?”
    “My father is Fani’s father’s second cousin.”
    “Third, but who’s counting?” Fani said.
    “Oh, I didn’t know you were related,” I said.
    “See,” Adan cried, “she never told you. She’s ashamed of us.”
    Fani laughed harder and then swung the golf cart around sharply. I fell against Adan, who held me in his arm for a moment.
    “She is so reckless,” he said.
    I started to sit back again.
    “It’s all right,” he said. “I don’t mind.”
    I smiled but sat up and held on to the side of the cart until we pulled back into the cart parking area.
    “Thank you for the tour,” I said.
    “Yeah, thank you,” Adan told her. “It worked up my appetite.”
    We went back into the house and followed the guests to the enormous dining room. Only in books had I heard of a table that could actually seat forty people, but this hand-carved dark cherry-wood table was dressed with gold-plated settings and sparkling silverware with goblets for the wine and water. There were more than a dozen waiters and waitresses ready to serve and pour the wine.
    Fani led us to our seats. Adan sat between us, which meant I was seated beside his father on my left. Heimmediately introduced himself to me again and began asking me questions about my life in Mexico.
    “My family comes from Sonora. They owned a great deal of land just outside Hermosillo. Adan has been there a few times,” he said, looking Adan’s way.
    “Yeah, right,” Adan said, obviously not happy about the visits.
    “Perhaps you can help him appreciate his heritage better than I can,” his father said.
    “Maybe she can, Dad. I think I would be more attentive to her than I have been to you,” Adan quipped, and his father laughed.
    “Watch him. He’s as deadly as a scorpion when it comes to young women. He pretends to be harmless.”
    “Hey, no fair. If you warn her, I’m at a disadvantage,” Adan said.
    “I doubt that you’re ever at a disadvantage,” I said, perhaps too quickly, maybe because I had finished my mimosa and begun sipping the wine. I felt the flush in my face.
    Adan’s father laughed, and Adan smiled. I looked at Fani, but she was in her own conversation with a man to