Page 132 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
“What kind of surprise?”
“You’ll see,” she laughs, settling deeper into the porch swing like nothing’s happened.
And for the first time in two days, I feel the faintest flicker of curiosity push through the numbness. But this curiosity doesn’t last long. By 3:56 p.m., I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the clock on my nightstand.
Kettle Hour starts in four minutes.
I haven’t gone down for Kettle Hour once since Cal left. Aunt Edie says it’s fine. That I need time. That everyone understands. But the longer I stay up here, the more I feel like a shadow of myself. And part of me wonders if forcing a smile and making small talk over tea and pastries is exactly what I need.
I swing my legs off the bed and reach for a sweater, still undecided, when the door creaks open.
I freeze.
Then I blink.
“Mia?” My voice cracks around her name.
She steps into the room like some vision out of the past—hair tucked into a bun, same spark in her eyes, same Mia.
“Oh my gosh.” I shoot up and rush into her arms. “Mia!”
We hug tight. She’s warm and familiar and smells like almond lotion and flowers, and the second my cheek touches her shoulder, I break. The sobs come fast, ugly, unstoppable.
She just holds me, rubbing my back like she always used to, not saying anything until I’ve cried enough to breathe.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, wiping at my face. “I don’t even know why I’m crying again?—”
“Yes, you do,” she says softly, looking at me like she already knows everything.
I pull back. “How did you?—?”
“Your family reached out to me,” she says gently. “Hazel, then Aunt Edie, then your mom. They’re worried. You’ve been floating around the house like a ghost in your own story — and they figured maybe I could tug you back to the land of the living.”
I let out a laugh-sob, still wiping my face. “So they called in backup?”
“They called in reinforcements.” She squeezes my hands. “I know what it looks like when you spiral. And babe, this is a full-blown descent.”
“I’m trying,” I whisper. “I really am.”
“I know. And I’m here now. So you don’t have to try alone.”
“I like him a lot, Mia.” The words flow out of me now as she gently presses me onto the bed. My voice wobbles. “A part of meregrets sending him away, but there’s another part of me that knows it was the right thing.”
She watches me gently, hands clasped in her lap, like she doesn’t want to interrupt.
“But I can hardly see that part anymore,” I whisper. “All I feel is regret.”
Mia nods, like she understands all of it—the war in my chest, the ache that hasn’t left since the day Cal drove off.
“That’s grief,” she says quietly. “You’re mourning something you almost had. Something that felt real. Maybe it was real. But even when you’re doing what’s right for you, it can still hurt.”
I nod, biting my bottom lip.
“I let down all my walls for him,” I admit. “And he lied to me. He says it wasn’t a lie, but—what else do you call it?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “But I do know this—if someone makes you feel more seen, more alive, more yourself than you’ve felt in a long time… then it’s okay to miss them. It’s okay to still love them and still need space. Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
I press the heels of my palms to my eyes, willing the tears away again. Mia parts my hair gently. “You know, dating Jack… It’s not all glitz and premieres. People think it’s romantic, but fame? It’s exhausting. And messy. And invasive. It takes real work to hold on to what’s real.”
