Page 50 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
I glance down at the half-scribbled to-do list. “Just the usual. Bills. Problems. Miracles we can’t afford.”
His gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head. “No. I mean—yes. But… no. I don’t know.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just waits.
“I need to apologize,” I admit. “For earlier. With my mom. With you.”
He leans back a little, arms crossed again, casual but attentive. “You don’t have to apologize.”
I pause, my throat tightening slightly. I just… feel like I need to apologize. I hate feeling like I hurt him, but then, I don’t know what exactly I’m apologizing for. For being snappy? For drawing a line? For saying he was just a guest?
“I crossed a line,” he says. “It was a boundary you needed to enforce.”
His words are so calm, but there’s something vulnerable underneath. And it stings in a way I didn’t expect.
I glance down at my hands. “I’m used to having a tight grip on things. Especially here. The inn, my family. Guests don’t usually…”
“Get invited to breakfast?”
I look up. He’s smiling a little, but there’s no mockery in it.
“Exactly,” I say.
A beat passes. The air is thick with something I can’t name.
“I didn’t come here to mess with your order, Margot,” he says. “I came here to disappear.”
I sit back on the table, the edge digging into my palm. He pulls out a chair and sits across from me, like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
“You can always let me know when I’m going out of line.”
He starts drumming his fingers on the table, light and rhythmic, like we didn’t just dip our toes into a very deep, very real moment.
“So,” he says, tilting his head, “what list is this?”
I glance down at the paper in front of me. It’s smudged and messy from how many times I’ve rewritten the numbers, crossed things out, started again.
“Financials,” I say with a tired smile. “The glamorous life of running a charming inn.”
He raises a brow. “Charming, yes. Glamorous, not so much.”
I laugh. “Fair enough.”
He leans in slightly. “Why did you look so… helpless earlier? When I walked in and you didn’t see me?”
I hesitate. My instinct is to brush it off, say something flippant. But something about the way he asks—gentle, not demanding—makes me want to tell the truth.
I exhale. “It’s Aunt Edie,” I say quietly. “Her medical bills. We’re still paying them off. Insurance covered some, but not enough. And between the upkeep of the inn, staff pay, groceries, linen services, repairs…” I trail off and gesture to the list. “We’re barely staying afloat.”
He doesn’t say anything for a second. Just watches me with that calm, thoughtful look of his.
“It’s hard,” I add, softer. “Feeling like you’re constantly one broken pipe away from losing everything.”
There’s a silence that settles between us, thick but not uncomfortable. Like he’s letting me exhale all the weight I’ve been carrying around.
“You’re not alone in this,” he says eventually.
