Back in his Riverside Hills penthouse, Adrian stepped out of the shower with his hair damp, a towel hanging around his neck, and his torso still warm from the water. He walked barefoot across the polished wood floor and plopped down on the oversized leather sofa facing the picture window overlooking the Hudson River.
It was already after nine o'clock, and New York City shone like an ocean of lights. The Manhattan skyline stretched out before their eyes like a living painting, with illuminated skyscrapers seemingly competing to see which one shone the brightest.
That same day, the security guard had given her three flower arrangements "as a special courtesy of the complex's management." Things that only happened in residence halls where the annual fee could pay for someone's entire college education.
Now, two pots of lilies and orchids enlivened the living room next to the panoramic window. The third, a bouquet of white peonies, rested in her bedroom. The petals filled the penthouse with freshness, mingling with the clean scent of soap that Adrián still emanated.
The city was bustling outside; inside, however, an elegant silence reigned.
Then her phone vibrated. Once, twice, five times… until the screen showedtwelve missed calls from "Mom".
—Shit… —he frowned, knowing what was coming.
He didn't have time to think about it. His cell phone lit up again:Mother.
He answered.
"Finally!" Laura Foster's loud, somewhat husky voice cut through him. "Where the hell were you? I almost called the police!"
"I was taking a shower, Mom," Adrian replied with a half smile, leaning back on the couch. "What's wrong?"
As soon as he said it, he regretted it.
"What's wrong? What's wrong?!" she burst out. "You inconsiderate son! You never call, and when I call, you ask 'what's wrong.' Have you forgotten about your parents now that you're living like a millionaire in New York?"
Adrián closed his eyes and let his mother's voice wash over him like a wave. It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last. To her, his calls were sermons disguised as concern. He listened, nodded silently, and knew that in the end they always ended the same way: with a "take care" and an "I love you."
Still, he couldn't get angry. He adored his parents. Every week, he sent them money, gifts, little things: watches, supplements, even a fancy coffee maker that was probably still in its box. But it was never enough for his mother.
After almost ten minutes of scolding, Laura lowered her tone.
—Tell me the truth, Adrian. Do you have a girlfriend?
He sighed, leaning his head back on the backrest.
—No, Mom. Not yet.
—What do you mean? You're almost twenty-five!
—Mom, I'm twenty-three.
"Rounding it up!" she replied firmly. "And what are you planning to do? Wait until I completely crumple without ever meeting my grandchildren?"
Adrián smiled wryly. He could have collector cars, presidential suites, private parties, and bottles of champagne served in gold flutes. He could lift a finger and have dozens of models surrounding him in a matter of minutes. But when it came to love… he was still single.
At Columbia University, he'd been the sensation of the campus. Girls sought him out, left him notes, invited him to parties. Even the most popular girl had confessed her interest. And he, with a calmness that drove everyone crazy, always turned her down. His friends joked that he might be gay; he never bothered to clarify anything.
The truth was different: he wasn't looking for an empty romance. He didn't want kisses that tasted like interest or promises disguised as ambition. He wanted someone who truly understood him, who saw beyond the money and the headlines.
"I can't get along with just anyone, Mom," he said in a more serious tone. "If I get married, it will be to someone I truly love."
There was an awkward silence on the other end. And then, a deeper voice joined the call:
"Adrian, how's work going?" It was Robert Foster, his father.
Adrian smiled, instantly relaxing.
—Normal, Dad. Everything's fine. And you, Master Robert?
I called him that jokingly, because Robert was still a high school teacher in a small town in Ohio. An honest, simple man of few words.
—Here we go. Starting the semester. Nothing complicated.
The conversation with his father was brief, as always. Robert wasn't one to mince words, and Adrian respected him for that.
But Laura soon regained control of the call.
—Listen carefully, Adrian. I got you a date. The girl lives in New York, she's a college graduate, pretty, and serious. I'll send you her photo and number tomorrow.
Adrian stared at the reflection of Manhattan in the glass. He could have refused, but he understood that behind all the drama, his mother just wanted to see him happy.
—Okay, Mom. I'll try.
They ended the call with the usual exchange of "take care" and "I love you." Afterward, Adrián placed his phone on the glass table, poured himself a Coca-Cola with ice, and raised it as if toasting the city.
The lights of New York twinkled like stars trapped in the earth.
"Love," he murmured with a half-smile, taking a cold sip from his glass. "Where the hell are you hiding?"
To anyone, that would sound like a complaint. But no: there was a challenge in his voice, a spark of excitement. Because if there was one thing Adrián Foster enjoyed as much as winning, it was conquering what he didn't yet have.