All Chapters of Her Father’s Billionaire Best Friend : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

That night, after the inn’s last guests had been tucked into rooms and the kitchen had been tidied, we lit candles in the small parlor and opened two bottles of wine too old for our taste but perfect for the mood. He read the first chapter aloud, and the voice he used for the ridiculous pirate made our faces hurt with laughter. When he read lines about a crooked house that loved Tuesdays, something in me folded into softness and I felt, with a fierce clarity, how irrevocable this love had become.Later, when the candles had guttered low and the house held a delicious hush, Marcus pressed me gently against the stair rail and kissed me like he had no patience left for the slow art of waiting. The stair felt like a sacrament — wood warm against our skin, the night holding its breath.He led me up to the guestroom they’d prepared as our “honeymoon suite” — someone’d put a canopy over the bed, and in the flicker of the lamp the room read like a promise. He fell into me with the kind of hun

It was him, younger, hair longer, smiling as if the weight of the world had yet to sit on his shoulders. Beside him in the photo, arm hooked through his, was a woman I’d never seen before: dark hair, a laugh caught in her eyes, a cheeky tilt to her mouth. They looked like lovers from a story I’d never been given the preface to.“He’s beautiful,” my mouth formed before my brain could file the possessive shock. The photograph felt like an incision — not because of its existence but because of how much love it quietly held.Marcus watched me read his past like someone watching an old film of himself. “Her name was Eva,” he said finally. “We were—” He inhaled, the word hitching. “We were very young. She taught me to be reckless in the kindest ways. She left because she needed a life I didn’t know how to give. It’s… complicated.” He swallowed. “I thought for a long time that I’d been ruined by losing her. I kept these because—” he gestured toward the chest with an odd tenderness — “because

He reached for the little box he’d brought from his jacket all week — the one I suspected might be something foolish and perfect — and unfolded a scrap of paper with tiny handwriting. It read: For them — a map. For you — a life. For us — a vow.He tucked the paper into my hand and kissed my knuckles. “We’ll write more maps,” he said, “Tuesday by Tuesday. But today, we named them. We gave them an anchor. They’ll have stories and scars and music, and we will teach them to laugh even when things get loud.”Outside, the rain had softened to a mist that made the garden look like a secret painting. Inside, the twins moved, tiny punctuation marks that made the world suddenly clearer. I pressed my hand to my belly and felt the small, quick answers that were becoming their language.He curled around me then, the familiar warmth, and we drifted into a long, satisfying sleep — the kind that comes after names are spoken and promises are made. The twist of the day had been gentle and fierce at the

The morning had a softness like bread straight from the oven — warm, yielding, impossible to resist. I woke with the last of a dream clinging to me: a hallway full of small socks and a chorus of tiny, indignant laughter. Marcus was already awake, propped on his elbow and watching me like someone who’d found a private treasure and sworn to memorize it forever.“You’re far too picturesque for this hour,” he said, voice a rumble that made the skin along my arms prickle in a very good way.“You’re dangerous,” I replied, because it’s easier to flirt than to say the un-delicious truth, which was: I was terrified and deliriously excited in equal measure. He grinned, the smile that always made me forgive whatever audacity he’d committed that week, and kissed the hollow of my throat, slow as a benediction.We moved through breakfast in the way that two people who are building a life do — not because it’s efficient but because each small domestic act is a brick. He made coffee, I burned the toa

Morning after the surprise proposal still felt like a private sin I wanted to confess to everyone. The ring warmed my finger where it had settled like it belonged, and the twins — my furious, wonderful twins — fluttered impatiently as if they already knew the day would be too long to contain everything coming.Marcus woke as if the sun had been his cue. He moved with that easy, ridiculous competence of his: brewed the coffee the way his grandfather taught him, padded into the bedroom with two mugs and that tiny, foolish grin he thought he hid well. He handed me a cup and then kissed me like he was apologizing for the rest of the world. “You sleep beautiful,” he said, so private nobody else could have understood how much ceremony lived inside that small compliment.“Only for you,” I murmured, and he chuckled — the sound I’d come to map my days by.We spent the late morning doing small things that felt monumental: matching pairs of tiny socks queased in a drawer, picking a pattern for t