Page 144 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
Six months of waking up to the smell of coffee and Margot’s sleepy “don’t talk to me yet” face. Six months of scones, porch swings, apple butter jars, and tiny notes she leaves for me in the drawer beside the coffee filters. Six months of Waffles crashing through fallen leaves and Edie watching us like we’re her favorite show.
Somehow, this town feels more like home than any skyline I’ve ever looked out over.
And Margot—she’s not just home. She’s my peace.
We’re on the porch after dinner, just the two of us, the light from the inn glowing soft and warm behind us. She’s curled up beside me in her threadbare sweater, and Waffles is asleep on her feet. It smells like rain’s coming, even though the sky’s clear.
She turns to me. “You’re quiet tonight.”
I shift to face her, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I’ve been thinking.”
“That’s never good.”
I smile. “It is tonight.”
She waits, watching me with those steady, open eyes that never rush me.
“I want a life with you,” I say, low. “One that we build, not just inherit.”
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t look away.
“I want a family,” I continue. “One that looks like this place… but is ours. Just ours.”
Her eyes shine, but she doesn’t cry.
She just nods and says, steady and sure, “Me too.”
I reach into my coat pocket and pull out the small velvet box.
Her mouth parts slightly when she sees it—but she doesn’t gasp, or flinch, or whisper “oh my god.” She just stills.
“I’ve been carrying this for a while,” I tell her. “Waiting for the right moment, but then I realized… it’s not about the moment. It’s about you. And us. And everything we’re already choosing, every day.”
I open the box.
The ring inside is simple. Classic. A round-cut diamond on a gold band, elegant and enduring—just like her.
“I love you,” I say. “And I want the rest of my life to be full of teapots and chaotic sisters and four p.m. pastries. But I also want something that’s ours. I want to grow something with you. A life, a home, a family.”
She doesn’t blink.
She reaches for my hand, her voice quiet but full. “Yes.”
I slide the ring onto her finger, and she leans forward into my arms like she’s finally letting herself fall.
I hold her close. “Let me know when you’re ready. We’ll buy the house. We’ll always be a part of this inn, but we need to start our own family.”
She presses her forehead to mine, her voice soft. “I think I’m ready now.”
And just like that, I know—this is the beginning of the rest of us.
Two weeks later, we’re sitting in a quiet office that smells like fresh coffee and printer ink. The lawyer talks through the paperwork, but all I hear is the sound of her pen moving across the page as she signs her name. That’s the moment it hits me.
It’s done. The house is ours.
We walk out into the golden wash of late afternoon. Margot holds the folder like it’s made of glass.
I lace my fingers with hers as we walk to the car.
