Page 33 of The Billionaire’s Paradise (My Billionaire #4)

We’d been on the island long enough that it no longer felt like a getaway—it felt like home. Mornings came with the sound of gulls and waves. The coffee was strong. The air was soft. And we started learning what it meant to live somewhere that smelled like gardenia and felt like a long exhale.

We slipped into new rhythms.

Cal started working from the lanai more.

I started writing less and nesting more.

Leilani’s appointments became the landmarks of our week—ultrasounds, check-ins, bloodwork. The embryo-to-fruit comparisons became a shared language. The baby was the size of a lime. Then a fig. Then a peach.

Tutu treated every milestone like a national holiday.

Kimo insisted the baby’s energy was “seriously aligned, bro.”

Even Mr. Banks had opinions—mostly about which lullabies doubled as wartime codes.

We all circled Leilani like moons around a gentle, radiant sun.

She glowed in that second-trimester way, which in her case meant she threw up less, napped more, and threatened bodily harm to anyone who interrupted her snack schedule.

She’d taken to sitting on our lanai in the afternoons with a bowl of cut mango and her feet in a bucket of warm water, receiving foot rubs from Kimo like she was some barefoot fertility goddess.

We went with her to her twenty-week appointment. I don’t know what I expected—maybe more graphs, maybe a polite nod from the universe—but the moment the doctor moved the probe across her belly and a little thump echoed through the speakers, I nearly broke in half.

“That,” the doctor said with a smile. “Was a kick.”

Cal and I both gasped.

Leilani winced. “I think the kid already knows karate?”

“Did you feel that?” I asked her, wide-eyed.

“I feel everything ,” she said. “This child is a full-body experience.”

I turned to Cal who was wiping a tear off his cheek. I hadn’t even realized I was doing the same.

Our baby kicked.

Our baby just kicked .

The next morning, Cal and I were in the middle of a very serious debate about crib color palettes—he wanted “sand and driftwood,” I wanted “sunset coral and whimsy”—when the doorbell rang.

“I’m not giving in on whimsy,” I called over my shoulder, heading for the door.

“I’m not giving in on driftwood,” he called back.

I opened the door.

And froze.

“Tilly?”

There she stood—bag over one shoulder, hair in a messy bun, a box of chocolate-covered macadamias in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other—looking suddenly older and taller like her fifteen-year-old frame was finally starting to catch up with her Mensa-sized brain.

“Surprise!” she announced, arms wide. “You weren’t going to make a major life transition without me, were you?”

“What—how—why—”

“I got in!” she said, breezing past me into the living room like she’d been living there rent-free for years.

“University of Hawai?i at Mānoa in Honolulu. Marine Biology. I start next week. I toyed with a law degree at Yale, then entertained the thought of philosophy and metaphysics at Princeton. Then suddenly I thought, wouldn’t a sea change be awesome!

Honestly, there were so many choices in front of me I’m just glad I finally made a decision.

” She held up the bouquet in one hand and the shiny box in the other.

“The flowers are for you guys. The chocolates are for Angus. Don’t mix them up—we all know he bites. ”

I opened and closed my mouth a few times. Nothing came out.

Cal appeared behind me, barefoot, holding a mug of tea and still looking dangerously close to arguing in favor of driftwood. Suddenly he spotted her, stopped, and grinned.

“Tilly?” he said, voice warm with disbelief.

She turned. “Hey, Cal.” And then, with none of her usual snark or theatrics, she rushed forward and hugged him. Properly. Arms wrapped tight, face pressed to his chest.

He blinked and slowly hugged her back. “Okay, well now I’m crying.”

“Good,” she said, sniffling. “Desired emotional response accomplished.”

They pulled apart, and she immediately cleared her throat and folded back into herself with practiced precision.

“I’ve prepared a visitation schedule,” she said, pulling out a folded sheet like it was a treaty.

“Minimally invasive. Strategically aligned with your medical milestones and designed to offer emotional support without overshadowing the primary event—the creation of life itself. Whew! Does it get any bigger than that?”

She looked between the two of us, a rare flicker of vulnerability breaking through.

“I just think… showing up matters. Especially for the good things. It’s easy to be loud when things are broken. But when something beautiful is being built? That’s when you really have to earn your place.”

“Tilly, you don’t need to earn anything,” Cal said.

“Please. If I don’t over-prepare, I’ll start feeling my feelings, and nobody wants to see that happen before breakfast. I’m fifteen now, remember. Every minute is an emotional roller coaster.”

At that moment, the lanai door slammed open.

“There better be coffee!” Mrs. Mulroney announced, wearing a floppy hat, orthopedic sandals, and carrying a deckchair that looked like it had fallen off a cruise ship and washed ashore. “And if that pineapple’s still looking at me funny, it’s going in the blender.”

“Where on earth did you get that deckchair?” Cal asked.

“It washed ashore. I’m assuming it fell off a cruise ship. Finders keepers, I say.” Suddenly she looked across the room and noticed who was standing there. “As I live and breathe! Tilly, is that you?”

Tilly nodded, her grin spreading even wider. “Yep! In the flesh. Slightly taller, marginally wiser, still catastrophically opinionated.”

There was a beat.

Then Mrs. Mulroney shrieked.

Seriously shrieked.

“Oh my God, you beautiful little brainiac!” She dropped the deckchair with a crash and charged across the room like a linebacker in a muumuu. “Come here and let me squeeze the living breath out of you!”

Before Tilly could move, she was engulfed in Irish love.

That’s when Angus, Rashida, and Mr. Banks came rushing in.

“What’s going on?” Angus said. “We heard screaming.”

“Is there a fire?” Rashida asked. “Someone save my laptop.”

“Everyone duck and roll!” Mr. Banks cried, promptly taking his own advice, dropping into a roll and crashing into the couch.

“It’s okay, you bunch of dumb-dumbs!” said Mrs. Mulroney. “Nothing catastrophic has happened. Quite the opposite. Look who’s here!”

They all turned—and froze.

“Tilly?” Angus blinked, eyes wide. “You grew cheekbones.”

Rashida let out a little gasp. “Holy crap, how tall did you get? You look like someone who runs a think tank in Geneva.”

“Or a cult,” Mr. Banks added from the floor. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I once started a cult in Peru, but I got tired of everyone wanting to touch my feet so I left. I think my followers are still there, swaying cross-legged and waiting from my return. Poor little lambs.”

Tilly laughed, crossing the room to help Mr. Banks up from the floor. “Well, it’s good to see nobody’s changed.”

“Mr. Banks has,” said Angus. “He’s got a girlfriend now.”

“Not that Angus is at all jealous,” Rashida reminded him firmly.

Tilly beamed at Mr. Banks. “Is that true? Good for you, tiger. Who is she?”

“An old flame,” he answered. “And a princess.”

“Of course she is. I’d expect nothing less from you.”

“Enough about Mr. Banks and his booty call,” said Angus, waving that conversation away. “What are you doing here? We all thought you were traveling the world, weighing up which university to attend.”

“I was. And I decided. University of Hawai?i at Mānoa in Honolulu. Marine Biology,” Tilly declared, standing taller, like the moment deserved a podium and a microphone. “I start next week.”

Gasps, cheers, and one high-pitched squeal from Angus filled the room.

“You’re moving to Oahu?” Rashida asked. “That’s amazing!”

“But you’ll come visit?” Mrs. Mulroney asked, eyes wide with panic.

“Of course I’ll visit,” Tilly said, patting her arm. “I’ll fly over every now and then, plus holidays, plus any time Matt looks like he’s about to have a panic attack and needs intervention.”

“So… every weekend then,” Cal said hopefully.

“And most Tuesdays,” I added.

Tilly grinned. “You’re all hopeless disasters, and I love you dearly.”

Together we huddled in for a group hug and all let out a collective breath. The kind of breath you don’t realize you’re holding until something—someone—clicks back into place.

Tilly looked around at all of us, her eyes a little glassy with emotion. “I’m so happy to be here. I guess I just needed to see my people.”

It got quiet, for about a second and a half.

Then Cal clapped his hands and said, “Right. Enough sentiment. There’s someone you need to meet.”

Tilly raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Is she by any chance pregnant with your baby?”

“Her name’s Leilani,” I said. “And she’s amazing. She’s smart, warm, and a little bit chaotic in the best possible way.”

“Sounds like my kind of person.” Tilly shouldered her bag. “So, what are we standing around here for?”

We pulled up to Leilani’s place just after noon, the sky wide and blue above us, the scent of plumeria thick in the air.

Tilly stood beside me, hands shoved into the pockets of her oversized cargo shorts, rocking slightly on her heels as she stared at the little house with its peeling paint, blooming hibiscus, and wind chimes that sang with every passing breeze.

Leilani opened the door before we could even knock.

She stood there barefoot, a mango in one hand, her bump in full command of the moment.

Kimo and Nakoa flanked her like bodyguards who’d just come from a surf break.

Tutu sat behind them in her usual spot near the window, fanning herself and watching the world like it was a movie she could watch a thousand times and never tire of.

There was a beat—just a breath—and then Tilly stepped forward.

She didn’t say anything. Neither did Leilani. They just looked at each other for a moment like two frequencies finally tuning into the same signal.

And then they smiled—as though they’d already decided they liked each other before anyone said a word.

“Let me guess,” said Leilani. “You’re Tilly. I’ve heard so much about you. I can’t wait to get to know you.”

“Me too.”

And that was how the friendship of a lifetime began.

We stayed for an hour. Maybe more. I don’t even remember what was said—just that it felt good. Right. Natural. Like the pieces of something precious falling gently into place.

By the time we left, Tilly had her feet in a bucket of warm water, Leilani was stringing fresh flowers into a lei for her new friend, and the two of them were already deep in a conversation about indigenous reef systems and whether or not babies can hear protest songs in the womb.

Cal nudged me on the way out and whispered, “Told you they’d get along. ”

He didn’t need to. I could already see it.

A new branch growing on this strange, beautiful tree of ours.

And somehow, it just made everything feel steadier.

Warmer.

More whole.