Page 20 of How to Train Your Billionaire

I might have matured a little tonight, but let’s not get carried away.

Chapter Nine

Take the Scenic Route

Frankie

Who knew the Big Island was actually just called Hawaii? I’d bought myself a couple of travel guides to read on the long flight over the Pacific and learned each island has its own name. Collectively, they are referred to as Hawaii, but Charles and I are actually going to theislandof Hawaii—the Big Island. In my reading, I learn it’s arguably the most laid-back and least touristy of the islands. It sounds great to me.

When we land, I have two thoughts:

Wow, it’s beautiful.

I should’ve packed more deodorant.

It’s the most majestic, breathtaking place I’ve ever seen. Sun-drenched, with palm trees gently swaying in the warm breeze, and then parts of it look like I’ve landed on Mars—big swaths of earth scorched by lava, which has hardened into twisted black rocks where nothing will grow—maybe ever again.

Instead of Wincock, our sign says Hardcock this time—thanks to me. I chuckle to myself, waiting for Charles to notice.

“I said inconspicuous, Frankie. For heaven’s sake,” he scolds me, but I can tell he finds it the tiniest bit funny. Turns out I like keeping the old man on his toes.

Our driver drops us off inside another gated development. I can see the ocean in the distance, and the electric golf cart in the garage is how we’ll get around. It’s magical. The house is four bedrooms, four and a half baths, with a large back patio with a private pool and spa. There’s a distant view of the water. I sincerely hope we’ll stay here for a long, long time.

I spend my days snorkeling while Charles sits in the shade and watches me. We eat lunch together alfresco, and sometimes I have to pinch myself that this is actually myjob.

“I don’t think we should ever go back home,” I tell him on our fourth day.

We’re seated under the shade of an umbrella at my new favorite beach club—Mauna Lani, watching kids build sand castles and tourists learn to surf.

But it’s not just the view. It’s the quiet in my chest.

No email notifications. No awkward job interviews or spreadsheets. No empty apartment.

Here, I don’t miss my mom quite as much. Or maybe I do—but it doesn’t ache the same way.

And for once, I’m not scrambling to hold my life together.

He chuckles. “I agree, let’s stay put for a while.”

Later that evening, we’re on the patio, enjoying a light dessert as the sun sets. Well, Charles is enjoying a light dessert. My own bowl of passion fruit mousse is heaped with a mountain of whipped cream. The warm Hawaiian breeze rustles the palm trees, and for maybe the first time ever, I feel totally and completely relaxed.

Charles sets his dish down and looks at me with that same calm intensity he always has when he’s about to share one of his nuggets of wisdom.

“Frankie,” he begins, “do you know why I likeJeopardy!?”

I smirk. “Because it makes you feel smart?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No, though that doesn’t hurt. It’s because it teaches you how to frame questions. Most people think life is about having the answers, but I’ve learned sometimes it’s about asking the right questions. Answers might change as we head into a new season, but the right questions? Those guide you to places you’ve never thought to go.”

I mull this over, stirring my coffee. “So, what’s the right question I should be asking myself right now?”

He leans back, gazing out at the horizon, where the last streaks of orange fade into purple. “Ask yourself what you’re holding on to that might be holding you back. Sometimes, it’s fear. Sometimes, it’s a person. Sometimes, it’s the idea of who you think you should be.”

I feel a twinge in my chest. Charles always knows how to get under my skin in the best and worst ways. But before I can respond, he grabs the remote and flips on the outdoor TV. “Come on,” he says, grinning, “Jeopardy!’s starting.”

We spend the next thirty minutes yelling out answers—or, rather, questions—at the screen. Charles is unbeatable, of course, but I balance him out on the pop culture side. It’s easy and fun, and for a moment, I feel like we’re in our own little bubble where nothing can touch us.

But bubbles always burst.