Page 48 of Dr. Stone
“By the time we’d finished,” Dorian said after a sip of his drink, “I’d given Titus not just a new fleet of private jets but the ability to disappear and reappear in any part of the world, faster and quieter than anyone else.”
“Cheers to you, then,” I said, trying to refrain from making snarky comments about Titus and the goddamn Vega Sicilia wine toast of it all.
“Darling,” my mother said while Dad and Dorian continued talking about a new client, “tell me how work has been for you. You’re rarely over anymore, and I have to say I’ve missed those blue eyes and vibrant smile of yours.”
This is how it usually went when we got together to catch up when Dorian was visiting. Dorian spoke of how well he was furthering the family’s legacy, reassuring Dad he had nothing to worry about with the business in Spain, Mom feeling the need to elevate my career as if I worked at a gas station and was barely scraping by, and me, trying not to dissociate and leave my body so I didn’t have to deal with all the pretentiousness.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said, dismissing it to allow Dorian all the space he wanted to keep playing show and tell, getting as many pats on the head from Dad as he could handle.
“Nothing to talk about? Surely there’s something new happening atSaint John’s?” Dorian mocked. “There must be a new scandal,” he chuckled with my father. “I believe it was Jake Mitchell who I saw last in the tabloids, or was it his friend, Collin Brooks?”
“Dorian,” my mother’s icy gaze immediately killed the smile on my brother’s face, “it is positively rude to insult those men and your brother.”
“The scandals in your circles tend to run much stronger than the ones at my hospital,” I added. “If you must know, though, unlike you and me, who will probably never find love or even a stable relationship, both men can look back on their scandals with relief now that they’re both happily married and settled down.”
Dorian’s gaze narrowed at my jab. His relationship with the heiress to a Spanish luxury conglomerate had gone up in flames and not the kind that left any room for a second chance. He’d fucked it up, plain and simple. The sad part was that I think he loved her, but cheating on someone like her wasn’t just reckless; it was self-sabotage.
At least Jake and Collin, for all their legendary antics, never crossed that line. They weren’t cheating on anyone when they were out being wild, chasing the next thrill, loving women briefly, and leaving them just as fast. They were idiots, sure, but they weren’t liars.
“I see your point,” Dorian shot back, our dad staring at us, waiting for our bickering to be over. “Tell us, how is this wonderful hospital life going for you?”
“I know you think what I do is a joke, but to me, it isn’t. I couldn’t expect you to understand the feeling of saving lives or losing one you couldn’t save. When you deal with life and death and the families that go through these journeys with their lovedones, you see the world much differently than if you are closing deals while toasting with specialty wines.”
“That will be enough,” my dad said right on cue before standing. “Dinner is about to be served, and your mother wishes to enjoy the meal with her sons in the garden chalet this evening. Dorian, I want to go over some details about the latest venture Sebastian and I will be moving forward with.”
Dad was practically best friends with old man Sebastian Aster, and Dorian looked up to the guy as if he were another father. The Aster I was closest to was John, for obvious reasons. We both chose to go into medicine rather than carry out the family legacy, and we both had to hear shit about it all the time.
This was going to be a long-ass night, and dinner hadn’t even been served yet. I’d planned to be in Costa Rica for the grand opening—before I knew Andie was going with Titus—but three doctors called out this week, leaving Jake, me, and two others to spread ourselves thin.
So instead, I planned to spend the night on my boat, under the stars. Tomorrow was my only day off, and I wanted the kind of silence you can’t buy. Let Titus have the lights, the cameras, the spectacle. That wasn’t my arena anyway.
Mine was with the ocean, the sky, and the steady knowledge that when it came to Andie, I didn’t need to dazzle her. I just needed to be real.
TWENTY-TWO
Andie
The helicopter toucheddown on the private helipad just after ten. As the blades slowed, staff dressed head to toe in white emerged like a choreographed welcome. One opened the door, another reached for my hand, and a third disappeared with our luggage, carrying it down torchlit paths that split in opposite directions.
“I’ve secured one of the best villas at Solara Alta for us,” Titus said, his hand settling on the small of my back. “The view alone is worth the trip.”
Instead of stepping away, I let myself sink into the indulgence of it all—this dream weekend I’d somehow stumbled into.
“Very good, sir,” I teased, slipping into his rhythm. “I expect only the best when I attend these events.”
“As you should.” His smile curved, half amusement, half possession. “Any woman on my arm deserves better than me—or there will be trouble.”
He guided me along the glowing stone path, and with each step the jungle peeled back to reveal something even more unreal.
The reception opened on a cliffside terrace, suspended above the Pacific like it was floating on air. Glass railings erased the horizon so that the sky bled into the sea, a canvas of ink and starlight. Gardens lined with golden lanterns spilled fragrance into the air—orchids twined with salt and ocean breeze.
At the center, a sunken fire lounge glowed with warmth, its curved seating and plush cream cushions filled with guests sipping champagne behind crystal rims. Beyond it, a reflecting pool shimmered under floating candles and pale pink blossoms. Off to the side, a string trio played hushed jazz beneath a linen-draped canopy, their music soft enough to let the waves answer back.
It didn’t feel like a resort opening. It felt like stepping into something dangerously intimate, an unspoken gathering where the elite moved among themselves and left the rest of us behind. As if I’d crossed a portal into a world where power fed on itself, where the wealthy were both audience and show.
“I kept it small for tonight,” Titus murmured as I watched servers in white linen glide through the terrace with trays of lobster canapés, caviar, and seared scallops. “Tonight, you’ll be respected and adored by the only ones in my world who matter to me.”
My pulse kicked up, my mind scrambling to simplify this surreal reality into something I could handle. Holy shit, it was beautiful. The stone gleamed, the glass glowed, and even the guests seemed to shimmer with an impossible kind of magnificence.
