Page 143 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
He rests his forehead against mine. “Our flight back to Everfield is in two hours. Do you think Mia and Jack are free to meet up?”
I smile. We met them once last month, when everyone’s schedules magically aligned. Jack was amazing—funny, warm, grounded. I see why Mia is madly in love with him. And I’m happy, because it’s clear he loves her just as much.
“Mia texted earlier. Jack’s still on set and hasn’t wrapped. By the time they’re done, we’ll probably be back in Everfield.”
Cal nods. “Okay. Let’s go grab something to eat then.”
He reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together as the car pulls away from the venue and into the city traffic.
We find a quiet Italian place tucked into a side street in West Hollywood—dim lights, warm brick walls, candles on every table. The kind of spot where nobody’s trying too hard. Cal insists we sit at a small corner booth, his back to the wall so he can “watch for paparazzi,” which makes me laugh until I almost knock over the water glasses.
He orders the truffle mushroom risotto and a side of roasted lamb. I go for the handmade pappardelle with braised short rib and a glass of non-alcoholic red wine that the waiter swears will change my life. It does.
When our food arrives, it’s a masterpiece—steam curling up from creamy risotto, the meat falling apart on my fork. I let out an actual moan. Cal raises his brows, amused.
“Should I be jealous of your pasta?”
“Yes,” I say through a mouthful. “It’s giving you serious competition tonight.”
He grins. “I should’ve known you’d fall for carbs in the end.”
“I’ve always loved carbs. You just got lucky enough to come after bread.”
He laughs and steals a bite from my plate. I swat at his hand, then give up and let him have another forkful.
We talk about everything and nothing—how the conference went, the ridiculous L.A. billboards we passed on the way here, and how his driver mistook me for his assistant when he picked us up this morning. Cal mimics the man’s voice perfectly, which has me laughing so hard I nearly choke on my wine.
Then, in a quiet moment between bites, he reaches across the table and takes my hand.
“I’m really happy,” he says. “You see how easy it is to find balance? Two days ago, we were chasing Waffles during Kettle Hour, and now we’re in West Hollywood eating amazing food.”
I laugh. It’s all I do when I’m with him. Aunt Edie was right—sometimes, it’s good to let go and let things run their course.
But then Cal’s eyes widen slightly. “Paparazzi,” he mutters. “A group just walked in.”
He signals for the check and pays quickly, keeping his voice low. One thing I’m still not used to is the paparazzi. Thankfully, Cal’s skilled at avoiding them—but I’m not sure we’ll be lucky today.
We step out, and just as we feared, the sharp click of cameras follows us to the car. Cal slips his arm around me and guides me forward, shielding my face with his jacket as the flashes multiply. He opens the passenger door, helps me inside, and closes it gently before walking around to the driver’s side.
Once the doors shut, the noise disappears. The windows are tinted—thank goodness.
“You good?” he asks, looking over at me.
“I’m good. I’m used to this,” I say with a small smile.
He lets out a sigh of relief and reaches out to brush his fingers over my cheek.
“You’re the best woman for me,” he says softly. “I love you so much, Margot.”
“I love you too.”
He presses a kiss to my cheek, then starts the engine. “Let’s go home.”
EPILOGUE
CAL
Six months.
