New York Billionaires Series

But when she opens the door for me and sees my expression, the smile on her face is wiped clean. “It didn’t go well?”

“Not particularly.” I wrap my arms around her waist and kick the door shut behind me. Nestle my head against the crook of her neck. God, I adore the way she smells.

She runs a hand over my hair. “That bad, huh?”

“That bad.”

“Well, I suppose there’s no good way to tell anyone they’re being cheated on.”

“It was worse.”

“Worse?”

I lift my head with a sigh and finally say hello to Ace, who is eager and bouncing around my legs. His ears are silky beneath my hands. “My brother didn’t believe me.”

For once, it seems like I’ve struck Summer speechless. She just stares at me.

“He didn’t… what?”

I sigh. “He didn’t believe me. Something smells amazing. Are you cooking dinner?”

“Yes, there’s lasagna in the oven. You like that, right?”

Turning toward the kitchen, I have to fight a sudden burning behind my eyes. There’s no way she’d understand how much this normalcy means. How rare it is in my life.

How much I’ll miss it when it’s gone.

“Yes,” I say. “I like lasagna.”

Summer says nothing, just runs a hand over my arm. Touching me casually. Easily. I bend to give Ace a final pat to get myself under control.

“Did he say why he didn’t believe you?” she asks, opening the fridge. “Wine?”NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

“Yes, thanks.” I sit down on one of her small kitchen chairs, stretching out my legs. She’ll have to step over them as she moves around, that’s how small this place is.

I accept the wineglass she hands me. “I’ve burned a lot of bridges with my family.”

“Yeah. More than… yeah.”

“How come?” She arranges vegetables on a cutting board as we speak, searching for a knife. Making a salad. Asking me without looking at me.

I run a hand over my face and feel a century old. “I haven’t been particularly nice since I got my… well. Since I found out about my eyes.”

“You’ve been nice to me.”

I’m quiet for a beat. “Yes. Well, you’re an exception.”

“You’re nice to your business partners.”

“I work with them.”

“Still, nice. You were really nice to my friends the other night too.”

My lip lifts. Yes, I’d made semi-pleasant small talk for forty-five minutes. It had been a small price to pay to be alongside her for the night.

“I’m capable, I suppose. But not always.”

“And you haven’t been nice to your family,” she says.

“A year ago,” I say carefully, “I was at a family dinner with my parents, my brother, and Cordelia. Mom asked me about the future. My dating life, specifically. And I nearly bit my mother’s head off at the dinner table.” I close my eyes, because the shame and self-loathing that floats inside of me can’t handle Summer’s gaze. “I didn’t trust myself around them for a long time. Not sure if I do, still.”

Summer’s voice is soft. “It’s okay to be angry about your vision, Anthony. To feel cheated or bitter.”

“Yeah. Well, they don’t know any of that. They only know I’ve become an unsociable asshole.”

“Do you think they’d understand if you told them?”

I open my eyes to see her leaning against her miniature kitchen counter. She has a small tomato stain on her lilac dress and an expression so soft it slices through me.

“Yes,” I murmur. “They would. But they’ll also snap into fix-it mode. Start looking for ways to solve this problem or to adapt.”

“And you don’t want that,” she completes. “Because adapting is surrendering.”

“I know it makes no sense.”

“It does, in a way. Even if it doesn’t serve you.” She brushes her hands down her thighs, a thoughtful tone to her voice. “Do you also want to protect them from it?”

“Hmm. I figured you might.”

“It’ll crush my parents. My mother, in particular. How could it not?”

She gives a slow nod. “As long as they don’t know, they don’t hurt. And as long as they don’t know, it’s not real.”

I shift on the chair, feeling too hot. Too seen. “Yeah.”

“Again, it makes sense, in a way,” she says. “But I think they might appreciate you letting them in, and who knows? They might be helpful.”

“Yes.” The idea of being helped stings, though. So does the idea of becoming reliant on others. It’s what I can’t bear to let happen to myself.

Exercising that sneaky sixth sense of hers, she turns back to the salad. Hums a little melody in perfect pitch and sways her hips in tune. I lean back against the wall and watch her, drinking my wine.

Pushing away the words my brother had said. The accusations. It’s not enough that you ignore your family. You’re trying to sabotage us now, too?

None of that exists here.

Not to mention Summer is infinitely more interesting than me and my miserable future.

“How did it feel the other night?” I ask. “Seeing him?”