Page 120 of How to Train Your Billionaire

“To know when we’re getting married.”

Hayes goes very still. “What did you tell her?”

“That it’s none of her business.”

“And?”

“And that if she keeps asking personal questions, I’ll book her the worst cabin on the next cruise.”

He laughs, but there’s something careful in his expression. We haven’t talked about marriage. Haven’t talked about the future beyond next month’s tour schedule.

It’s not that I don’t want those things. It’s that I’m still getting used to having them be possible.

“What if ...” Hayes sets down his magazine. “What if we did?”

“Did what?”

“Got married.”

I nearly choke on my iced coffee. “Are you proposing?”

“I’m asking a hypothetical question.”

“That’s a terrible hypothetical proposal.”

“It’s not a proposal. It’s market research.”

“Market research?”

“I’m gauging interest levels.”

I stare at him and try not to laugh. “You’re treating marriage like a business venture?”

“Everything’s a business venture if you think about it strategically enough.”

“Oh my God. You’re serious.”

“I’m always serious.”

“That’s the problem.”

Hayes shifts on his lounger, suddenly looking less like a confident billionaire and more like a guy who’s trying not to panic.

“Forget I said anything.”

“No.” I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of my chair. “You don’t get to bring up marriage and then retreat into corporate speak.”

Hayes runs a hand through his hair. Six months together, and he still does this when he’s nervous—tries to fix things that aren’t broken.

“I’m not retreating. I meant ...” He takes a breath. “I meant I love you. I meant I want to spend my life with you. I meant the idea of you not being mine officially makes me want to buy this entire fucking island just to prove a point.”

There it is. The possessive streak that should probably annoy me but instead makes my stomach do flips.

“Yours officially?”

“Poor word choice.”

“Was it?”