New York Billionaires Series

“Some, I suppose.”Exclusive content from NôvelDrama.Org.

“The house was the biggest concession,” he says.

“The house? The beach house?”

“Yes. Haven’t you noticed?”

I frown. “No. What?”

“The interior designer worked with a specialist on blindness. There are no sharp corners on tables or kitchen counters, no high thresholds. No high-stemmed wineglasses. Each knob on the cabinets is shaped differently.” The tone of his voice drips with self-hatred. “Figured I might as well get a place ready for when it happens.”

“When it happens,” I repeat softly. “Do you know when that might be?”

“The million-dollar question. I don’t, and neither does the doctor. Retinitis pigmentosa rarely shows up at my age, but when it does, it progresses fast. Most people have it diagnosed in childhood. It’s genetic. Nothing I can do to change it. Nothing I did caused it.”

My heart aches for him, and against it all, my eyes burn. I keep my eyes trained on the beach and fight against the instinct. If there’s one thing he’d hate, it’s being cried over.

“What’s it like now?” I ask.

“My vision?”

“Tolerable, I suppose. Night vision was among the first things to go,” he says. Memories click into place, of Anthony asking me to read menus. “Second is peripheral vision. I don’t drive anymore, which you might have noticed.” His gaze shifts to the horizon and the setting sun. The rays dance across the waves, setting the world ablaze in color.

“I thought you preferred drivers,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “Some days, I’d give anything to be allowed behind the wheel again.”

I swallow at the knot in my throat. He clears his, breaks eye contact with me. We walk slowly, in silence, along the beach and the setting sun. None of the questions that hover on the tip of my tongue feel right. Not when he looks away from me more than he looks at me.

Blindness.

The weight of what he’s just told me hasn’t settled yet, but I can feel it. And if I can, it must be crushing him, strong as he is.

“Don’t think differently of me,” he tells me.

“I don’t. If anything, I feel-”

“If you’re going to say anything with the word compassion, sorry, or pity in it, don’t. Summer, I can’t bear it.”

He’s walking a knife’s edge with despair, I realize. And each day is a new struggle to keep his balance.

“I wasn’t,” I lie. The edge feels close enough to cut me, too. “I feel grateful you told me.”

Anthony doesn’t reply. He turns his face back to the golden sliver of sun kissing the horizon. “We should start to head back.”

“Sure.” I whistle for Ace and he bounds toward us, as happy to walk back to the house as he was to walk away from it.

Neither of us speaks until we’re almost at his house, and then only of practical matters. He goes to lie down again, and I order dinner for us. My eyes lock on the knobs in the kitchen when I’ve clicked off the call to the restaurant.

The quirky design choice is to ensure Anthony will be able to tell the difference between the cabinets by touch, one day. Tears slip down my face and I’m grateful he’s not there to see them. I have the distinct feeling that Anthony gave me a gift tonight, by telling me. Life is unfair and ephemeral and yet so heartbreakingly beautiful, and I hope he’ll see that one day, eyesight or no.

Anthony’s mood is difficult to read at dinner. His eyes contain a challenge, as if he’s daring me to regard him differently. Daring me to treat him with anything that resembles pity.

“So windsurfing is done,” he says, looking at me over the rim of his glass. “But there’s one thing on your bucket list you can do here that you haven’t. Not yet.”

“There is?”

“Skinny-dipping in the ocean.”

Keeping his gaze, I put my napkin on the table. Put down the chopsticks and push up from the chair. His eyes track every movement and I let that steady me, despite the pounding of my heart. “You’re right,” I say.

He watches as I walk the short distance to the patio doors. As I push them open. The beach is covered in darkness, but that does nothing to stop the sound of waves lapping against the shore in invitation. Behind me, there’s the sound of another chair being pushed back.

I lose my nerve halfway down his patio steps.

Anthony’s deep voice rings out behind me, and not for the first time, I wonder if he’s capable of reading my mind. “It’s pitch dark out here,” he says. “If there’s moonlight to see by, it’s not enough for me. I won’t be able to see you.”

My feet sink down into the still-warm sand and I pull off my dress in one smooth motion, letting it drop onto the beach. The wind feels soft against my skin.

“All right,” I murmur. “Let’s do this, then.”

The rustle of clothing makes me turn my head. Anthony’s hands are moving over the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one.

Fire shoots through my veins. “You’re going swimming too?”

His hands pause. “If I may.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” I don’t need to add that my eyes are good enough in the moonlight that I’ll be able to make out his form.

We both know that.

I look at him as I reach up to undo the clasp of my bra. He doesn’t look back at me.

He can’t see at all, I realize. The light out here is enough for me to make out the shapes and contours of things, but what had he told me? Night vision was the first to go.

“I’m almost done,” I tell him.

He nods and reaches for his pants, and if he can be out here, if he can tell me about his diagnosis… then I can damn well do this.

My heart pounds as I drop my panties and stand naked as the day I was born on Anthony’s beach in Montauk. The ocean is completely dark, ready to swallow us whole.

“I’m ready,” I say.

“Let’s, then.”

We walk side by side out to the water, and I keep sneaking glances at him, but he doesn’t seem to need any assistance. Maybe he’d bite my head off if I offered.

The water feels like ice around my ankles. “Wow. That’s cold.”