Page 113 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
And the worst part? She’d be right to feel it.
But I don’t want to keep hiding. Not from her.
I stare out at the fading light, jaw clenched, heart beating hard in my chest. This thing between Margot and me—it’s not casual anymore. And if I care about her the way I know I do—deeply, stupidly, helplessly—then I owe her the truth.
I turn away from the window, already planning. I’ll take her out. A real date, one she’ll remember. Something special. I’ll make her smile. Laugh. Remind her how safe this is.
And then I’ll tell her everything. Who I really am. Why I came here. Why I lied.
And I’ll look her in the eye and tell her why I’m saying it now—because I don’t want to build something real on something false. Because she deserves the truth. Because I want this to last.
It seems like a solid plan. The only way forward.
I step out of my room, resolve sitting heavy and certain in my chest. I’m going to ask her. Tomorrow, it’ll be us. A real date. And then I’ll tell her everything.
I head downstairs, hoping I’ll find her in the office or maybe in the lounge, curled up with a cup of tea. But the front of the inn is quiet, too quiet. I follow the faint sound of music into the kitchen and find Jo humming to herself, a floral apron tied around her waist, stirring a bubbling pot of what smells like apple jam.
She looks up when she sees me. “Evening, sweetheart. You hungry?”
“Actually, I was looking for Margot.”
“She headed out for a bit with Thea,” Jo says, not missing a beat as she lifts a spoon and tastes her creation. “Won’t be long though. You can keep me company while I work.”
She turns back to her jam, but before she can say more, I step farther in. “Can I help with anything?”
She raises a brow. “Help?”
“I want to help.” I shrug, moving toward the sink to wash my hands.
She starts to refuse, but I roll my eyes and inch closer. “Let me help, Jo. I mean it.”
Her smile warms. “Well, in that case…” She gestures toward a bowl of apples. “You can start by slicing these. Nice and thin.”
I pull out a knife and take a seat across from her, settling into the rhythm. For a few moments, we work in companionable silence. Just the snick of the knife and the bubbling of the jam pot.
Then Jo says, “You know, it’s funny how quiet moments like this can feel like medicine.”
I glance up. “Yeah. I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”
She grins. “Slicing apples in the kitchen or your stay here in general?”
“Both,” I answer sincerely. “I was severely burned out, but now I can hear my brain actually thinking. Not noises in my head.”
She laughs lightly. “Burnout sneaks up on you. Especially when you’re used to being the one holding everything together.”
I don’t respond immediately, just keep slicing. But I know what she means.
“Look at Margot…” she continues, voice gentle. “She’s always been that way. Always choosing responsibility over herself. Even as a kid. She used to plan her own birthday parties just so no one else would mess it up.” Jo chuckles, but there’s a wistful undertone. “She carries so much. Sometimes I wonder if she even knows how to put it down.”
I stay quiet, slicing another apple, thinking about all the moments I’ve seen Margot choose everyone else over herself, even when they don’t ask her to.
“I want to help her,” I say eventually, my voice low. “I want to help her relieve some of that stress.”
Jo pauses, spoon in hand. She tilts her head at me, a little smile tugging at her lips. “And why’s that?”
I meet her gaze across the table. “Because I like her.”
That smile breaks into a laugh. Warm and knowing. “Well,” she says, “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t see that one coming.”
