Page 38 of Billion Dollar Vow (The Lincoln Brothers #4)

I hold on to Oliver a little tighter, feeling the positive energy around us. The cool breeze ruffles my hair, and the crisp scent of the city at night feels almost magical.

We stop to take a photo in front of the mural, and I squeeze his hand, feeling so happy, so full.

“Where to next?” I ask, my excitement bubbling up again.

“You’ll see in five minutes,” he says, grinning. We walk hand in hand to the subway.

“I can’t believe I’m on the subway with you,” I say with a laugh.

“Why?” Oliver asks, clearly amused.

“You just... seem too cool for this,” I admit, trying to find a polite way to say it.

“You mean too rich?” he teases.

“Yeah,” I say sheepishly.

“I have been on the subway, but rarely do it now.” He shrugs. “But I want to experience everything with you.”

He pulls out his phone, snapping a picture of me standing on the subway. I’m not self-conscious at all. Then I pull him close and kiss him as he takes another shot of the two of us together.

“I’m so glad you pushed me to leave the bed tonight,” I admit. “This has been incredible.”

“It has, hasn’t it?” Oliver agrees. “I’ve loved every second of it.”

“I’m tired, though.” I yawn.

“Our ride’s waiting at the end,” he says, taking my hand as we step off the subway.

We exit the subway and find ourselves in Washington Square Park, in the heart of Greenwich Village. The park is alive with energy, street performers, live music, dancers, and poetry readings. Oliver pulls out money and tips each performer, and my heart swells at his generosity.

We stop in front of a sketch artist. He’s an older man with wire-rimmed glasses. His easel displays completed portraits of couples, families, and animals. Oliver asks him to sketch us. I bounce on my heels, thrilled by the idea of having this memory captured.

We sit close on the little bench in front of the easel. I try to hold still, but I keep glancing at Oliver, who’s fighting a grin every time I shift. The artist barely looks up as his pencil moves swiftly across the page, like he’s done this a thousand times.

When he finally turns the sketch around, I light up.

“I love it,” I say, brushing my fingers over the edge.

Oliver nods in agreement, handing the man cash. “Can you roll it up for us?”

The artist obliges, slipping the paper into a cardboard tube and capping it off. Oliver tucks it under his arm like it’s something precious.

It kind of is.

We make our way to our next stop, the Little Italy Mural in Manhattan. The mural is a stunning, colorful piece, full of pizza, pasta, Italian landscapes, and portraits of famous figures from the community.

I read the signatures on the mural, impressed by how brave the artists are for putting their work on public display.

Before Oliver and the arrangement, it’s something I’ve always admired, and I hope one day I’ll be brave enough to do the same on a bigger scale than the school shop.

I’m getting stronger, but I’m not quite there yet. But I will be .

“Let’s grab a picture before the final stop,” Oliver says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Sounds good,” I reply, still on a high from the night, unable to stop smiling.

We walk down the street, and I spot Morgenstern’s Finest Ice Cream.

“This is the final stop?” I ask, a grin forming on my face as I squeeze his hand tighter.

“Yes. I take it you’ve been here before?”

“Not often, but once. And the matcha ice cream was incredible.”

We enter the shop. The sweet, creamy scent of waffle cones and freshly churned ice cream wraps around me instantly. The interior is minimalist, with sleek counters and bright color pops against walls. Behind the glass display, sits rows of different flavored ice creams.

“I don’t even know where to start,” I murmur, scanning the names.

“Try this one.” He hands me a sample spoon the lady hands him. “You’ll like it.”

I hesitate, then take the tiny spoon from his hand, our fingers brushing a second too long. His eyes don’t leave mine as I taste it, a rich chocolate with a hint of sea salt.

“Mmm,” I say, licking my lips. “That’s dangerously good.”

“Right?” He leans in a little too close. “Here, try this one too.” Asking for another scoop in a different flavor of chocolate chip cookie dough, he offers it straight to my mouth this time.

I don’t even think, I just lean forward and take the bite, letting his thumb brush my lower lip as he pulls the spoon away.

“Okay, now you have to try mine,” I say, a little breathless, turning to ask for a sample of salted caramel pretzel. He meets my gaze, his lips curving as he leans in and lets me feed him.

“You’re right,” he says, his voice lower now. “It’s going to be too hard to choose, so I say we get a scoop of all three.”

I nod, grinning.

A few minutes later, we’re outside with a single overfilled cup between us. We take turns with the spoon, laughing as we flick through the photos from the night.

I yawn, feeling the exhaustion finally catch up with me.

“Let’s get you home. I organized a car,” he says, helping me to my feet.

In the car, I snuggle up beside him, curling into his side, our fingers intertwined. His thumb brushes slow circles across the back of my hand, causing a flutter in my stomach.

The drive is peaceful, the city lights blurring past the windows as we talk about our favorite moments of the night.

We arrive at home and head inside his place.

He closes the door behind us, then leans against it, eyes locked on mine. “Can we pick up where we left off?”

I arch an eyebrow, slowly turning to face him fully. “Now you want to?”

He steps closer, his hands flexing at his sides like he’s holding himself back. “Please,” he rasps, gaze raking over me. “Don’t make me beg.”

I take a teasing step back. “I think I need to hear you say it.”

His jaw tightens, and then… he does. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for so damn long. I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll beg all night if that's what it takes.”

An ache grows as I close the distance, brushing my fingers along the hem of my shirt.

“Well then,” I whisper, lips closer to his, “start begging.”

His breath hitches, hands fisting, and when I finally start to undress under his smoldering gaze, everything else disappears.