Page 83 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
But mostly, I’m watching the door.
I haven’t seen Margot.
Okay, I saw her. But only for a few seconds. One second she was there, and the next she was gone.
It’s stupid, how much that bothers me. I tell myself she’s busy hosting, making sure everything goes perfectly—but it doesn’tstop the restless twitch in my chest. Like my body knows she’s close, and it won’t let me relax until I see her.
Mr. Honeysett hands me a fresh glass and raises his own in a half-toast. “Now that one’s from upstate New York. You’ll notice the difference right away—floral, a little wild.”
I take a sip. “It’s good.”
“It’s got a bite,” he says, grinning. “Like a woman with opinions.”
I laugh under my breath and glance again toward the back doors. Nothing.
Where is she?
It’s not like I have a right to miss her. Not after last night. Not after the look she gave me that felt… final.
Still. I want to see her.
I want to know if she’s okay. If she’s still angry. If there’s a chance she might forgive me—not for the lies, but for not trusting her with the truth.
Mr. Honeysett gets pulled into another conversation, and I drift toward the back porch. Maybe I’ll spot her out there. Maybe she’ll walk by and I’ll get a chance to say something—anything—that might fix the crack between us.
As I step outside onto the back porch, the music softens—just guitar now, mellow and warm. The evening air is cooler here. A breeze moves through the trees like a whisper. Somewhere nearby, someone’s laughter rises like a bell.
I pause.
Two women are leaning against the railing by the rosebushes, half-hidden in the shadows, sipping wine and chatting.
“…I’m telling you, the inn hasn’t felt this alive in years,” one says with a fond sigh. “Margot’s done wonders. All this? It’s her.”
“She could’ve stayed in Bardstown, right?” the other replies. “Fancy job, wonderful town. But she gave it all up when Edie had her heart scare.”
“Some daughters show up with casseroles,” the first woman laughs. “She showed up with spreadsheets and elbows deep in flour.”
“She’s something else.”
I freeze mid-step.
Bardstown. Fancy job. Left it all behind.
I suddenly realize… I know nothing about that part of her.
Nothing about what she gave up. What she used to want. What kind of life she walked away from to keep this place running. To take care of her aunt. To keep her family’s legacy alive.
I’ve been so wrapped up in hiding my own truth, I never thought to ask about hers.
I lean quietly against the post, still out of their line of sight, guilt tightening in my chest. I thought I knew her. I thought I understood the weight she carried—but I’ve only seen the part she’s allowed me to see.
And somehow, that makes me want her even more.
Not just the version I know—the quiet strength, the quick wit, the way she softens when she laughs—but the whole of her. Thewoman who walked away from everything she built. The woman who chose this.
Who chose family. Who chose home.
I glance back inside the house, my heart thudding hard. I need to find her.
