Summer Relations

Chapter 1

Then (One year ago, June 5th)

"Mom, please tell me this is a joke." I say pleadingly.

"I'm really sorry baby. You know I love you, but I'm work all summer and you need somewhere to go."

"But to Uncle Albert's? I've never even met him before!"

"I'm sorry Natalie, but I'm going to be working. I know this is upsetting, but you're spending the summer at Uncle Albert's."

"But-"

"End of discussion."

Mom is a very strict person.

I sigh.

This summer is going to suck.

A few hours later

I get off the plane and walk out of the gate, more worried about turning on my phone than I am about finding my Uncle.

I finally stop once I've checked all of my notifications and text my Mom and tell her I'm alive, and then I look up.

A giant poster is in the middle of the walkway and it takes up the entire path.

It says, Unkie Alby has come for you ;)

Next to it is a photo of a man holding a baby that I recognize as me, and he's grinning down at me like a pedophile.

I stop walking and just stare.

He's standing next to the giant poster with a creepy grin on his face.

I take a photo and send the picture to Mom.

She texts me back.

Mom: I promise he won't rape you. he's not a pedophile, just an idiot

I sigh quietly, shove my hands in my pockets, and walk over to him.

People are staring.

"You look like a pedophile." I say.

He shrugs. "Well your birth certificate is an apology from the condom factory."

I stare at him, and then start laughing.

He laughs with me.

"Okay, alright, put the sign down."

He folds it up and tosses it in the trash, and then starts to walk.

"Do you honestly want me to call you Unkie Alby?" I ask.

"You call me what you want." He says. We get my luggage from the baggage claim.

"I'll have you know that I'm a billionaire." He says.

"How?" I ask. "You look like a street rat."

"No I don't." he rolls his eyes. "I'm a billionaire because my wife got all her mone from her Dad, and then she died, so I got everything."

"You don't seem mad." I say.

"She was a bitch." He shrugs, walking down to his Lamborghini with me.

As he speeds through Malibu, California to his house in Malibu, he says, "If you want to smoke or drink, you're allowed. Don't tell your Mom. I'll buy it, just let me know."

"Alright."

"And you better make friends so you can leave so I can bring girls home."

"Gross." I grumble. "How old are you?"

"Forty Four." He says.

"How much od you pay them to have sex with you?" I laugh.

"A lot." He smirks.