Page 39 of Owned By a Billionaire

“She shone.” Declan smiled with pride. “I even watched the last dance.” He directed a loving glance at his daughter, who was the spitting image of Theadora. “A natural. Takes after her mother.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Dec, you’re a pretty good dancer,” Savanah said.

He chuckled. “Now you’re just being nice.”

“How did the negotiations go with the franchise?” I asked.

Declan was about to respond when Ethan came bouncing in, carrying a box of fairy cakes dressed with pink icing.

“This calls for tea,” I said.

Janet, who was within earshot in the common room, filling vases with fresh flowers, looked over at me and nodded. “I’ll have Tracy arrange that now.”

After the tea was served and the children, having had their hit of sugar, ran around with abandon and chased the dogs, I returned my attention to Declan.

A question about his recent windfall was about to leave my lips when Cary arrived, looking ruggedly handsome after his walk. With his wind-tousled peppery hair and flushed handsome face, he made my knees weak. Even after a year together, I still swooned.

Would I ever stop lusting after him? It was like I’d turned into a teenager. However, unanswered questions about his life bothered me. Something I was keeping to myself.

Ethan turned to Declan. “You signed the contract yesterday, I believe.”

Declan rubbed his neck and looked at Theadora before answering. “Yep. Sure did.”

“A cool two billion pounds.” Ethan whistled. “Who would have thought?”

Declan nodded reflectively. “It has come as a surprise.”

“They’re to run the exact farming model and crafty, organic markets in Provence and other tourist hotspots in France, Switzerland, and Germany, to start with,” Theadora said, wearing the proud smile of a wife whose husband was about to conquer the world.

While we processed that rather astounding outcome to a project I’d once deemed frivolous and a waste of my son’s resources, nine-year-old Julian returned and jumped into the pool to show his father and Cary his progress.

“Time me,” Julian said to Cary, who’d become the boy’s swimming coach.

Cary pulled out his phone and signaled for Julian to start.

When Julian finished his four laps, he pushed himself up on the ledge of the pool. His blue eyes, just like his father’s and my late husband’s, brimmed with expectation as he looked up at Cary.

“That’s a record,” Cary declared with enthusiasm, as though he’d broken it himself. “Thirty seconds. That’s a ten-second improvement.”

Julian rubbed his hair with a towel and grabbed a fairy cake, wearing a wide, satisfied smile.

Cary patted his shoulder. “At this rate, you could enter the under-thirteen nationals.”

Julian looked keenly at his father and mother, blatantly seeking their permission.

Declan shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

Theadora didn’t look so pleased.

“You’re not so happy about that?” I had to ask.

Declan placed his arm around his wife. “She wants all our children to pursue the arts.”

Cary nodded but said, “You can’t force creativity. You’re either born with it or not. Sport still thrills and entertains.”

“But it’s a momentary thing,” Theadora argued.

“It’s temporal like dance, I suppose,” Cary admitted. “But without desire as the major driver, art cannot be.”

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