Page 65 of How to Train Your Billionaire

“Charles,” I say softly. “We need to take this seriously.”

His shoulders lift in a shrug, but the movement is slow, heavier than usual. “I hear you.”

Dr. Fournier exhales, sensing that the pushback isn’t worth more arguing. “Check in with me anytime.”

Charles waves him off with a flick of his fingers, and Dr. Fournier gives me a look on his way out, one that silently passes the responsibility over to me.

When the door clicks shut, I cross my arms. “Are you going to listen to him?”

Charles finally looks at me, his lips twitching into something that isn’t quite a smile. “I’m eighty-two years old, kid. I listen when it matters.”

I hold his gaze. “This matters.”

A beat passes, and then he sighs, running a hand through his thinning hair. “I know.”

It wasn’t a promise. But it was something.

After dinner, I find Charles on the aft deck, a tumbler of whiskey in hand, watching the sun dip toward the horizon. He looks small against the vast stretch of ocean, though I know better than to say that out loud. In my mind, he’s grown to this larger-than-life character, someone steady—as dependable as a Swiss timepiece. Someone fatherly, brilliant, and almost all-knowing. But as I look at him now, the silhouette of his shoulders against the inky sky, he looks far less imposing than I’ve built him up in my mind. Almost slender. Frail. A nervous lurch rises in me.

I clear my throat. “Mind some company?”

He glances over, one brow lifting. “If it’s not to scold me about the drink, then sure.”

Smiling, I lower myself into the chair beside him, the wood warm from the day’s heat. The view is spectacular, but I can’t even appreciate it.

Steeling my nerves, I ask the question that’s been rambling around in my brain all afternoon—probably with far less tact than I should. “Are you dying?”

He sighs and sets the tumbler down on the railing. “We’re all dying, Frankie.”

It feels like maybe we should have had this conversation before now. Like back when I was interviewing for the job. But the me back in that coffee shop didn’t know what she didn’t know and was mostly curious—I’d never even heard of a travel companion. And I was enamored with the idea of running away from my problems, if I’m being totally honest.

“Charles?” I manage, my voice soft.

“Just like any of us, I have no idea how much time I have left, and neither does that doctor.”

I frown, watching the way his fingers tremble slightly around the glass. “Is this some bucket list thing for you? This trip? One last hurrah ...”

He doesn’t answer me, not with words anyway. He takes another sip of his drink and stares blankly out at the choppy water as it swirls and crests. The unease in my chest grows.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Live While You Can

Hayes

I expected Charles and Frankie to be playing some board game or watching TV together in the main salon, but I find Charles alone on the aft deck. The sun has just set, casting everything in a dim glow.

“NoJeopardy!tonight?” I ask, coming to a stop at the balcony railing beside him.

“Not tonight. I think Frankie’s tired.”

She’s not tired, she’s upset, but I don’t correct him. Dinner was a little tense, and I could sense her concern following my uncle’s physical. I don’t like seeing her upset, and the news from his doctor—while not surprising—obviously upset her.

“You could join me.” He tips his chin to the table behind us, which contains a bottle of Macallan.

“I’m good. Better than you, it seems.”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Not you too.”