Back in his Riverside Hills penthouse, Adrian Foster stepped out of the shower wrapped in a white towel, drops of water still trickling down his sculpted chest. The steam from the bathroom slowly dissipated, filling the air with a clean, fresh scent of expensive soap and light cologne. He turned on the air conditioner and slumped onto the Italian leather sofa, gazing for a moment out the large window that looked directly into the nighttime glow of Manhattan.
It was already past nine at night. Time had flown by.
On the glass table sat three potted flowers she'd just brought from the concierge's office. The security guard had insisted she take some of the flowers the administration had purchased to decorate the building's lobby. Two of them were in beautiful ceramic vases, with large magenta buds that looked like inverted lanterns, silk-glossy petals, and tiny pearly sparkles at the tips. The third was a white lily plant that she placed in her bedroom.
The simple addition of those flowers completely changed the atmosphere of his 150-square-meter duplex apartment. The living room gained vitality; the contrast between the glass, marble, and dark wood was now softened by a natural touch. Adrian smiled with satisfaction: even the simplest details could enhance the life of a wealthy young man.
Outside, Manhattan glittered. The Midtown skyscrapers flashed with colorful lights, Times Square vibrated with its giant screens, and even Fifth Avenue was still bustling despite the hour. From her balcony, she could make out the hum of cars jammed on the avenue and the distant voices of laughing tourists near Central Park.
"What a sleepless city…" Adrian murmured, raising a glass of red wine he had just poured.
Then her iPhone vibrated. A cascade of notifications filled the screen: twelve missed calls from her mother, Linda Foster. She barely managed to blink when the phone rang again.
"You're finally answering," a firm, magnetic voice echoed, with that motherly tone that blends affection and scolding at the same time. "What were you doing? I called you twelve times, Adrian. Twelve. I was about to dial 911, thinking something had happened to you."
Adrian settled into the armchair and suppressed a nervous smile.
—I was in the shower, Mom. What's wrong?
As soon as he finished the sentence, he regretted it. He knew exactly what was coming.
"What's wrong? Is that how you answer me? You inconsiderate son!" Linda Foster raised her voice with a theatricality that only an American mother could master. "Since when does a mother need an excuse to name her own son? You moved to New York and forgot about us in Lancaster. You don't even remember we exist."
Adrian rolled his eyes patiently. He loved her, of course, but arguing with his mother was like playing chess against someone who always cheated.
—Mom, I call you every week, I send you things all the time. Didn't you receive the vitamin supplements I ordered from Amazon for you?
"Yes, but that's no substitute for a daily call. And another thing..." Linda's voice dropped suddenly, with that quiet tone that foreshadowed the inevitable question: "Adrián, do you have a girlfriend yet?"
He almost spat out the wine.
—No, Mom. I'm still looking.
"Looking!" Linda snorted. "Looking where? You're 23 and you already look 25! Look at the neighbor's kid. Remember Danny? The one you used to play baseball with in the park when you were a kid. He already has a son in preschool."
Adrian put his hand to his forehead.
—Mom, I'm only 23, don't make me look old.
—Bah! Rounding it up to 25. So what? Life flies by. You have to settle down.
The young billionaire sighed. He could buy luxury cars on Fifth Avenue, reserve a presidential suite at the Plaza Hotel, or open ten-thousand-dollar bottles of champagne at a Soho club, but there was one thing all the money in the world hadn't given him: a girlfriend.
And not because he lacked options. At university, girls confessed to him daily; even the campus queen had done so, and he rejected her. Since becoming a millionaire, there were women willing to do anything just to be by his side. But Adrián didn't want superficial relationships or one-night stands.
He wanted something real. Something that would last.
"Mom, understand me. I don't want to be with someone just for the sake of it. I want to truly fall in love," she said calmly.
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Linda sighed.
—I know, son. I'm just worried. I want you to be happy… and I also want grandchildren.
At that moment, a deeper voice interrupted the call.
"Adrián, how's work going?" It was his father, Robert Foster, a municipal official in his hometown. An honest, inexpressive man, one of those who preferred to listen rather than speak.
—Good, Dad. Everything's going well. And you? Are you still busy with the census at the town hall?
"Yes, but nothing to worry about. Take care of yourself, son," Robert replied, before making way for his wife again.
Linda took control of the call again with a sudden tone of complicity:
—Listen, Adrian. I got you a blind date. It's tomorrow in Manhattan. Her name is Emily, she works at a marketing firm in Midtown. She's pretty, educated, and from a good family. I'll send you her number and a photo on WhatsApp.
Adrian raised an eyebrow and smiled resignedly.
—Okay, Mom. I'll do it.
It didn't bother him too much. After all, dinner was just that: dinner. And at least this way his mother could sleep peacefully.
When he hung up, he stared out the window at the city lights. New York City glittered like an ocean of diamonds. Yet, amidst all that abundance, one question kept recurring in his mind:
Where is the woman I want to share everything with?
He raised his wine glass and drained it in one gulp.
Fate had already placed the first token: tomorrow, I would have that date.