Page 91 of How to Train Your Billionaire

“Hayes!” Mom appears with Victoria in tow. “Victoria is here, isn’t that great?”

Perfect timing.

Victoria extends a manicured hand. “Nice to see you again.”

I shake her hand briefly, my attention still on Frankie.

“Victoria was just telling me about a trip she took to Provence,” Mom continues. “Isn’t that where you were recently?” she says to Frankie.

“Yes, with Charles—we were near Nice and went on toward Marseille,” Frankie says, nodding.

“How lovely,” Victoria says. “There’s this darling little vineyard near Aix-en-Provence that makes the most divine rosé.”

I watch Frankie’s face carefully. She’s being polite, but I can see the irritation brewing behind her eyes.

“Excuse me,” Frankie says. “Speaking of Charles, I should find him. Make sure he’s not overdoing it.”

She walks away without looking back.

“Such a sweet girl,” Mom says once she’s gone. “Though I’m not sure she quite fits in with our crowd.”

“She doesn’t,” I say.

Mom’s smile falters.

I spend the next hour being the dutiful son. I chat with relatives, laugh at old jokes, pretend to care about Victoria’s opinions on modern art.

But I’m tracking Frankie the whole time.

She’s working the crowd like she was born to it. Making senators’ wives laugh. Charming my father with stories I can’t hear but wish I could. She fits in without trying to fit in, which is more than I can say for most people here.

“She’s quite the character,” Victoria says, following my gaze to where Frankie’s talking to Congressman Bradley’s wife.

“Yeah. She is.”

“I mean, that joke about the pimple? So ... unexpected.”

Unexpected. Like it’s a bad thing.

“She’s honest,” I say.

“Oh, I’m sure she’s very nice. It’s just ... well, she’s not quite what one expects at these sorts of gatherings.”

Something hot and protective flares in my chest. “What exactly do you expect?”

Victoria blinks. “I just meant—”

“Because Frankie’s the most genuine person here. She actually gives a shit about people instead of just pretending to for social points.”

“Hayes.” Victoria looks hurt. “I was just making conversation.”

I run a hand through my hair. “That was ... sorry.”

But I’m not sorry. I’m pissed. At Victoria for her casual dismissal. At my mother for her social hierarchies. At myself for caring so much about what happens to a woman who probably hates me.

The fireworks start at sunset. Everyone gathers on the lawn, and I lose sight of Frankie in the crowd.

Victoria moves closer, her hand finding my arm. “This is magical.”