Page 90 of How to Train Your Billionaire

Instead, I see her.

Frankie stands in the doorway, wearing a blue sundress that makes her look like summer decided to take human form. Her hair’s shorter now, just brushing her shoulders, and she’s clutching a small purse like it’s an anchor.

My chest does this stupid thing where it forgets how to expand properly.

She looks incredible. Nervous as hell, but incredible.

“Well,” Malachi murmurs. “This should be interesting.”

Frankie takes a breath and walks toward Charles, who’s practically glowing with happiness. They hug, and I watch her shoulders relax slightly.

Then Mom descends.

I can see the exact moment Frankie’s walls go up. The way her grip tightens on that purse. How her smile becomes a little too bright.

Mom’s probably calculating seating charts and wondering if Frankie’s dress is appropriate for a Hamptons garden party.

Then Frankie opens her mouth.

“I’m sorry, I brought one more guest with me who wasn’t on the invite list. I hope you don’t mind.”

Mom’s face goes white. She’s mentally rearranging place cards and checking the caterer’s head count.

“It’s really best if you don’t bother saying hello,” Frankie continues, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Don’t acknowledge and don’t engage. In fact, I’m hoping he won’t be here long.”

What the hell is she talking about?

Then she bursts into laughter. “I’m kidding! The uninvited guest is the pimple on my chin.”

I nearly choke on my whiskey.

Mom sags with relief while Dad actually chuckles from across the patio.

No one has ever talked to my mother like that.Ever.Mom thrives on formality and social hierarchies. She lives for people kissing her ass.

And somehow, Frankie just charmed them both in under thirty seconds.

“Your sense of humor is lost on them,” I say when she eventually makes her way over.

She turns, and for a split second her mask slips. I see the hurt flash across her face. The way her knuckles go white again around that purse.

Then her armor slides back into place.

“Hayes.” Her voice could cut glass. “You look ... well.”

“So do you.”

Understatement of the century. She looks like everything I’ve been missing without knowing it. Like the answer to a question I didn’t know I was asking.

We stand there, staring at each other while the party swirls around us. Weeks’ worth of things to say, and neither of us knows where to start.

“How’s the new job?” I ask finally.

“Fine. Boring. Everything I thought I wanted.” She pauses. “How’s ... everything?”

“Fine. Boring. Everything I thought I wanted.”

A smile almost crosses her face. Almost.