Page 69 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

Aluminium against glass was more of a clunk than a clink. But it still counted.

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Ellery’s nocturnal ramblings must have finally caught up with her, because she fell asleep a few hours later, sausage-rolled in Mum’s quilt. I was on the floor next to Nik, my head resting against his leg, while he absently curled my hair around his fingers—something he’d often done at Oxford while he was thinking.

“Arden,” he said softly, “what am I going to do?”

I twisted so I was looking up at him. “Do?”

“Yeah after”—he made a helpless gesture—“this. When I reach my highest level of functionality.”

“I thought you were going to MIT.”

“That was before.”

I opened my mouth. Then closed it again. Then tried anyway. “I’m not sure how to say this without it sounding bad but…what’s changed? I mean, I’m aware you have a disability now, not least because”—I risked a grin and he pulled my hair in return—“you won’t shut up about it, but I’m not sure why that would affect what you want to do with your life.”

“I know I was in a bad mood the other day, but I wasn’t lying when I said I’d changed. That this stuff changes you. I just”—he sighed—“I can’t figure what still belongs to me.”

“Whatever you want to, surely.” He didn’t reply, so I asked instead, “What would you do if you didn’t stay here?”

“Go back to England, probably? My parents would take care of me if I let them. They’d probably literally come on the parquet over making their house accessible for theirdifferently abledsecond son.”

“That sounds gross.”

“They are gross. It’d be nice to be closer to you again, though. Except I’d have to pretend Poppy didn’t exist.”

“And,” I pointed out, “you want to be…some kind of boring and complicated engineer that I don’t understand.”

He gazed at me, new shadows in his eyes. “But what if I can’t?”

“You never asked that question when you could walk.”

“I didn’t know what hurt was before.” He slid his fingers up the nape of my neck, his touch so gentle compared to his words. “I guess I learned how to be scared. How to fail.”

“To…truly want something,” I heard myself say, “is to make yourself vulnerable.”

“Um. Where did that come from?”

“Caspian.”

He scowled. “And I’m supposed to take life advice from the guy who broke your heart?”

“Maybe if it’s good life advice?” I nuzzled into his leg. “I think he’s right, you know. I mean, you haven’t failed—to fail you have to do something, and someone else I love said that—and I don’t believe you’re as scared as you think. I think you just realised how much you want to go MIT and that’s freaked you out. Because when you want something, you know you can lose it, whether you get hit by cars or not.”

He was quiet awhile. And then said, “The thing is, I just don’t know anymore.”

I turned, and folded my elbows over his knees, so I could look at him properly. Both eyes. “And that’s okay. Whatever you do—whether that’s staying here or coming back to England or moving to, like, Mars—you know I will always be there for you.”

“Thanks.” He flicked a finger lightly against my nose.

“And,” I went on, “I will always love you—”

Nik, in the fashion of most tragically heterosexual men, wasn’t very good at emotions. Even when he needed them. He blushed. “So gay.”

“So gay,” I agreed, laughing. “Although I heard there’s been some new legislation, so now the straights are allowed to have feelings too.”

“Sorry.” He was still blushing—all the way up to his ears. “I mean, I…y’know…I”—he seemed to get something caught in his throat—“you too.”

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