Page 61 of How to Train Your Billionaire

The blush on her cheeks tells me she’s remembering the time she interrupted my shower.

“Give me five minutes, and I’ll join you.” Right after I break the news to the deck crew that they should go along without me.

“Do you want popcorn?” Frankie calls after me.

“Obviously,” I call back.

I change into something more comfortable and join them again, sinking down on the sofa across from Francesca. Charles has commandeered the leather BarcaLounger in front of the TV. There’s a fresh bowl of popcorn waiting for me on the coffee table, and I help myself to a handful.

“What are we watching?” I ask, munching on the popcorn.

My uncle selects a history documentary about World War I and falls asleep after the first fifteen minutes.

“Oh thank God,” Frankie says, getting up to grab the remote once we’re sure he’s out.

I chuckle, watching her. I’m not sure why or even how, but each small thing she does seems to delight me. I wonder why neither of us questioned his selecting this movie, but now I see she was merely biding her time until he fell asleep.

After she changes the channel to a real estate reality show, she peels the sticky eye mask from Charles’s face and gingerly covers him with a blanket, and something shifts in my chest.

“I was wrong about you.”

“Huh?” she asks, settling back in beside me.

“You’re good for him.” I tip my chin toward my uncle.

“Well, I’m enjoying his company. Who else can you go to dinner with so early that you’re in pajamas by seven o’clock?”

“That’s an excellent point.” I hesitate, my gaze moving between her and the TV. “I’m not sure if you were serious about never drinking again ... but what do you think about a glass of wine out on the sky deck?”

“I say let’s do it.”

She turns the TV off and lowers the lights, leaving Charles asleep in the recliner—at least for now.

Frankie grabs a throw blanket and wraps herself in it while I work the cork out of a bottle of red and pour us each a glass. We navigate the steps and find a spot on the sun loungers. It’s dark and breezy, but the stars are out in full force, giving everything a pale glow. The nightlife in Monaco seems a million miles away.

I take a slow sip of my wine, letting the taste settle on my tongue before swallowing. Across from me, Frankie is curled up in one of the lounge chairs, her legs tucked beneath her, her own glass of wine balanced loosely in one hand. Her hair is a little wild from the wind, and the glow from the deck lights makes her skin look soft, golden.

She takes a sip, eyeing me over the rim of her glass. “You know, for a guy who’s usually surrounded by models and millionaires, I’m surprised you’re slumming it with me tonight.”

I smirk, swirling the wine in my glass. “Trust me, I’d rather be here than trapped in some overpriced club, listening to bad remixes and pretending to care about someone’s father’s hedge fund.”

She gasps in mock surprise. “Did I hear you say you enjoy my company? Somebody write this down.”

I huff a quiet laugh and shake my head. “I said no such thing.”

“Oh, but you implied it,” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows. “I think I’m starting to grow on you.”

I scoff, taking another sip of my wine. “Let’s not get carried away.”

She leans forward, resting her elbow on the arm of the chair, watching me like she’s enjoying this way too much. “Just admit it,” she goads. “I’m charming. Delightful. A ray of freaking sunshine in your otherwise jaded existence.”

I exhale slowly like I’m irritated, tilting my head back to look up at the stars. “You are ... tolerable.”

She presses a hand to her chest in exaggerated offense. “Tolerable?”

I fight back a smirk. “Fine. You’re ... slightly better than tolerable.”

She lets out a loud, dramatic sigh. “Wow. That’s practically a love confession, coming from you.”