Page 119 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
Valet parking is out front, and as we pull up, one of the attendants steps forward. I shift into park and come around to open Margot’s door. She steps out, her blue dress catching the light in a way that steals my breath all over again.
I glance at her, smile, and ask softly, “Can I hold your hand?”
She looks at me—quiet, steady—and says, “Sure.”
I take her hand in mine, and it’s like they were always meant to fit this way. Her fingers are warm, soft, and certain. Something in my chest settles. And softens. And tightens all at once.
I’ve never felt this way for anyone before.
Not like this.
We walk into Stars together.
The interior is elegant but understated—warm lighting, soft jazz in the background, intimate seating spaced just enough for privacy. There’s a tall wine wall behind the hostess stand and floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the lake, which glitters in the fading sunlight. The floors are polished wood, and everything smells like rosemary, citrus, and something slow-cooked.
Margot exhales beside me, just a soft little sound of awe. “Just as beautiful as I remember.”
I squeeze her hand gently. I already came in this morning to make the reservation—picked the best table they had and paid to make sure it was ours. So when we walk in, I head straight to the nearest attendant, give them my name, and within seconds,we’re being led through the softly lit space toward the far side of the restaurant.
Our table is by the window. The lake stretches out in front of us, glassy and silver under the evening sky. The candles flicker gently on the table, catching the gold accents in the cutlery and the crystal glasses. It’s intimate. Quiet. Perfect.
Margot stops just short of the table, her hand still in mine. Her lips part slightly as she takes it all in.
“This is…” She turns to look at me, eyes shining, “Cal, this view is incredible.”
I pull out her chair and help her sit before taking my seat across from her. The way she’s smiling? I’d pay double. Triple. Whatever it takes.
Just to see that look on her face again.
We sit and settle in. The waiter brings water and menus, but I barely glance at mine before sliding it aside.
“You’ve been here before,” I say, leaning back a little. “Surprise me.”
Margot grins, fingers already dancing over the menu like it’s a game. “Prepare to be amazed.”
“I am.”
She bites her lip in thought and waves the waiter back over. “We’ll start with the burrata and heirloom tomato salad. Then… he’ll have the truffle butter filet mignon, medium rare. And I’ll have the seared scallops with lemon risotto.” She closes the menu. “A bottle of red, your recommendation, and water, please.”
The waiter nods and disappears.
I raise a brow. “Impressive.”
She shrugs, trying to look casual. “I don’t mess around with food. And if we’re doing this? You’re eating well.”
“As if I needed more reasons to fall.”
She blushes just a little, but recovers quickly, leaning forward on her elbows. Her voice softens, teasing, “So, Mr. Reid… our first date?”
My heart stutters. Not because of her words, but the name. Reid.
It still hangs between us like a curtain I haven’t pulled back. A soft reminder that she doesn’t really know me—not yet. Not fully.
But she will.
Tonight, I plan to shatter that curtain. Burn the lie. Lay everything bare.
I reach for her hand across the table.
