Page 78 of The Billionaire's Paradise

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. Strategicallyaligned 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 seethathappen 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.

Seriouslyshrieked.

“Oh my God, you beautiful little brainiac!” She dropped the deckchair with a crash and charged across the room like alinebacker 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.”