Page 94 of Stuck with the Billionaire Celebrity

“Mrs. Henley,” he says, pulling back, “it’s been too long. I had to come by and say hello.”

She looks at me, her eyes lighting up as she takes my hand in both of hers. “And who’s this lovely lady?”

“This is Grace,” he says, his hand on the small of my back. “My fiancé.”

Mrs. Henley’s eyes soften, and she gives me a sweet smile. “Well, you’re a lucky one, Grace. And don’t let him talk you out of a bouquet. We can’t have you leaving empty-handed.”

I laugh, looking over the flowers until my eyes settle on a bunch of wildflowers, their bright colors a cheerful splash against the greenery.

Mrs. Henley bundles them up and hands them to me with a wink.

We thank her, and Theo takes my hand as we continue to wander through the market. Each stall is like a little story—hand-knitted sweaters, jars of honey, and fresh produce stacked in neat piles.

The people smile at us as we pass, nodding their heads or saying good morning with a warmth that feels so natural.

As we stop by a small stall selling pottery, Theo picks up a tiny clay fox painted a vibrant orange with delicate white markings.

He shows it to me, his eyes glinting with humor. “Remember when you told me how much you love foxes?”

I laugh, taking the figurine and examining it. “Yes! This one’s perfect.”

“Then we’ll take it,” he says, handing it to the vendor.

I watch him pay, a soft smile spreading across my face as he tucks the fox into his jacket pocket like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

We continue to explore, taking our time and letting the day unfold at its own pace. At a tiny bookstore tucked between two cottages, Theo pulls me inside, where the scent of old paper and worn leather surrounds us.

Rows of wooden shelves hold stacks of novels, some with faded covers, others beautifully bound and delicate.

“Look at this one,” he says, pulling down a book with a fraying spine, its title worn but still legible: *Wuthering Heights.*

“This is the kind of place where I’d love to curl up with a good book.”

“You can. We have all the time in the world here.”

His words sink in, and I feel a smile spread across my face, as if this place has cast its spell, inviting us to justbe.

After a while, we find ourselves at a cozy café on the edge of the square, and we sit outside on a small terrace with ivy creeping up its walls.

We order tea and scones—yes, more scones—and settle in, the hum of village life unfolding around us.

Theo leans back, looking completely at ease. “I used to spend entire summers here as a kid. It felt like magic back then—like the world was limitless.”

“It still feels that way,” I say softly, looking out at the village square. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather share it with.”

We talk, laughing over stories of our childhoods and swapping tales of city life versus country life, each moment making me feel more and more rooted in this place—and with him.

As we make our way back to the estate, I look at him, realizing how deeply I feel for him and how this place has brought out sides of him I never expected to see.

It’s as if we’re caught between worlds, held in this quiet, beautiful bubble where everything just makes sense.

When we arrive back at the estate, Ernest is there to greet us, a small smile tugging at his lips as he takes our flowers and the little clay fox.

“Good afternoon,” he says, with a slight bow. “I trust the village was everything you hoped?”

“More than,” I reply, glancing at Theo.

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