Page 116 of How to Train Your Billionaire

“Terrifying.”

“Why?”

“All that ... feeling. What if she gets hurt?”

“Then she’ll cry for thirty seconds and go down the slide again.” Frankie looks at me. “That’s how you learn. Trial and error. Not everything can be controlled.”

The words hit harder than they should.

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

I turn to study her face. She’s watching the playground, but I can feel her attention on me.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just ... you like your ducks in a row. Your plans planned. Your outcomes predictable.”

“That’s called being responsible.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s called being scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

She finally looks at me. “No?”

“No.”

“Then why did you run in France?”

The question hits like a slap. We’ve been dancing around this all morning—the careful politeness of people pretending the past doesn’t matter.

“That was different.”

“How?”

“I was ...” Damn it. “I was terrified.”

“Of what?”

“Of you. Of how you made me feel. Of fucking it up.”

Frankie nods like this makes perfect sense. “And now?”

“Now I’m still terrified. But I’m more scared of losing you again.”

She reaches over and takes my hand. Her fingers are small and warm and somehow steady in a way that makes my chest tight.

“I’m scared too.”

“Yeah?”

“Terrified. You’re everything I thought I didn’t want. Rich, complicated, emotionally unavailable—”

“I’m not emotionally unavailable. Not anymore. Not with you.”

The look she gives me is so sweet and soft, I want to drag her straight back to my bedroom. Instead, I stand up, pulling her with me. “Come on.”