New York Billionaires Series

Epilogue

One year later

“No,” I say. “Stay.”

The six golden retriever puppies squirming at my heels don’t listen. Despite their floppy, oversized ears, they don’t listen to commands. Not yet. One day, they’ll be some of the best trained dogs, a companion to people who need their guidance.

But right now, they’re seven weeks old, and they’re a riot.

“You’re not allowed out here,” I tell them, one hand on the dog gate. “Will you stop trying to sneak past me?”

Their mother gives me a brown-eyed look from her sprawl on the dog bed. She’s the picture of tired, maternal pride. You’re on your own , the look tells me. I’m just happy they’re not playing with my tail anymore.

I make it out of the dog gate, but I’m not alone. A budding escape artist makes a mad dash for it, wiggles his way out and bounds on too-big puppy paws past my legs.NôvelDrama.Org owns this.

“Oh, no you don’t!” I swoop down, but he rolls sideways out of my reach, the picture of playfulness. His tiny tongue hangs out of his mouth in a way that… okay. I might have parents who’ve raised infinitely more dogs than they’ve raised kids, but I’m not immune. When a puppy hits you with that look, you melt.

So I melt.

I scoop him up and he gives a content wriggle, pushing a tiny nose against my palm. I take him with me through the kitchen and out the door to the backyard. My parents are sitting on their usual chairs under the oak tree, their two adult dogs sprawled beneath their chairs.

Anthony is in a third chair, sitting opposite them.

His long legs are stretched out in front of him, evident in his shorts. It had taken me a long time to convince him he could in fact wear shorts with my parents-no formalwear required-and here he is, tan legs on display. His hand is buried in Ace’s fur.

A pair of prescription-strength sunglasses cover his eyes. While they do nothing to stop his fading vision, they make reading a bit easier. For all the dour predictions he spouts when he’s in a bad mood, he’s not blind yet.

The doctor says the vision loss has plateaued at the moment, but we don’t know how long it’ll last. First time I’m happy if a plateau lasts forever, Anthony had said. He’s getting along better with Dr. Johnson these days.

My mother breaks into guffaws of laughter at something Anthony says. His lip curls into that half-smile, and beneath the sunglasses, I know his eyes are bemused. My parents love him.

I think he’s quietly astonished by them.

This house, with its dogs, scattered books and boisterous game nights, is miles away from the serene quiet at the Winter family’s city townhouse or Montauk residence. One time at his parents’ house, I’d seen a housekeeper comb the fringes of an oriental rug.

Combing. The fringes. Of a rug.

In my parents’ house, you’d be lucky if there are any fringes left or if they’ve been gnawed off by puppy teeth.

The puppy in my arms lets out a soft yowl and wriggles. All three dogs at the table lift their heads. Only Ace’s tail starts to wag, the others over the antics of the latest litter.

“Everything okay in there?” my mom asks.

“They’ve torn down the place,” I say. “It’ll fall any moment.”

“Ha-ha,” Dad says. He’s got his construction shorts on, pockets heavy with gadgets he needs to fix the house. There’s always a screw that needs tightening. “You couldn’t resist bringing someone out with you?”

I run my fingers over the puppy’s soft head, and he snuggles into the crook of my arm. “Have you ever noticed how often I visit when you have a new litter?”

“Summer,” Mom says. “Are you implying what I think you’re implying?”

I sink down on the chair next to Anthony and give her a wide smile. “Maybe.”

She laughs. “That’s my girl.”

“Good thing you like dogs,” Dad tells Anthony. “Would’ve been difficult to fit in with Summer if you didn’t.”

Anthony leans over my arm and runs a single finger over the soft fur on the puppy’s head. He receives a soft lick in return. “I met Summer and Ace at the same time,” he says. “I always knew it was a package deal.”

“Two for the price of one,” I say.

“Mhm. Both golden.”

The puppy in my arms wriggles, legs pushing against my arm. He crawls over to Anthony.

“Abandoned,” I say.

Anthony chuckles and watches the puppy settle against him, putting a hand over the dog’s back. It’s nearly the size of his curled-up body.

“She likes you,” Mom says.

“It’s a she?” Anthony asks.

“Mom can always tell,” I say. “Don’t ask me how she does it.”

She laughs. “Comes with the territory, I think. Not to mention seeing the puppies so often during their first few weeks. They look the same, but only in the way siblings look the same. There are little quirks that make it easy to pick them apart.”

Dad shakes his head. “She’s the only one who ever manages, by the way. To me, all goldens look alike until they’re adults, and even then, they’re similar.”

“How do you decide?” Anthony asks, still looking down at the puppy. “Which ones get adopted to loving families, and which ones will be trained by the Foundation?”

Mom’s voice is matter-of-fact, even if she glances my way. “Well, guide dogs need to have a particular temperament. Attentive, eager to learn, willing to work, and thriving on praise. After a few weeks with the pups, it’s easy to spot the two or three who exhibit those traits the most.”

“Hmm,” Anthony says, looking up at Mom. “How long do they go through training?”

“Well, we raise them as puppies, and when they’re young adults, they enroll in training at the Foundation for half a year.”

“Then they’re matched with their partners,” I say. “They’ll go through training together before they graduate.”

“They graduate together?” Anthony asks. His thumb moves in slow circles over the puppy’s golden fur.

“Yes,” Mom says, and this time, her voice is warm. “Clive and I have been there for every graduation the past eight years. Haven’t we?”

“We sure have,” Dad says. “Eleven of our dogs have become guide dogs.” There’s obvious pride in their voices, and I know Mom cries every single time she sees the dogs they’ve raised up on that stage, sitting by the companions they’ve come to love, and who love them in return.

“Is it something you’ve considered for the future?” Mom asks Anthony. “If you do, it would be a pleasure to find you a suitable dog in our litters.”

I hold my breath, but Anthony only nods. “I’ve thought about it,” he says. “I’m not there yet, in terms of vision loss, but I will do it when I am.”