Page 52 of Billion Dollar Vow (The Lincoln Brothers #4)

Karley

Ten months later

I stretch in the bed, fingers brushing against cool sheets.

The spot where Oliver should be is empty.

A hint of disappointment tugs at me until the smell of fresh coffee and the faint tang of salt fill the air.

My heart lifts. With a lazy grin, I flip the blanket off and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The dark wood is cool beneath my feet.

After a quick stop in the bathroom, I open the door to see Oliver walking in, wearing just boxers, a wooden tray balanced carefully in his hands.

Steam rises from a cup of coffee, the bright orange of fresh-squeezed juice catching my eye.

A plate with a toasted bagel sits in the center like a prize.

“Get in bed, Petal,” he says, his eyes crinkling with warmth. “I made you breakfast.”

My heart does that silly little flip it’s been doing since the day we met. Climbing back in, I nestle into the pillows, watching as he places the tray over my legs with careful precision. “How did I get so lucky?” I ask, looking up at him with genuine awe.

The flush on his face is instant. It spreads from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, softening his sharp features.

His hair is a tousled mess, free from the product he usually uses to tame it.

He looks younger this way, so much so, that for a moment, I’m tempted to ditch breakfast altogether.

But today is too busy to give in to that urge.

“So… you think I’ve earned Husband of the Year this time?” He smirks.

I grin, nodding. “You already did. Did you eat?”

He sits on the edge of the bed, hands resting on his thighs. “Yeah, I had to taste it. Quality control.” He shoots me a wink. “I’m gonna shower. You’ll be okay?”

I hum, picking up the glass of orange juice. The cool sweetness hits my tongue, and the bits of pulp surprise me. Lowering the glass, I squint at it suspiciously before eyeing him. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Of course,” he replies, chest puffing slightly. “You can taste the difference, can’t you?”

His face is so serious, eyebrows slightly raised, lips pressed together in a firm line, that I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. He’s too cute, and I’d never tell him I can’t taste the difference. Not today.

We’ve had our fair share of battles in the grocery store, though.

Most of the time, I just go alone. I’ll buy his organic, pesticide-free, fermented foods, but I’ll also grab my sugary treats.

We’ve learned to mix and match. There are even nights where dinner is peanut butter toast on the sofa while binge-watching our favorite shows.

He leans in and kisses my forehead before heading to the bathroom. Moments later, the sound of the shower running fills the air. I’m halfway through my bagel when I notice a small, folded note tucked under the edge of the plate. I unfold the paper, already smiling before I’ve even read it.

No punchline today. Just a simple I love you, Petal. Love your (actual, real-life) husband xo.

I read it twice, pressing my lips together to keep from grinning too wide.

My heart swells with that aching, sweet kind of love that makes you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

I tuck the note into the drawer of my nightstand, where all his letters are stored.

One day, I’ll turn them into art. A piece to hang in this house, our home.

I’m about to get out of bed, but I pause, lifting the tray off my lap, setting it aside. Bagel still in hand, I wander over to the bathroom doorway. He’s under the stream of water, head tipped back, droplets sliding over the contours of his back and shoulders. The sight makes me pause.

He must sense my attention on him because he turns, eyes locking on me. “Is it good?” he asks, nodding toward the bagel.

I let my gaze sweep over him, slow and deliberate. My tongue skims my bottom lip, catching the crumbs. “Delicious.”

His eyes narrow, and a wicked grin spreads across his face. “Get in here.”

I arch an eyebrow, bringing the bagel to my mouth for another bite, chewing slowly, savoring it. “Make me.”

He’s out of the shower in a heartbeat, water dripping from every inch of him.

Before I can react, he’s in front of me, snatching the bagel from my hand and tossing it onto the tray.

His arms wrap around me, his grin turning feral as he lifts me up and over his shoulder.

Laughter bubbles out of me, but it’s cut short when he rips the oversized t-shirt from my body, the cool air against my skin sending a shiver down my spine.

The next few moments blur as his hands skim across my skin, the rough scratch of stubble against my neck, the breathless sound of my name on his lips. He’s not gentle, and I don’t want him to be. Every move is a claim, every touch a reminder that I’m his and he’s mine.

A few hours later, we arrive at the house to open the door for its first day.

I once thought it would be mine, but now it’s something so much bigger.

A place for families to meet up. Lotus Connections.

The name feels perfect. Each petal of a lotus connected to the center, just like the people who will find their way here.

I step onto the porch with Amber, Wren, and Rufus, taking in the sight of the navy door welcoming everyone in.

Inside, the smell of fresh flowers mixes with the faint scent of lavender candles we lit this morning.

The soft hum of calming music plays in the background.

Every room is decorated with care. Soft, cozy furniture, and walls covered with art from local children.

It feels like home with color and comfort, and it’s exactly what I envisioned.

The licensed social workers, security personnel, family support specialists, child life specialists, and maintenance staff were all handpicked and meticulously trained.

Which wouldn’t have been possible without the Lincolns.

At first, accepting their help felt like swallowing glass, but Oliver’s gentle persistence wore me down.

“We’re married,” he would remind me. “Helping you is helping us.” Every time he said it, the walls around my pride crumbled a little more.

And as I move through the house with a buzz of excitement and confidence, I’m glad I listened.

I paid for what I could with my own money from selling paintings and the shifts I still take at Till’s Sip N’ Paint.

I’m there less now, though; my days split between school, work, home, and here.

Somehow, it all balances itself out, though I’m still learning to lean on Oliver, just as he leans on me.

We’ve made plans to travel, including returning to Vegas on our one-year anniversary. Vegas gave me a taste of art and history, and now I crave more. More of the world.

Today, a few families are scheduled to visit, and nerves twist in my stomach. I smooth down the front of my pale blue dress, my hands shaking just slightly. What if they don’t like it? What if this place doesn’t feel like the safe haven I dreamed it would be?

Oliver catches my eye from across the room, flashing me a reassuring smile. He’s leaning casually against the doorway, watching me with that look. The one that says he believes in me, even when I don’t completely believe in myself.

You’ve got this, Petal , he mouths, as if he’s reading my mind.

I take a deep breath, nodding once, and step forward as the first family arrives. Today isn’t just about an open house; it’s about opening hearts.

Amber stands to my left. On my right, Wren holds Rufus, stroking his fur. Ever since Wren started insisting on carrying Rufus, he’s been on his best behavior. No more leg-humping Oliver, though I can’t blame him. Oliver’s hard to resist.

We’re ready. I’m ready. This is just the beginning.

As we’re cleaning up for the day, the familiar chime of the front door signals another visitor.

Evan strides in first, his grin sharp and mischievous.

Behind him follows a man I’ve only seen in old photos Oliver has shown me from the boys growing up.

The guy’s taller than Evan, with sharp cheekbones and an easy smile that seems to belong on a billboard.

His sleeves are rolled up, revealing forearms smudged with dirt.

“Look who it is,” Evan announces to Oliver, slinging an arm around the man’s shoulders. “Doctor Derek Pierce.”

He holds out his hand. “Derek.”

“Karley.”

“Nice place,” he says, nodding toward a framed drawing of sunflowers done by one of the local kids. “You’ve got an eye for art too.”

“Don’t be fooled,” Oliver cuts in, walking up to join us, giving Derek a man hug. “She’s got an eye for everything.” He pulls away from Derek to stand beside me. A hand lands lightly on my back, his fingers trailing for just a second too long to be casual.

“Still a charmer, huh?” Derek says as his gaze flick between us with a knowing smirk. “Guess some things never change.”

“Like how you two used to pretend to hate each other?” Evan’s voice is pure tease as he leans against the counter, eyes dancing with amusement.

We glance at each other, the corner of Oliver’s mouth tugging upward at the same time Evan’s does. Their eyes meet for a brief moment of our shared memory, unspoken but fully understood.

“Yeah, good times,” Oliver says with a grin.

“So…” Derek says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Evan told me that you may be interested in some of my pieces before I move to Pulse Point.” His eyes shift to Oliver, eyebrows raised, like he’s giving him the first pick.

“Interested?” Oliver tilts his head, letting a slow smile spread across my face. “I’d be crazy not to be.”

The End.