Page 105 of If You Give a Billionaire a Bride

My eyes well up when I reach the last photograph—Cash and I sitting on the blanket, his arms around me and my hand covering his. I’m looking at the camera, and Cash gazes down at me with affection. His expression isn’t manufactured. It’s the real deal. I know because I’ve seen that same look hundreds of times since that day.

“They turned out beautifully, didn’t they?” I spin around to find Johanna approaching, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. She must have gone into the kitchen while I was distracted by the photos.

“Yeah, the photographer did an exceptional job,” I agree.

“She really did,” Johanna says proudly. “I’ve been wanting new family photos for years. I had hoped to wait until everyone settled down, but we can take new ones once Harrison finds his special someone.” She flips the towel over her shoulder. “He’s spent his adult life carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I think he’s forgotten what it’s like to be happy.”

“I’m sure he’ll find his perfect match when the time is right,” I say with a reassuring smile.

“Oh, I have no doubt, but I prefer not to leave things to chance.” She steps closer to the wall of pictures. “This one is my favorite.” She nods toward the photo of me and Cash.

“Yeah, mine too.”

“It’s the first picture where he’s willingly showing his scar. Since the accident, his confidence hasn’t been the same. He puts on a good front, but I’m his mother—I can tell when my kids are struggling.” She rests her hand on her chest. “I couldn’t believe it when the photographer sent me the photos, and I saw this one. My son proudly showing his scar, unconcerned about who might see it. It’s all thanks to you, dear.” She gently squeezes my arm.

“Me?”

She nods, wiping away a tear. “Being with you has helped him find the confidence he lost and to learn to be comfortable in his own skin again. I can’t count how many times I’ve tried to get him to do more than trim his hair, and then you come along, and he does it willingly. To me, that’s a miracle.”

Another tear falls down her cheek. “You and Theo have been part of our family since you were kids, and it warms my heart that you and Cash found happiness in each other.” Her voice breaks a bit, and she swipes her hands across her cheeks, drying them. “Oh goodness, even menopause can’t keep my hormones in check.” She laughs.

A lump forms in my throat, and if I’m not careful, I’ll start crying, too. I used to dream about being part of the Stafford family, and hearing Johanna reaffirm that I am, means more than she’ll ever know.

“I’m going to check on the lasagna,” she says, as if she senses I need a moment to regain my composure. “As soon as Cash and his father come inside, we’ll eat.”

“I’ll come help you in just a minute,” I promise.

“Take your time, sweetie.” She gives my arm another gentle squeeze before going to the kitchen.

I return my attention to the photo of Cash and me, tilting my head as I study it. This time, I focus on my features.

The day the picture was taken, I recall feeling nervous and disoriented. We’d only been married for less than twenty-four hours, and I had just found out about the acquisition.

Despite that, when I look at the image, my smile is genuine, and I’m holding Cash’s hand like I never want him to let me go. Even when my whole world was turned upside down, my subconscious knew that I was safe in his arms, and no matter what, he would have my best interest at heart. My feelings for Cash have only grown stronger since that day, and I’m certain he would do anything for me, just as I would for him.

After dinner last night, Cash and I went straight to bed. This morning, we slept in and helped his parents with yard work. It’s been nice to put my job on the back burner for once and focus on spending time with people that I care about.

Dylan, Marlow, and Lola got here a half hour ago to have lunch with us, and Cash went downstairs a few minutes ago after he made me come twice in the shower.

I step into the farmhouse-style open-concept kitchen featuring exposed ceiling beams, butcher-block countertops, and sage-green cabinets. On the opposite side of the room, a massive wooden dining table, with seating for ten, is also there. This was my inspiration for my dream kitchen, which I’ll probably never see come to life, but it's always been the Staffords’ generosity and kindness that’s made the place feel so welcoming.

I hear giggling in the corner and look across the room to find Cash and Lola at a craft table near the bay windows overlookingthe backyard. As I step closer, I see they’re coloring pictures of rainbows. Lola’s tongue is poking out in concentration as she tries to stay within the lines.

Cash is next to her, hunched over in a chair that is far too small. His hair falls to his ear, showing most of his scar, and it makes me smile to see how at ease he is.

He’s an incredible uncle to Lola, and I can’t help but envision him as a dad someday, holding a tiny bundle in his arms.

The idea of starting a family has never been a priority. Landon didn’t want kids, and my career demands most of my attention, so I rarely think about it. Now, the image of a mini-Cash rushing into my arms and calling me “mama” is making me reconsider.

“Guess what, Uncle Cash?” Lola chirps.

“What’s up, ladybug?” Cash pauses his drawing to give her his undivided attention.

She points out the window to the backyard where the dogs are chasing each other. “The puppies have names now.”

“Oh yeah. What are they?”

“Muffin, Jellybean, and Cheez-It. I picked them out myself.” She beams with pride.

---