Page 27 of More Than a Billionaire

“How did you expect him to look?”

“Like the guy that played Kate Winslet’s boyfriend in the movie Titanic.”

“Leonardo Dicaprio?”

Franky laughed. “No, the other guy. Her sleazy fiancé who chased them around the ship with a gun.”

She laughed heartily. “Billy Zane.”

“Billy Zane. Yes!”

“That’s what you thought Milton would look like?” She couldn’t stop laughing.

“I wasn’t expecting him to look like such a nice guy. I was expecting a villain.”

“Well, he looks a lot nicer than he actually is,” she replied.

Milton Hanley was a chameleon. At first meeting, this tall, dark, and handsome man came off as friendly and charming. It was funny that Franky had called him Clark Kent, because he had always reminded her of Christopher Reeve from the old Superman movies, with his blue eyes and chiseled jaw. He had charmed her with his smarts and what seemed to be kind and sincere compliments, but those had actually been clever lies to lure her in. And she’d been particularly vulnerable and lonely that summer after graduating college because Franky had started dating someone new. Again. And she’d grown tired of waiting around for him to notice her.

Milton preyed on that and pretended to be someone he wasn’t, and she soon recognized the way he changed his personality depending on who he was with. He’d been tender with her at first, but eventually his true nature showed through, and he got rough, wanting to go farther with her physically than she was willing to go. Especially since they hadn’t dated for very long.

Nobody in her family was sorry to see him go when she finally dumped him. But he continued to be a thorn in their side.

“I’m sorry you ever had to deal with a jerk like him,” Franky said.

“Me too.” She paused. “Also, I don’t think Billy Zane is a sleaze in real life.”

“I meant the character he played.”

She laughed.

“Hey, do you wanna do something today?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, good, because I’m coming to get you in twenty.”

“I’m not home yet. I’m sitting in my car at my parents’ house. Want me to meet you?”

“Yeah, meet me downtown.”

“What for?”

“There’s a music festival going on.”

Skylar was relieved that Franky had called and excited about spending the day with him rather than sitting home alone, watching Netflix, but confusion plagued her. They had shared a moment, at least she thought they had. But if she was wrong, if she was reading too much into it, like she’d done in the past, bringing it up might ruin what they had. This week without talking to him had been bad enough. She couldn’t risk a repeat.

EIGHT

Skylar’s mind wandered as she watched the rich, green landscape of northern Michigan pass by outside her window. The Bridge Walk was set to begin bright and early the next morning, so they were driving partway the night before. With the recent mention of the winery, Skylar decided it was the perfect place for them to stay.

All kinds of what-if scenarios cycled through her brain, but she didn’t want to get her hopes up and ruin the weekend, so she pushed those thoughts aside and glanced over at Franky, who was humming a tune.

Their day at the music festival two weeks ago had led to them seeing each other pretty much every day. Sometimes it felt like they were dating because they were together all the time and did things couples would do—minus any kind of affection, of course. Anyone who saw them together might assume they were a couple, but Franky had kept things totally platonic since the night they’d played pool. He hadn’t so much as put his arm around her, which was disappointing. Skylar tried to keep her feelings in check, but it was getting harder and harder to pretend she was okay with only friendship.

The moment they pulled up to the winery, Skylar thought she might burst with joy. It had been way too long, and being there again, with Franky this time, was like a dream.

She climbed out of the car and took in the large Tuscan-style villa before her, which held an inn, restaurant, tasting room, gift shop, and the wedding and event space. She turned her eyes to the rows and rows of vines, sloping down the hill toward the Grand Traverse Bay beyond, and she could’ve cried at the postcard-perfect view.

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