New York Billionaires Series

He looks from me to the calm, blue waters of his infinity pool. I wonder how many times he’s been in it.

I wonder if he’s ever been in it.

“Yes,” he says.

Once we’re both settled, my eyes drift from the pages of my book to him. He’s almost too tall for the lounge chair and his feet hang off the edge. Dark waves of his hair fall over his brow, matted and disheveled.

He opens his eyes. “You’re staring.”

I bite my lower lip to keep from smiling. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

I put down my book. “Well, you’re nice to look at. Are you feeling better?”

“I am.” Anthony looks down at my hands, a frown marring his face. “You’re too kind to me.”

“There’s no such thing.”

“Yes, there is. Summer… I shouldn’t have kissed you last night. Or the night before.”Property © 2024 N0(v)elDrama.Org.

“It was a mistake, and I’m sorry.”

The words don’t hurt by themselves. No, it’s the absolute sincerity in his voice that slides like needles beneath my nails. “A mistake?” I murmur. “That’s really what you think?”

I can’t sit here or the burning behind my eyes will give me away. I push off the lounge chair and turn toward the door, but a large hand around my wrist stops me.

“No, Summer… don’t you see? I couldn’t bear it if I hurt you. And I can’t bear having you just to lose you, either. Do you understand?”

“I don’t understand anything.”

The pain in his eyes is more than I’d seen this morning. “Your friendship means a lot to me. More than I’d expected.”

“So does yours,” I whisper.

“I don’t want to lose it, but God help me, I want you too much.”

“You don’t want to jeopardize our friendship? Help me understand, Anthony.”

He pulls his hand away from mine with aching slowness. “I’m going blind, Summer.”

“What do you mean?”

The words make no sense.

“I mean just that. I’m losing my eyesight.”

“Your… oh. Is it connected to your migraines?”

He nods, jaw working. “It’s one of the symptoms, yes.”

I search his eyes for any indication that this is some twisted joke, but there’s nothing but fierce focus in them. He’s reading my expression as intently as I’m trying to read his.

“Anthony, I’m so sorry.”

He closes his eyes. “Right. Yeah.”

“When did you find out?”

“About two years ago. I complained about the font being too small on a menu, and my friend looked at me like I was joking. So I booked an appointment with an optician and figured I’d get glasses,” he says with a snort. “I wish.”

“What’s the diagnosis? I mean, can the doctors do anything? Treatments or some kind of… what?”

He’s laughing, but there’s no humor in it. “This is one area where your optimism can’t help, Summer.”

His words sink in with a kind of nauseating finality, and I bite my tongue to stop the well-meaning, well-intentioned sentences that hover. My gaze falls to his hand, resting on his knee.

I grip it tight. “I can’t imagine how you feel, Anthony, or how difficult it must be to reveal this news. Thanks for sharing it with me. If you want to talk about it, I’m a good listener. And if you don’t… then that’s fine too.”

He nods once and looks down at our interwoven hands. Neither of us speaks for a long time. When we do, it’s Anthony’s voice that breaks the silence.

It’s rough around the edges.

“Should we walk along the beach again?”

“You’re sure you’re up for it?”

He stands, hand sliding away from mine. “I’m not blind yet.”

“Right. Yeah, that’s not what I meant.”

“Relax, Summer. I know it wasn’t,” he says. Aims a crooked smile my way.

But he’s wound tight by my side as he locks the patio door and takes the steps down to the beach. Ace trails behind us, his tail-wagging muted. He’s run on the beach enough this weekend to last him the summer.

We walk for a long time before I dare break the silence between us. He’s staring straight ahead, jaw tense.

“Are there treatments?” I ask. “Ways of living with it? I think I’ve heard of technologies that might help. Voice-to-text, and devices you speak to and they turn on… Braille, too, right?”

Anthony’s voice drips with bitterness. “Yes. All those things exist. My doctor keeps sending me documents about them. He likes to tell me I should familiarize myself with it while I still have most of my sight.”

The venom in his voice is a warning, but I know down to my bones that it’s not directed at me this time. “But you don’t want to?”

“Of course I don’t want to,” he says. “If I do, it means I’ve accepted this fate. If I start doing that, I surrender.”

“Ah.”

“I know it doesn’t make any sense.”