Page 122 of How to Blow It with a Billionaire

“Do you even have a house for me to move into?”

“Yeah, I do. Just bought it. Although it’s not…exactly a house. It’s more of a space.”

Oh dear God. I was going to end up living in a derelict power plant or a disused Tube station. “You should charge me rent, though.”

“Hell yes, I will.” She emerged slightly from her hoodie. “I’m not Caspian. You don’t get to pay me in sex.”

I gave an outraged squeak. “That was not our arrangement.”

“Rent’s £750 a month, bills included.”

It was so perfect for me I suspected she’d put far more thought into this than her manner suggested. “That seems unreasonably reasonable for London.”

“Yeah, well. It’s going to need some renovation. And there’ll be a lot of babymurderingsongs happening.”

“I guess…I guess I’m in.”

She gave me a flat look. “Okay then.”

“You know what this means, right?”

Now her gaze became distinctly wary. “No. What?”

“Hug time.” I bounced off the swing.

“Oh don’t. Do you have to?”

She grumbled, but she let me hold her. Even gave me a brief, grudging squeeze in return.

And, afterward, we sat on the grass together. Watched the sunset crack the sky like an egg, spilling gold and scarlet and purple across the shifting waves.

I still felt miserable. Lessened. Turned into ribbons of myself: thin enough for the light to shine through.

But I also knew that I was going to be okay. Maybe not today or tomorrow or even the day after that. Probably not for a long time. But it was there. Waiting for me. Just a step beyond the horizon.

When Caspian left me, I thought I’d lost so much that I’d lost everything.

Except I’d found something too.

A piece of truth, as smooth and bright as sea glass.

For all his wealth and power and beauty, I had something Caspian Hart would never have. Would never be able to accept.

It was the simplest thing in the world. And the most precious.

I knew I was loved.