Page 34 of The Billionaire’s Paradise (My Billionaire #4)

Leilani had started waddling.

She hated that word. I hated that word. But there was no other way to describe the less-than-majestic, side-to-side momentum she now carried into a room like a small battleship determined to dock near the fridge.

“I’m not waddling,” she muttered as she lowered herself—grunting—onto the couch, having grabbed a tub of ice cream and a spoon from the kitchen. “I’m gliding. You’re just looking at it wrong.”

Kimo handed her a cold guava juice without a word. He had driven her over for a visit, or more accurately, a break from her father.

I noticed how good Kimo was getting at reading her moods. Some might call it perception, others would describe as a basic survival instinct.

We were all there. The whole gang. Half -dressed from the heat, restless from too much time indoors, and starting to wear on each other like flip-flops that had lost their grip.

Angus was pacing .

Rashida was reorganizing the cutlery drawer for the third time.

Mr. Banks had been scanning the beach with his binoculars and complaining that “surveillance is a lost art” because no one would take shifts with him.

Tilly kept drifting between her notebook and the window, clearly missing the quiet rhythm of study halls and solitude.

Cal had spent the morning stress-comparing baby monitors like he was drafting a UN treaty, muttering things like “infrared night vision is non-negotiable” under his breath.

Mrs. Mulroney ripped another page out of a puzzle book, screwed it up and tossed it across the room screaming, “Bugger you, seven across! You can stick your cryptic crossword up your cryptic sphincter for all I care!”

And me? I was two clicks away from crying over an avocado seed that refused to budge. “How is anyone supposed to get these things out? Nature can be so cruel.”

Cal gave me an annoyed look. “Matt, you’re being weird. Please don’t cry in front of everyone over food… again.”

Leilani exhaled loudly and fanned herself with a takeout menu. “I swear to God if everyone doesn’t calm down, I will launch this baby into the ocean and let her raise herself among the sea turtles.”

That’s when Kimo stood.

He looked around at all of us—flustered, fried, mildly unhinged—and nodded like he’d been waiting for this exact moment of collective breakdown.

“You people,” he said, stretching his arms in the air. “You need the ocean.”

“We’re already at the ocean,” Rashida replied, pointing out the window. “It’s literally right there.”

“No,” Kimo said. “I mean you need to get in it. Move. Swim. Float. Splash. Remind yourselves you’re mammals, not ticking time bombs.” He quickly glanced at Leilani. “No offence, cuz. ”

“None taken,” Leilani said flatly. “But if you think I’m getting on a paddleboard, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“No one’s making you. Not in your condition.”

“Wow,” she muttered sarcastically. “Being pregnant really does have its perks.”

“Sorry,” Mrs. Mulroney said, narrowing her eyes in confusion. “What the hell is a paddleboard?”

“It’s like a surfboard, but better,” Kimo said with way too much enthusiasm for the room. “Imagine walking on water. With a paddle. It’s meditative. It’s healing. It’s transformative.”

Mrs. Mulroney slammed her puzzle book shut. “The only person who ever walked on water was Jesus, which, if you ask me was a complete waste of his talents. Turning water into wine, on the other hand… now that’s a miracle worth performing.”

“You don’t have to stand up,” Cal said. “You can kneel. Or sit.”

“Which is what I’m doing quite comfortably right here on this couch,” she replied. “Where no one’s watching me flail around like a harpooned sea cow.”

“Come on, Mrs. Mulroney,” Tilly said, grabbing her hand. “It’ll be fun. It’s a family thing.”

“Family things involve smelly cheese and stale crackers. Not water sports and the risk of death.”

“No one’s dying,” Kimo assured her.

“Jesus walked on water and look what happened to him.”

“Come on, Mrs. Mulroney,” I said. “Even I’m willing to give it a go. I think we all need this. Together. It’s good for the baby if we stop snapping at each other like a bunch of moody meerkats.”

Mrs. Mulroney looked at each of us. One by one. Then down at her sandals.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But if I so much as see a jellyfish, I’m calling my lawyer.”

“You don’t have a lawyer,” Rashida said.

“Not yet I don’t. ”

And with that, we all changed into our swimsuits and slathered on the sunscreen while Kimo raced home and returned with a trailer full of paddleboards and Tutu riding shotgun in the passenger seat.

Mr. Banks beamed. “My princess! You’re joining us?”

“Oh no, Basil. I came to watch. I couldn’t miss the chance to see my man in action.”

I caught sight of Angus rolling his eyes.

I had to admit I wasn’t exactly excited about things either.

But I was desperate.

For movement.

For distraction.

For something to break the cycle of slow-building tension and third-trimester claustrophobia.

While Leilani and Tutu sat together on the sand to watch, the rest of us shuffled down to the beach like a herd of uncertain tourists being led toward a scam… that is, until we saw the ocean.

The water was absurdly perfect—blue, calm and shimmering. It was the kind of day travel brochures faked with Photoshop, and Kimo was practically vibrating with smugness.

“See?” he said, gesturing to the water. “Ideal paddleboarding conditions. Flat as a pancake. Gentle as a hug.”

“I don’t want a hug from anything under that surface,” Mrs. Mulroney said. “Just tell me what I’m supposed to do and be done with it.”

“Come on, everyone,” Kimo grinned, utterly dauntless. “Follow my lead.”

We waded in, boards tethered to ankles, paddles in hand, and expressions ranging from excitement and cautious optimism to full-blown dread.

Tilly stared wide-eyed into the water with fascination, as tropical fish darted curiously between her feet.

Angus was already muttering prayers under his breath.

Rashida had brought lip gloss, waterproof mascara, and exactly zero patience.

“Okay,” Kimo said, standing tall and bronzed on his board like a sea god who did Instagram reels. “Just breathe. Find your balance. The board becomes part of you.”

Cal, naturally, rose to his feet like some kind of barefoot Adonis who’d just emerged from a sunscreen commercial. The board didn’t wobble. He didn’t wobble. His paddle cut through the water with calm, effortless grace.

“Oh, come on,” I muttered. “Are you serious right now?”

He shrugged. “It’s not hard. It’s just physics and core control. Come on, babe, you’ll love it.”

“Oh, stop talking.”

Out of nowhere, Mr. Banks stood upright on his board.

Perfectly balanced. Perfectly calm. “I say, this is fun,” he declared.

“It reminds me of the time I rafted across the Yangtze River on a door after a miscommunication with a spice trader. Lovely chap… once he stopped throwing jars to try and sink me.”

In the blink of an eye, Tilly was suddenly up on her board. “The water’s so clear I can see all the way to the bottom.”

“Any sunken treasure?” asked Angus, shuffling himself onto his board and getting unsteadily to his feet.

“The only treasure on this ocean is you, bro,” Kimo called to Angus with a flirty wink.

Angus giggled, then did his damnedest to impress his bronzed sun god.

Rashida let out a long sigh, adjusted her ponytail, and muttered, “Fine. If I can walk from Times Square to Columbus Circle in six-inch heels during a blizzard on New Year’s Eve, I can do this.”

She pushed herself up onto her knees, then—slowly, carefully—rose to her feet. For a second, it looked like she might fall. Then she planted her paddle in the water like a scepter and struck a pose .

“Hell yes,” she said. “Balance, grace, and thighs of steel. Someone take a photo.”

And then there was just me and Mrs. Mulroney.

Floundering.

Flapping.

Flopping.

I’d managed to get to my knees but was stuck there, panting like someone in desperate need of a paper bag. My board wobbled. My dignity wobbled. My legs were having some kind of existential crisis.

Beside me, Mrs. Mulroney was teetering on her knees and muttering something that sounded like a prayer except for all the swear words.

“On three?” I offered.

She grunted. “I’m more of a four-and-a-half kind of woman.”

“We can do this. We may not be able to assemble IKEA furniture. We may not be able to program the TV remote. And we wouldn’t survive a single episode of Survivor . But I know we can do this.”

Mrs. Mulroney gave me her Braveheart look—the one she normally reserved for Black Friday sales at Macy’s. “You’re dead right, Matthew. We’ll not let this beat us.”

“One… two… three!”

Somehow, we moved in sync. A push here. A wobble there. My feet found their place. Her feet found hers. And then—miraculously—we were both upright.

Arms flailing slightly. Knees trembling. Thighs already warning us that this would hurt for days. But goddammit, we were upright.

“Sweet Jesus on a pogo stick,” she gasped. “We did it.”

“Hold steady,” I said. “Don’t make any sudden movements.”

“If I could, I’d lean over and kiss you.”

“Please don’t make this weird. ”

We both let out a slow breath and paddled forward, our boards drifting shakily toward the others.

Cal looked over, beaming. “You did it!”

“Of course we did,” Mrs. Mulroney said proudly. “We’re unstoppable. We just happen to complain a lot in the process.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. My board pitched precariously, and I’ve never stopped laughing so fast in all my life.

Slowly, we got the rhythm of it while Kimo paddled between us, spreading the love and shouting bursts of encouragement like a shirtless life coach in board shorts.

“Paddle from your soul, not your shoulders!” he told Mrs. Mulroney.

“Surrender to the balance,” he said to Rashida.

“Loosen up, Matt” he told me. “Your butt cheeks are tighter than a clamshell cultivating a pearl.”

“Feel the kai , don’t fight what feels natural!” he said to Angus, who giggled again.