Page 42 of Single Dad’s Fake Bride (Billionaire Baby Daddies #7)

Sadie

T he house buzzed with voices and laughter, a warmth I'd never experienced in my own childhood filling every room.

Eloise had spent the morning decorating the front porch with hand-drawn signs that read Happy Birthday, Dad!

in purple marker, complete with stick figures of our family that somehow managed to capture our essence despite their simplicity.

I stood in the kitchen doorway, watching the controlled chaos unfold around me.

Juan had arrived early with cupcakes shaped like tiny textbooks—a joke about Harrison's academic background that had everyone chuckling.

Caroline sat at the kitchen table with my mother, both of them laughing at something Eloise had said.

The sight of Harrison's sister helping arrange flowers in mason jars still felt surreal after everything we'd been through.

"Sadie, where do you want the extra chairs?" Dr. Sterling called from the living room.

"Wherever they fit," I called back, then caught Harrison's eye as he carried a cooler of drinks toward the back door. He looked genuinely happy for the first time since I'd known him, his usual tension replaced by something lighter.

The backyard had transformed into an impromptu party space.

Board members who'd questioned Harrison's every decision now stood in small clusters, congratulating him with what appeared to be genuine warmth.

Marcus Henley was deep in conversation with Dr. Caldwell near the garden, both men nodding approvingly at whatever they were discussing while hovering around an outdoor heater.

"This is quite the turnout," Caroline said, appearing beside me with two glasses of lemonade.

"I wasn't sure anyone would come," I admitted, accepting the drink gratefully.

"Are you kidding? Half the school has been dying to see inside the headmaster's private life." She smiled, and for a moment I glimpsed the woman Harrison might have grown up with before family politics tore them apart. "The other half came for Juan's cupcakes. Those textbook ones are genius."

Through the window, I watched my mother holding court near another of the outdoor heaters.

She looked better than she had in months—her body was healing and so was her heart.

Dr. White had warned us that recovery from cirrhosis would have good days and bad days, but seeing her laugh at something Mr. Henderson was saying made my chest ache with gratitude.

"Your mom seems to be enjoying herself," Caroline observed.

"She's having her first good day in weeks. I keep waiting for her to get tired and need to lie down, but she's been going strong all afternoon."

"She's proud of you. It shows."

I glanced at Caroline, surprised by the genuine kindness in her voice. "I wasn't sure you'd come today."

She was quiet for a moment, watching Harrison flip burgers on the grill while Eloise peppered him with questions about the proper burger-flipping technique.

"I owe you an apology," she said finally. "A real one, not the phone version I gave Harrison."

"Caroline—"

"No, let me say this. The way Margot and I treated you during those depositions was inexcusable. We convinced ourselves that you were some gold-digger who'd manipulated our brother, but we were wrong. Completely wrong."

"You were protecting your family," I said quietly.

"We were being terrible people." She turned to face me fully. "But watching you today, seeing how you take care of Harrison and Eloise and your mother—you're the kind of person I always hoped my brother would find. Someone strong enough to love him exactly as he is."

Before I could respond, Eloise burst through the back door.

"Mom! Dad needs the big spatula for the burgers. And Mr. Morales wants to know if we have any mustard that isn't yellow."

"Dijon in the fridge," I said, ruffling her hair. "And tell your dad the big spatula is in the drawer by the stove."

She disappeared back outside, and I found myself smiling at her boundless energy. These past few weeks had been transformative for her too. The constant tension in the house had lifted, and she'd started acting more her age instead of carrying worries that belonged to adults.

"She adores you," Caroline said.

"The feeling is mutual."

"Harrison too. He looks at you the way our father looked at our mother before she got sick. Like you're the center of his world."

Heat crept up my neck at the observation, but before I could deflect, voices drifted in from the back yard. Harrison was calling for everyone's attention.

We moved outside where guests had gathered in a loose circle around the patio. Harrison stood near the grill, holding a beer and looking slightly uncomfortable with the attention but determined to push through.

"I wanted to thank everyone for coming today," he began, his voice carrying easily across the yard. "This year has been… challenging, to put it mildly. But having all of you here, seeing the support for our family and for Hawthorne—it means everything."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.

"I've learned a lot about second chances lately," he continued, his eyes finding mine across the patio. "About forgiveness, and family, and what really matters when everything else falls away."

He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts.

"Most of all, I've learned that sometimes the best things happen when you're not planning them." His gaze moved to Eloise, then back to me. "So thank you for being here, for supporting us, and for giving a stubborn man the chance to figure out what happiness actually looks like."

He raised his beer, and everyone followed suit with whatever drinks they were holding.

"To second chances," he said simply.

"To second chances," the crowd echoed.

As people began to disperse back into smaller conversations, Harrison made his way over to me. He kissed my temple softly, his hand finding the small of my back in that familiar, possessive way that made my stomach flutter.

"Nice speech," I murmured against his ear.

"I meant every word."

The party continued around us, but gradually, people began to filter home as the afternoon stretched into evening. Board members made their polite goodbyes, promising to see Harrison at the next meeting. Faculty members hugged Eloise and told me how glad they were that everything had worked out.

By seven o'clock, only a few remained. Juan was teaching Eloise card tricks at the picnic table while my mother dozed in her chair, finally succumbing to the exhaustion that had been held at bay all day.

Caroline was gathering empty plates, moving through the yard, determined to help however she could.

I found Harrison in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, finishing the last of the dishes. The sight of him there—domestic and content—still caught me off guard sometimes.

"You don't have to do those," I said, moving to stand beside him at the sink. "Caroline and I can finish up."

"Almost done." He rinsed the final plate and set it in the drying rack, then turned to face me, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something."

My stomach clenched automatically. After months of legal drama, the phrase 'I want to talk' still triggered my anxiety.

"Is everything okay?"

"Everything's perfect." He smiled, reaching for my hands. "But I've been thinking about something, and I wanted to run it by you."

"Okay…"

"I want to give you a real wedding."

I blinked, certain I'd misheard. "What?"

"A real wedding. Not for the board, not for the will, not for anyone else's benefit. Just because I love you and I want to marry you properly this time."

"Harrison, we're already married."

"Legally, yes. But that ceremony was about meeting requirements and signing papers. I want to marry you because I can't imagine my life without you in it."

My throat tightened with unexpected emotion. "You want to have another wedding?"

"I want to give you the wedding you deserve. White dress, flowers, vows we actually mean, dancing until midnight—the whole thing."

I studied his face, looking for any sign that this was about appearances or obligations, but all I saw were sincerity and love and hope.

"You know what I'd rather have?" I said.

His expression faltered slightly. "What's that?"

"A real honeymoon." I grinned, enjoying the surprise that flickered across his face. "Just the two of us. Somewhere sunny and warm where we can sleep late and eat room service and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist."

"A honeymoon."

"Before my belly swells up and I can't see my feet anymore. But after the morning sickness—it makes airplane travel a nightmare. Just us, somewhere tropical, acting entirely selfish for a week."

He laughed, the sound rich and delighted. "You want to go on vacation instead of planning another wedding?"

"I want to go on our honeymoon. The one we never had because we were too busy convincing everyone our marriage was real."

"Now that it actually is real."

"Exactly."

He pulled me closer, his hands settling on my waist. "Where do you want to go?"

"I don't care. Somewhere with a beach and fruity drinks with umbrellas in them."

"I can make that happen."

Before I could respond, he was kissing me. It was soft and sweet and full of promises about the future we were finally free to build together. When we broke apart, he reached for his phone on the counter.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking at plane tickets." His fingers were already flying across the screen. "Barbados? Bahamas? What do you think about St. John?"

"Harrison, you don't have to book anything right now?—"

"Two weeks from now work for you? That gives us time to arrange a sitter for Eloise and make sure your mom's doing okay."

I laughed, watching him scroll through travel websites with a smirk on his face.

"You're serious about this?"

"Dead serious. We deserve a honeymoon, Sadie. A real one."

As he continued researching tropical destinations, I leaned against the counter and marveled at how dramatically my life had changed. Six months ago, I was a substitute teacher living paycheck to paycheck, worried about my mother and wondering if I'd ever find stability.

Now I was married to a man who loved me enough to want to marry me twice, carrying his child, and about to go on a honeymoon to somewhere with palm trees and crystal-clear water.

"St. Thomas has excellent reviews," he said, holding up his phone to show me photos of white sandy beaches and turquoise ocean.

"Book it," I said impulsively.

He grinned and kept scrolling, already lost in planning our escape from reality. And as I watched him—this complicated, wonderful man who'd somehow become mine—I realized that sometimes, love sneaks up on you in ways you least expect.