Page 49 of The Billionaire's Secret Desire
I turn to face her, my hand cupping her cheek. “About what?”
She avoids my gaze, her fingers tracing the lines of my palm. “About me. About us.”
I kiss her forehead, my thumb brushing her jawline. “Charli, look at me.”
When she does, I see the fear in her eyes, the doubt Ava planted. “You’re not just cut out for me,” I say firmly. “You are my forever.”
She searches my face, as if looking for a crack in my certainty. Finding none, she leans into me, her breath warm against my chest. “I love you,” she whispers. I’m not sure she expected me to hear her, but I did.
“I love you, too,” I reply, my voice thick with emotion.
And in that moment, as our hearts beat in sync, I know we’ll be okay. Ava’s words were just noise, a fleeting disturbance in the storm. But Charli and me? We’re the calm after it, the steady ground beneath each other’s feet.
The rest can wait. For now, we have this—each other, and the promise of forever.
The next few days blur into a whirlwind of work and wedding prep.
Charli’s been holed up at the house, working from the home office I put together for her—tweaking the final wedding menu for Mia, sourcing specialty ingredients, juggling spreadsheets, and coordinating the Silver Willow rebuild with a focus that makes my head spin. Every time I check in, she’s chipper but laser-focused, rattling off notes about flavor pairings and delivery timelines like it’s second nature. She’s thriving, and damn if I’m not proud of her. That thing with Ava, I think it’s finally faded into the rearview mirror.
Meanwhile, I’ve practically taken up residence at Palmera Hotel and Spa, working from my top-floor office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Atlantic. The ocean glistens like a postcard, the kind of view most people would kill for, butright now, it’s just a backdrop to the chaos. Final inspections are underway, pendant lights and sconces are getting installed, and it feels like every twenty minutes another contractor is knocking on my door, needing a decision. The place is going to be ready for Ian’s wedding—barely—but it’s going to be spectacular. Nothing but the best for my big brother.
I miss the hell out of Charli. I miss the way her hair sticks up in wild directions when she first wakes up, the quiet mumble of her voice as she reaches for me without even opening her eyes. I miss the weight of her leg tossed over mine and the instinctive way she tucks her face into my chest like it’s her favorite place in the world. I miss the warmth of her skin and the way she always, always steals the covers halfway through the night. Everything about her—her presence, her chaos, her calm—has etched itself into the quiet parts of my day, and without her here, the silence feels too damn loud.
On top of that, I’ve been planning the bachelor party with Garrett—which has turned into a logistical circus. Getting a dozen of Ian’s closest friends on a yacht in the Bahamas sounds amazing in theory, but in practice? It’s been provisioning spreadsheets, last-minute RSVPs, timing nightmares, and trying to hide all of it under the guise of "absolutely nothing going on." Because Ian, in true Gallo fashion, insisted he didn’t want a bachelor party. Which, obviously, means he deserves one that blows his damn mind.
Between Garrett’s yacht and the crew on standby, the surprise elements we’ve cooked up, and the wild cards his friends bring to the table, this is shaping up to be either legendary or something that ends with me bribing Bahamian officials. Still, what kind of brother—and best man—would I be if I didn’t make it epic??
But in the chaos, all I crave is a quiet night with Charli. Just the two of us—no work calls, no inboxes demanding attention.I want her curled up against my side, Ghost snoring at our feet, the sound of her soft laugh in my ear as we steal a moment for ourselves. But that peace feels miles away, buried under deadlines and champagne orders and flower installations. Until this wedding is behind us, those stolen moments will have to wait.
I glance at my watch. Almost seven. She’s probably standing at the kitchen counter, juggling a call with one hand and a forkful of cold dinner in the other, still barefoot and half-distracted. I smile at the image, equal parts amused and longing. Maybe I’ll call her now—sooner than planned. Just to hear her voice. Just to remind her that even in the chaos, we’re still a team. Because deadlines, bachelor parties, and hotel inspections aside—she’s the heartbeat of it all. The thing that grounds me. The thing that matters most.
Chapter 20
Charli
Island time is supposed to be slow and breezy, right?
Ha.
I’ve been in this kitchen since the wheels of Sawyer’s private jet kissed the runway this morning. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The moment I stepped off that plane—Sawyer’s plane, because of course he insisted—I was swept straight into wedding madness. The chaos only an event this grand, and this Gallo, could pull off. The resort’s kitchen is gorgeous—gleaming marble countertops, professional-grade everything, and an ocean view that should be distracting but isn’t. Because I haven’t looked up in hours.
I’ve been chopping, stirring, organizing, double-checking counts, and whispering silent threats to the walk-in fridge. The wedding is tomorrow. Everything has to be perfect. No pressure or anything, just feeding one hundred fifty people—including the most fashionable, well-fed, discerning crowd on either side of the equator. And I’m not just doing dinner. There’s brunch, a cocktail hour, midnight snacks, and don’t even get me started on the groom’s cake that took me three weeks to perfect.
Still, despite the pressure, there’s a strange sense of peace here—somewhere between the sound of crashing waves through the open windows and the smell of fresh herbs clinging to my skin. I’m in my element. It’s intense, but it’s mine.
What’s not here, though, is Sawyer.
He’s off being Best Man of the Year, hosting Ian’s surprise bachelor party on Garrett’s yacht. Which sounds like a hilarious, testosterone-fueled disaster waiting to happen. I can picture it now—Sawyer trying to keep Ian from jumping off the bow into shark-infested waters while Garrett bets someone to shotgun champagne. All while pretending they don’t have half a dozen camera-happy influencers watching from nearby boats.
I smile to myself, wiping my hands on a towel. It’s ridiculous how much I miss him after just a few days.
I miss the way he smiles, like he’s already heard the punchline to a joke I haven’t told yet. I miss the feel of his hand on the small of my back when he passes behind me, even in our own damn kitchen. I miss his voice—low, steady, teasing. I even miss his grumbly rants about contractors and timelines and the way his brow furrows when he’s pretending not to care but absolutely does.
He called before boarding the yacht. Said he wouldn’t be reachable until late tonight. Told me not to overdo it and to have fun.
Right.
