Page 65 of Her Filthy Cold Billionaire Boss

We walked back to the dining room together. There was no drama, no fireworks, just the easy, unspoken fact of us. My parents were teaching Gareth’s mother how to play gin rummy, while Gram and Gareth’s father compared cholesterol meds. In the garden, the gardeners threw Frisbees for the dogs.

It was perfect, every bit of it.

After everyone had left, after the last car had vanished down the drive, we retreated to our private room.

“Are you tired?” Gareth asked, running a hand through his hair. “Or just pretending to avoid me?”

I smirked. “I’m always tired. But I’m never too tired for you.”

He leaned in, pressing his mouth to my neck, his hands circling my waist. “Liar,” he murmured, then nipped my earlobe. “You’d fall asleep in the middle just to spite me.”

I gasped, but it came out as a laugh. “I would not.”

“You absolutely would,” he said, steering me toward our room. “And I’d let you, because I’m a gentleman.”

He tumbled me onto the bed, then crawled in beside me, all sharp elbows and dangerous intent.

He kissed me, slow, deep, the way that said he had nowhere else to be and no one else to impress. I melted, as usual,and let him roll us until I was trapped beneath him, his weight comfort more than anything.

“Did you ever think it would end up like this?” I asked, voice muffled by his shirt.

He considered. “No. I thought you’d be gone in a week. Or I would.”

“Why?” I poked his ribs, knowing it would get a reaction.

He looked down at me, eyes suddenly serious. “Because you make me feel like I’m alive. Like I matter.” His hand found mine, threading our fingers together. “You make me want to be remembered for something other than money. Or mistakes.”

I thought about what he’d said once, that people all became just memories in boxes, collecting dust in the attic. I disagreed then, and I disagreed now.

“We’re more than boxes,” I said. “We’re the stuff that happens in between. The laughter, the bad decisions, the love and interactions.”

He smiled, real and unguarded. “I still can’t believe I get to have you.”

“You do,” I said, pulling him down. “And you always will.”

He kissed me again, slow and sure, and I let myself fall into it, every nerve ending singing, every worry fading into the kind of silence you only get when you know you’re home.

Later, as he held me and I listened to his heart slow, I thought of Gram, of Dolan, of every person who’d made me who I was. I thought of the brokenhearted girl who’d been scared to laugh too loud, to love too much, and I wanted to find her and tell her, It’s okay. You make it. And it’s worth it.

I drifted to sleep with Gareth’s arm around me and the promise of tomorrow bright and shiny and exciting.

And I was sure that wherever Dolan was, he was smiling at all of us.

THE END