Page 20 of The Billionaire’s Paradise (My Billionaire #4)

Leilani stepped in quickly.

“Okay, okay,” she said, slipping between them with the grace of someone raised in a family that argued loudly… and often . “We’ve had something of a surprise. Let’s not make a big deal about it now. Not when we have guests.”

“The surprise is one of our guests,” her father said sternly.

Leilani turned to him, her voice still soft but edged with steel. “Then maybe it’s time we treated him like a guest. With kindness. With food. And with enough aloha to let the rest of the night unfold without someone throwing a poi bowl.”

A few people laughed, grateful for the release.

Leilani gestured toward the long tables, her eyes twinkling. “Everyone brought food. And if we don’t start eating, Auntie Maile’s going to cry, and Uncle Manu will take that personally.”

The spell broke. Slowly, people began to move—plates were passed around, laughter returned, and the scent of roasted pork reasserted itself like a peace offering.

Makani reached for Mr. Banks’s hand. He gave it without hesitation.

As we followed the crowd toward the food, Cal leaned in and whispered, “I can’t believe we came here to meet our surrogate, and now we’re in the middle of a family feud and a decades-old love story starring Mr. Banks. What universe did I wake up in? ”

“I think it’s the one where someone spiked the punch with a few too many shots of destiny,” I murmured back.

We reached the long tables, which were overflowing with food—mountains of kalua pork, sticky rice, fresh pineapple, taro rolls, trays of pork, and half a dozen dishes I couldn’t pronounce but already loved like my own children.

Someone handed me a plate. Someone else handed me a banana leaf. I wasn’t entirely sure which one I was supposed to use, so I took both and hoped for the best.

A few seats down from me, Angus was loudly asking whether the purple stuff was a dip or a dessert. Nobody answered him, so he took a bite anyway and declared it “tangy, addictive, and my new favorite purple thing.”

Mr. Banks and Makani were seated side by side across from us, hands nearly touching, their faces haloed in firelight. I watched as she reached up and tucked a hibiscus flower behind his ear, her smile soft and knowing. He didn’t speak, just looked at her like the years had folded up and vanished.

Cal and I sat with Rashida on one side of us and Mrs. Mulroney on the other.

“So,” Rashida said dryly, spearing a piece of grilled pineapple “One of your best friends is a baron. And apparently the long-lost love of a Hawaiian princess. How are the heart rates?”

She suddenly produced her iPad and started tapping away like she needed to record our responses.

I leaned in close and whispered to her, “Did you know about this?”

“Mm,” Rashida shrugged, like that was an answer.

Cal was still sitting with a shocked look on his face. “All those times Mr. Banks watched South Pacific on loop are starting to make a disturbing amount of sense.”

Angus suddenly slid in beside Rashida, cheeks stuffed, pointing to something green on his plate. “I don’t know what this is, but I would marry it. And this thing here—I’d fake my own death just to run away with it. That? That’s my soulmate. And this crispy thing here that looks like a pig’s ear—”

“That is a pig’s ear,” Rashida told him.

“I’m ready to build my whole life around it. Mortgage, dog, white picket fence. The works.”

I watched Rashida arch one brow. “That’s a lot of committing to something that could have been a purse. You okay, cupcake?”

“I’m great,” he said, mouth full. “I’m totally fine. Just like Basil over there, with his new-old-new girlfriend. Not that I even knew my best friend’s name was Basil. I always thought it was Mr. Banks.”

“His name is Basil,” Rashida said. “As well as Mr. Banks. One is his first name. One is his surname.”

“Is it, though?” I said to nobody.

“Whatever his name is,” Angus muttered. “He clearly has someone else to focus on now instead of me.”

“Okay, slow down with the green stuff… and the purple stuff… and the purse,” said Rashida. “You’re panic-eating.”

“ You’re panic-eating.”

“I don’t even have a fork in my hand,” she said. “But I’m taking yours off you before you choke on your feelings.”

“That’s not even a thing.”

“Oh yes it is, because your best friend is apparently a love-struck former baron whose true love is a Hawaiian princess, and your emotional filing cabinet just caught fire.”

Angus stabbed another bite. “Okay, wow. That was specific.”

She snatched the fork off him.

He grunted at her.

She grunted back, then said, “Finish whatever’s in your mouth—because God knows I’m not sticking my fingers in there to get it out—then tell me how you’re really feeling about this whole Mr. Banks reveal?”

Angus’s chewing slowed. His gaze flicked over to where Mr. Banks and Makani were still talking, heads close, completely absorbed in each other.

“I dunno,” he said, quieter now. “It’s just weird, I guess. Like… he’s mine . You know? My Banksie. My bonkers best friend who thinks pigeons are secretly masters of sarcasm and once threw a farewell party for a sock he lost in a dryer three years earlier.”

Rashida nodded. “And now he’s someone else’s too.”

Angus stared at his plate. “Yeah.”

She nudged his arm with hers. “Hey. He’s still yours. This just means there’s more of him than we thought. And that’s not a bad thing.”

Angus sniffed. “I swear, if this ends with a wedding and I’m not the flower boy, I’m walking into the ocean.”

“You’ll be the whole floral theme,” Rashida said. “Now eat your feelings more slowly. Before you end up proposing to anything on your plate.”

I wanted to get up and give Angus a hug, but on the other side of me, Mrs. Mulroney had acquired a wooden cup of something local, potent, and clearly not her first.

“I would like to make a toast!” she announced loudly, raising her cup high. “To my dear friends Mal and Catt. And to the new chapter in their life with the lovely Nelly over there—”

“It’s Leilani,” I whispered harshly.

“That’s what I said. Nelli-leilei-elly. May your baby be rosy-cheeked and fair of skin.”

Suddenly, the party went quiet again. Not gradually— immediately . Like someone had hit mute on the entire luau.

Every Islander at the table turned to glare. Some slowly lowered their forks. One auntie made the sign of the cross. Even the fire seemed to flicker with judgment.

I could feel Cal cringe beside me. His whole body contracted like he was trying to fold himself into a beach napkin.

Across the table, Uncle Manu dropped his fork. “ Fair of skin? ”

Mrs. Mulroney’s head wobbled like a plate spinning on a stick. “Oh, don’t be like that! I’m Irish—I celebrate all the shades of skin. Fair skin, freckled skin, sunburnt skin—it’s called diversity. Look it up.”

Nobody laughed.

I wanted the sand to rise up and consume us whole.

Cal was visibly mouthing oh my God into his plate.

Undeterred—and seemingly determined to dig her hole deeper—Mrs. Mulroney took another gulp and added brightly, “Besides, who doesn’t want a baby that’s got just a touch of leprechaun? Strong thighs. Good at puzzles.”

“Okay,” I said, standing halfway up. “We’re going to take a little walk—”

“No, no, I’ll fix it,” Mrs. Mulroney said, waving me off. Then, raising her cup to the table, she proclaimed, “To all the colors of the rainbow!”

“Please stop,” Cal whispered, now sliding slowly under the table. “Matt, make it stop.”

Thankfully, before Mrs. Mulroney could toast the entire Pantone catalogue, a loud whoop echoed from the dunes.

“YEEEEEW!”

Everyone turned.

A barefoot blur was racing toward the luau—shirtless, tanned, wild-haired, and glistening in a post-surf glow. He was carrying a longboard over one shoulder like it was a sacred artifact and had a ukulele strapped to his back.

Leilani lit up. “There’s Kimo!”

Kimo skidded into the gathering, scattering sand into the fire that sparkled briefly as it ignited then fizzled. “Sorry I’m late,” he announced. “The ocean asked me to stay a little longer. You can’t ignore her when she’s flirty.”

Thankfully, the entire gathering laughed, the tension easing once again .

Kimo beamed at everyone like he had just returned from blessing the tide with his energy.

Leilani took his arm and pulled him toward us. “Kimo, you remember Matt and Cal?”

“Who?” Kimo squinted dramatically, then broke into a grin. “Haha! Just kidding, daddy-os. Of course I remember you. Matt is like the cute little jellyfish and Cal is all excellent forearms. Aloha, legends.”

Cal grinned. “Thanks, bro.”

“I’m a cute jellyfish?” I uttered.

Leilani turned to the rest of the group. “This is Rashida—she handles logistics, emergencies…”

“And untraceable flights out of the country,” Rashida finished for her. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Kimo blinked. “You’re beautiful and terrifying. I respect that.”

“Correct answer,” Rashida replied.

Leilani turned and gestured across the table. “And over there… sitting next to Tutu… that’s Mr. Banks.”

Kimo followed her gaze. “Okay, but… why is Tutu smiling at him like that?”

“What do you mean?” Leilani asked, trying to pretend nothing was going on.

“Like that ,” Kimo said urgently. “Like she’s twenty again. And touching his hand like they’re about to spin a clay wheel together. And looking at him like she wants to—oh my God, is she about to feed him mahi-mahi? Straight off the skewer?”

“She already did,” Cal murmured.

Kimo recoiled slightly. “What is happening? Who is he? Is he a spirit? Is he a shaman? Should I summon the volcano gods?”

“He’s the original,” Leilani said flatly.

Kimo gasped. “Our grandmother had a secret lover? And it’s that guy ? With the top hat and a whiff of mothballs so strong I can smell it through the smoke from the fire?”

“Apparently so,” Leilani said .

Kimo placed one hand dramatically over his heart. “I need someone to hold me. Or slap me. Or explain this entire subplot in chronological order.”

“I’ll do it for you,” slurred Mrs. Mulroney, one eye looking at Kimo, the other… looking somewhere else entirely.

“And this is Mrs. Mulroney,” Leilani said. “We’re still trying to undo some of her earlier… speeches.”

“She means well,” I offered, even as Mrs. Mulroney raised her cup again and shouted, “To intergenerational lust and the miracle of public nudity!”

Rashida made a quiet, despairing noise.

“Anyway,” Leilani cut in quickly, shifting gears like a pro. “This here—” she said, looping her arm around Angus’s shoulders before he could bolt. “Is Angus. He’s Cal’s brother and—”

“And we’ve already imprinted,” Kimo interrupted, his voice serious as he turned so fast the sweat and shimmer from his godlike muscles gave us all a refreshing spritz.

His eyes locked onto Angus like they’d been waiting for an eternity for this exact moment. “I’m currently deciding who’s the golden retriever and who’s the feral cat.”

The table paused. Even the wind seemed to stop and take a curious breath.

Angus looked up—mid-mouthful with a dribble of purple down one side of his mouth—and blinked. “I… I think I’m the feral cat. But like… a clean one. With pretty whiskers.”

Kimo stepped closer, his gaze laser-focused. “I’ve been told I’m a retriever with fox energy. Do you feel the aura?”

“I feel… something,” Angus said, dropping his fork entirely. “Mostly my heartbeat. I may be having palpitations.”

“I felt that,” Kimo whispered.

Everyone just… watched.

Cal leaned in and muttered to me, “Should we say something? ”

“No,” I whispered. “Any distraction away from Mrs. Mulroney and Basil over there is welcome right now.”

With a whimper, Angus continued gazing into Kimo’s eyes.

Leilani glanced at us, feigned a laugh, and said, “Wow. Talk about a Hawaiian roller-coaster ride, huh!”