Page 102 of My Bestie's Billionaire Brother

"I love you too," I whisper back, my hand moving to my stomach where another kick just landed. "I can't wait to raise our children here, to watch them grow up in this beautiful place." I glance toward the paddock where one of the horses has lifted his head, watching us. "All of us together."

Charlie's hand covers mine on my belly. "So that's a yes? This is the one?"

I nod, too overcome with emotion to speak for a moment. Then I manage to find my voice again. "This is definitely the one."

Chapter 31

Charlie

Iwake before the alarm, sunlight filtering through the curtains. Beside me, Tess sleeps deeply, her breathing slow and even. I watch her for a moment, this gorgeous woman, the mother of my children. Today, she becomes my wife.

I slide carefully from the bed, wincing as I drop my phone on the floor. Tess stirs briefly but doesn't wake. I’m relieved because I know she was up in the middle of the night with the twins.

In the kitchen, I scoop coffee beans into the grinder, then think better of it. The noise might wake Tess, and she needs her rest. The caterers and florists will be here soon enough—let her have these last quiet moments of sleep.

Instead, I fill the kettle for tea and step barefoot onto the back deck. The wood feels cool and slightly damp under my feet, wet with morning dew. The lawn stretches before me, lush and green in the early summer light. By afternoon, it will be transformed with white folding chairs, an ungodly number of flowers—mostly peonies—and a tent strung with lights.

I can see the field where Oliver grazes peacefully, his coat gleaming in the morning sun. Having him here has made Tess so happy. I still remember her face the day Madison Hayesdelivered him—tears streaming down her cheeks as she pressed her forehead to his.

The kettle begins to whistle inside, calling me back to the kitchen. I fill my mug with the hot water, adding the Earl Grey tea bag and three teaspoons of sugar.

My phone buzzes on the counter. A text from Stuart:I’m bringing the Macallan. Need anything else today?

I smile. Trust Stuart to prioritize the alcohol. I type back:Thanks! That about covers it.

I sip my tea, thinking about my conversation with my dad last night. It was brief but warm—another change I'm still getting used to. Since our heart-to-heart at Meridian last year, something has shifted between us. Not overly dramatic, but noticeable.

"You've done well, son," he said before hanging up. "This home, Tess, the babies. You're building something real."

Coming from Bill Astor, that's practically a Hallmark card.

When I asked him to be my best man after I proposed to Tess, it was obvious he was holding back tears—I’ve never seen him so emotional.

Tess comes into the kitchen and I turn the kettle on again for her tea. I grab her favorite mug and drop a mint tea bag in.

"Morning," I say, taking her in my arms. “I hope those babies let you get enough sleep last night. You’ve got an important job to do today.”

Tess laughs. "I have a lot of important jobs to do today. Which one are you referring to?"

"Making me the happiest man alive." I kiss her temple, breathing in the delicious scent of her skin.

"Mmm, I think I can manage that." She leans into me. "We’ve got vendors arriving at nine."

"And my mother will be here by ten because, and I quote, 'Someone needs to supervise the tent placement.'"

Tess groans. "Your mother is going to drive the wedding planner to tears."

"Probably," I agree. "But she means well. And she's bringing the champagne for the getting-ready mimosas she insists are traditional."

"In that case, she's forgiven." Tess takes a sip of her tea, then looks up at me with those clear hazel eyes. "Are you ready for this?"

I consider the question. A year ago, I was terrified of fatherhood, of commitment, of all the ways I might fail. Now, standing in our home with Tess in my arms and our children still asleep in their cribs, I feel something I never expected: certainty.

"I've never been more ready for anything in my life," I tell her, and the truth of it settles into my bones.

As I’m taking a shower a little later, my mind drifts back to that crisp morning in early spring. I'd been up since 4 a.m., too wired to sleep, the small velvet box burning a hole in my pocket. I remember checking my watch repeatedly, calculating how much time I had before Tess had her morning riding lesson.

The diamond ring had been my grandmother's—a three-carat oval in a vintage platinum setting that my mother had kept in her safe for years. "She would have wanted Tess to have it," Mom told me when she pressed the box into my hand a month ago. I'd spent the days since then trying to figure out the perfect way to propose. Nothing felt right until Jane suggested involving Oliver.

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