Page 58 of Falling for the Wrong Billionaire

He smiles at that — a real smile, the kind that makes my chest feel too tight — and sits down beside me on the blanket.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, both of us staring out at the water. The only sounds are the distant crash of waves against the rocks below and the occasional chirp of a gull circling above.

Finally, he breaks the quiet.

“You come here a lot, don’t you?”

I nod, keeping my eyes on the horizon. “It’s peaceful here. Makes it easier to think.”

He hums softly in agreement.

A breeze picks up, tugging at my hair, and I tuck a strand behind my ear, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. He’s watching me.

I look away quickly, focusing on the waves.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice low, careful.

I hesitate. For a moment, I think about lying, about saying something easy, something that won’t open up more than I’m ready to give.

But then I find myself saying quietly, “How hard it is to trust someone again.”

His gaze sharpens at that, but he doesn’t speak right away.

I let the words sit between us, unsure where they even came from.

After a long moment, he says softly, “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

I turn to look at him then, surprised.

He’s staring out at the ocean, his jaw tight, his hands clasped loosely in his lap.

“I don’t talk about it much,” he continues, his voice still quiet. “But it’s not easy for me either. Trust doesn’t come naturally anymore. Not after…” He trails off, shaking his head with a faint, humorless smile. “Not after some of the things I’ve been through.”

I watch him closely, my heart aching.

It’s strange, seeing him like this — so open, so vulnerable.

“What happened?” I ask gently.

He glances at me then, and there’s a shadow in his eyes.

“Let’s just say I learned the hard way that not everyone deserves your trust,” he says finally. “But… I don’t want that to stop me. Not with you.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight.

I don’t know what to say to that.

For a moment, we just sit there, the breeze moving around us, carrying the scent of salt and sun.

Then, quietly, I whisper, “I’m scared.”

He looks at me, his expression softening.

“Of what?”

I shake my head, staring down at my hands. “Of letting myself hope. Of letting myself believe this could… mean something.”

He doesn’t respond right away.