Page 142 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
He shakes his head as we pull apart. “Didn’t do much. This was all you, son. You showed up.”
That means more to me than I could ever explain.
Aunt Edie appears next, followed by Jo. They both pull me into a hug at once—soft wool sweaters, warm perfume, laughter tucked into every breath.
“We’re so glad you came,” Jo says with a twinkle in her eye.
Aunt Edie squeezes my arm. “And glad you’re here now.”
Before I can respond, Thea walks up, hands nervously tucked into the sleeves of her cardigan.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, eyes flicking to Margot. “For how it all played out.”
I shake my head. “It’s not your fault. I should’ve told her sooner. That’s on me.”
She nods, a small smile tugging at her lips, and we hug—brief, but honest.
Margot stands nearby watching it all, eyes soft. This feels like home. And I’ve never wanted to protect something more. As her family talks and laughs around me, I walk toward her, slowly. There’s a smile on her face, and I almost can’t believe she’s seeing me now. For me. It’s the best feeling ever.
I take her hand in mine and bring it to my lips for a kiss, silently promising her I’ll cherish this moment for as long as I live.
MARGOT
It’s been two months of dating Cal, and honestly? It’s been bliss.
Right now, we’re in L.A. at some swanky tech conference filled with big names and bigger egos. I’m here as Cal’s date. The room is all sleek suits, expensive watches, and conversations I don’t fully understand—but I’m not as out of place as I used to feel.
This world used to intimidate me a little. The scale, the shine, the speed of it all. But after a few events like this—after being by Cal’s side and watching how easily he fits here, how gently he keeps me grounded—I’m adjusting. Slowly.
Especially because he’s adjusted too. Without complaint.
Cal’s gone all in on the slow, quiet rhythm of Everfield. He reads on the porch now. He joins me for Kettle Hour. He knows how to work the ancient coffee machine at the inn and insists on doing it every morning.
It’s not lost on me—what that kind of effort means.
So I stand a little taller next to him now. I slip my hand into his, and he squeezes it gently, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
They call his name, and the whole room erupts into applause. Cal turns to me, leans down, and presses a soft kiss to my cheek.
“Wish me luck,” he whispers.
“Always,” I say.
And then he’s walking up to the stage, confident and calm in that way only Cal can be. The spotlight hits him, and for a moment, I just watch.
Not as the man I met at the Key & Kettle. Not the quiet guy who fixed our leaky faucet and helped with waffle batter. But the man he’s always been underneath—sharp, visionary, magnetic.
My heart swells.
I would never have purposely chosen this life—the cameras, the headlines, the stages. But now that it’s here, and he’s here, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
He’s worth it.
I’ll support him with all my strength, not because he needs it, but because love like this deserves to be rooted in something strong.
Something real.
After his speech, we wait a few minutes for the crowd to thin. Soon, we’re in the car, finally alone. The moment the door shuts, I reach for him. He meets me halfway, and we share a quiet kiss, then a long, full-bodied hug.
