Page 80 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
The wine tasting starts at four. And it’s already noon. There’s still a lot to do, but with the number of people who have shown up to help, we’ll get things done.
The live band arrives at exactly three, right on cue. They start setting up near the arbor, the soft strum of a guitar filling the air as guests begin to trickle into the garden. Hazel is already chatting with the lead singer like they’ve known each other forever, while Ana and Maya adjust wine glasses on the tables with military precision.
“You,” Hazel points at me like a general sending a soldier to battle. “Go shower.”
“We’ve got this,” Ana adds, waving me off with a grin.
“Seriously, Margot,” Maya calls over her shoulder, “take a break. We’ll call if anything catches fire.”
Even Thea, who’s been quietly folding napkins into origami swans, looks up and says, “Go.”
And for once, I don’t argue.
I head inside, letting their voices fade behind me. Upstairs, I peel off my work clothes and step into the shower, letting the warm water hit my skin like a soft drumbeat.
I try not to think about Cal.
I really do.
I think about the event instead. About the way the lights will glow after sundown. About the hope that maybe, just maybe, people will walk away tonight talking about how magical the Key & Kettle is.
But no matter how hard I try, his face keeps pushing through the fog of my thoughts.
By the time I’m dry and dressed, I’m more anxious than I care to admit.
I glance at myself in the mirror and pause. The dress is modest but lovely—a long black number with a fitted bodice and flowing skirt that hits just at my ankles. The sleeves are sheer, the neckline a gentle scoop. It’s the kind of dress that whispers elegance without trying too hard. I picked it out months ago back in Bardstown, thinking it might come in handy one day.
I smooth my hands over the fabric and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
Ready or not… it’s almost time.
I make my way downstairs at three-thirty, the soft hum of the band and the low buzz of conversation already filling the air. Half the guests are here—mingling, sipping wine, laughing like the afternoon has already worked its magic.
I hear someone near the patio say, “This is going to be the event of the season.” Another voice replies, “Margot always pulls it off.”
I smile politely as I pass, nodding to a few familiar faces. But inside, my heart is thudding for an entirely different reason.
I haven’t seen Cal.
I scan the crowd once… twice… the knot in my chest tightening with every empty corner. Maybe he’s in his room? Or running a quick errand?
Or maybe…
The thought hits like a flash flood: Maybe he’s already left.
Panic claws at the edge of my calm. I turn on my heel and spot Ana near the drinks table, arranging bottles like she’s painting a still life.
“Ana,” I say, walking up to her. “Hey, um, has Cal checked out?”
She glances up. “Not yet. He dropped a message earlier, around noon. Said he’ll be checking out in the morning.”
I nod slowly. “Okay. Good. Thanks.”
I turn away before she can ask why I sound so breathless. Why the relief on my face is so obvious.
He hasn’t left.
Not yet.
