Page 124 of How to Train Your Billionaire

Her voice gets thick.

“Hayes and I wouldn’t be here without him. So this first dance isn’t just for us—it’s for Charles, who believed in love stories even when the people in them were too stupid to see what was right in front of them.”

The band starts playing—some jazz standard that Charles used to hum while doing crosswords.

I pull Frankie into my arms, and we dance on grass under string lights, surrounded by people who love us.

“Any regrets?” I ask.

“About what?”

“Marrying an emotionally constipated billionaire with control issues?”

“Former control issues,” she corrects. “And no regrets. You?”

“Just one.”

She looks worried. “What?”

“I should have kissed you that first day in my office.”

“I would have slapped you.”

“Probably.”

“Definitely.”

“It would have been worth it.”

We dance until the band stops playing and the guests start heading back to their hotels. Maddie fell asleep in Dad’s lap hours ago, and even Malachi’s given up trying to scandalize the elderly relatives.

Finally, it’s just us and the vineyard owner’s cat, who’s been eyeing the leftover salmon all evening.

“So,” Frankie says, leaning against me. “What now?”

“Now we go on our honeymoon.”

“Which is where, exactly? You’ve been very secretive about it.”

I grin. “It’s a surprise.”

“I told you I hate surprises.”

“You’ll like this one.”

“How do you know?”

“Because we’re going back to the yacht. Just us this time. No tour groups, no schedules, no one to impress.”

Her face lights up. “Really?”

“Really. I figured we could recreate our first trip. Except this time, when I kiss you, I’m not running away.”

“Good plan.”

“I thought so.”

We walk back to our hotel room—the same one where Charles stayed during his last visit to Provence. It feels right, somehow. Like he’s still with us, still orchestrating our happiness even from beyond the grave.