Only Forever With A Billionaire (Only Us Billionaire Romance Book 3)

by Ellie Hall

  While waiting for them to return from the bathroom, he sauntered over to the pony ride stall. It only took a moment for him to see the animal was dehydrated and exhausted. She wasn’t being mistreated strictly speaking, but she was old, worn out, and ailing.

  A man wearing a gaudy cowboy outfit held the lead rope of the dappled mare as he took money from a stressed-out parent whose child tossed corn kernels intended for the petting zoo at the pony’s head.

  “Excuse me, Sir,” Wyatt called. He exchanged a few words with the faux-cowboy, mainly inquiring about the ownership of the animal. He took a few notes and said he’d be in touch but didn’t spare him a dark scowl.

  Chapter 9

  Charlotte

  Wyatt insisted on treating them to the bumper cars, and when Birdie asked to go again, he bought enough tickets for three more rides.

  Charlotte rubbed her neck, jostled and concerned she had whiplash; Birdie was merciless about bumping the other cars.

  “Not like the ride around the track, huh?” Wyatt asked.

  She looked away from the flames in his eyes. “Not at all.”

  “Hey, what’s the best thing to eat around here?” Wyatt had a hankering for fry dough, a caramel apple, or some other kind of carnival food.

  “Mummy loves snogs.”

  Wyatt tilted his head with curiosity. He hadn’t known what numpty meant, but he’d spent enough time with Will to learn the meaning of the term snog. His eyes blazed to Charlotte’s. As ever, she kept her gaze fixed on the chest pocket of his shirt, or his shoulder, or his chin. Anywhere but his eyes.

  “Is this true, you enjoy a good snog?” he asked.

  Charlotte put her hands on her hips, knowing what he was getting at. “It’s not what you think.”

  “I know what a snog is, Miss Wheaton.”

  “Ms. Wheaton,” she corrected. “And I’m sure you do but not this kind of snog.”

  “Mummy says there’s nothing like it.”

  “I bet not,” Wyatt replied as though gauging Charlotte’s reaction.

  She huffed. “It’s a frozen yogurt bus that comes around Southbank on Sundays and carnival days.”

  “Oh, right. So, can I get a snog?”

  “You wish.” She did wish, for that and more, on the coin from the fountain. But it was just that. A wish. She knew better than to hope for it to come true.

  He shifted uncomfortably at her comment. “Well, a snog will have to do.”

  Gazing longingly at the pony as they passed again, Birdie led them to the pink double-decker bus emblazoned with the sign for Snog’s Frozen Yogurt.

  “Not today, darling,” Charlotte said. “We don’t want to tire that poor mare any more than she already is.”

  Undeterred, Birdie slipped her hand in her mother’s and then took Wyatt’s in her other hand. “Mummy really fancies a snog because we get to ride the bus along the river if we time it right.”

  She wanted to order Birdie to stop embarrassing her, but the little girl didn’t know the implication in her words. Wyatt sure thought it was humorous though.

  She and Montgomery split only months after Birdie had been born. Taking care of a newborn then a toddler kept her busy. Then Sydney. In that time, she’d gone on as many dates as she had dogs, which was to say two. One was a guy from work who turned out to have a girlfriend. The other whose idea of a date was takeaway pizza and video games.

  “Mummy, you’ll get a snog today too, right?”

  Wyatt stifled a laugh at Birdie’s word choice. Charlotte was sure he fancied snogs too.

  A sign said the bus was leaving in ten minutes.

  “Order me something delicious. I’ll save us some seats.” Wyatt went to the second level.

  Several minutes later, they met him on the upper deck of the bus. He offered Charlotte the outside seat, but she’d seen the sites so many times, she let him keep it.

  Birdie passed him a cup of what looked like miniature versions of the chocolate candies in the jar that prompted Wyatt and Charlotte’s dance at the Wedding Eve party. “Mummy likes kisses so I figured you would too,” she said around a mouthful.

  “Mummy likes snogs and kisses?” Wyatt asked, once again stifling laughter.

  “Oh, she likes them very much. She won a big jarful from the party the night before Uncle Will and Auntie Emma’s wedding. Since the day after the wedding, she hasn’t stopped eating them.” Birdie leaned in. “She eats chocolate when she’s feeling blue.”

  “Was Mummy feeling blue?” Wyatt asked, no doubt drawing a connection between the timing of their day out in London and at the racetrack, and his three-day disappearance.

  “As blue as the sky,” Birdie said, gazing up wistfully.

  “Good to know.” He gave Charlotte a sidelong glance before taking a bite of his frozen yogurt. “It’s official, I love snogs too.” Then he threw Charlotte a wink that could’ve melted her frozen yogurt.

  Her cheeks heated and it wasn’t from the sunshine.

  Birdie kept up a running commentary of sites the bus passed, which seemed to entertain Wyatt. He was great with her—a man like Sydney, willing to listen to her stories, play along with her games, and laugh in all the right places.

  Seated beside him, their thighs nearly touched and she shifted away in the seat, thinking of their dance, his hand around hers, leading her through London and away from her father, then when he’d wrapped his fingers with hers in the McLaren.

  After their ride around London on the bus, the sun lowered over the tall buildings to the west. Wyatt walked Charlotte and Birdie back to Mayfair.

  At the stone steps of their townhouse, Charlotte said, “Darling, please thank Mr. Jones for the bumper cars and the frozen yogurt.” She was careful not to use the word snog. “He’s leaving for the United States soon.”

  “Tomorrow evening,” Wyatt added.

  “And I’m going to camp tomorrow morning.” Birdie threw her arms around Wyatt’s legs. “I’m going to miss Mummy and the cowboy.”

  “I know, darling.” Because the truth was, she did miss him, during his three-day disappearance and she imagined she’d eat quite a few more of the chocolate Kisses from the jar in the coming days.

  “I have an idea. It’s nearly dinner time. We can have dinner together.” Birdie used her puppy dog eyes again.

  “We’re having leftovers.” She gently cupped her daughter’s chin.

  “Mummy, you’re so silly. Cowboys don’t mind eating leftovers. Anyway, you always say spaghetti with tomato sauce is better on the second day.”

  “I happen to agree,” Wyatt said.

  “You do?” Charlotte thought that was one of her peculiarities, something unique she shared with Sydney. Ordinarily, she wasn’t a big fan of leftovers, except spaghetti with tomato sauce.

  “She even sometimes eats it for breakfast,” Birdie added.

  “Darling, Wyatt doesn’t need to know all my secrets.”

  “Snogs, kisses, and leftover spaghetti. Those are your secrets?”

  “What can I say? I’m a simple woman.” She sighed and unlocked the door. “Come on in.”

  Birdie tugged on her mother’s hem. “Mummy, can Mr. Jones help me with Roofus and Rupert?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll warm up dinner.”

  Moments later, Charlotte heard her daughter shout, “Release the hounds.” It was their tradition to shout the command as robustly as possible when they let the dogs out to the garden after they’d been gone for a period of time.

  During dinner, Birdie revealed several more of Charlotte’s secrets: that she had a pair of holey sweat pants she couldn’t part with, liked ketchup on her macaroni and cheese, and had a terrible singing voice. After Wyatt managed to stave off his laughter, he offered to clean up.

  “Don’t bother. I can do it later.” Although she would’ve welcomed the opportunity to give her face the chance to return to its natural shade. However, seated together, she had the glimpse of what family life was like and wanted to give it to Birdie f
or as long as possible.

  “Mummy, he should do it now if he wants dessert.”

  “We already had frozen yogurt.”

  “It’s sugar-free and mine was covered with fruit.”

  “She has a point,” Wyatt said, giving Rupert’s head a scratch.

  “You’re no help.”

  “I want to bake cookies.” Birdie said, placing her bowl in the sink.

  “We don’t have any chocolate.”

  “We have Kisses.”

  “I don’t think Mr. Jones bakes.”

  “He’s a cowboy. They do everything,” Birdie countered.

  “I thought Sydneys did everything,” Charlotte said in a low voice, feeling the pang in her heart every time she heard or said his name. It took her everything not to burst into sobbing tears when Birdie had been telling Wyatt about him earlier.

  “You just follow the recipe. Like in your stories, Mummy. You told me you take two people who tell themselves they can’t fall in love but are in love and then something magical happens and they have their happily ever after.”

  “It’s not always that simple,” Charlotte answered.

  “It isn’t?” Wyatt asked.

  “No, you know that,” she said, faltering because wasn’t it? What stood in the way? Obstacles? Setbacks? Challenges? She knew all of that well enough.

  “Before I became a cowboy, I took a class at school called home-economics. My teacher was Mrs. Banaszewski. Everyone called her Mrs. Banana. Anyway, one time, we were making pizza—”

  “Did you get the dough on the ceiling?” Birdie asked.

  Wyatt shook his head. “No, I actually was able to toss it up without it hitting the ceiling or having it land on my face. But I missed a crucial, shall we say, ingredient.”

  “Cheese? Sauce?” Birdie said.

  “Anchovies?” Charlotte asked.

  “No, the pan. I was stuck after school, cleaning the bottom of the oven because I put the dough directly on the wire rack. Another time, we were making chocolate cupcakes, I remembered the pan that time, but my recipe turned out to be more like a cake with muffin bottoms when the tops spread.”

  “Sounds delicious but I bet it looked awful,” Birdie said.

  “Then another time—”

  “We get the idea, you’re hazardous in the kitchen,” Charlotte said. And hazardous with hearts because that side of Wyatt, the sweet, thoughtful down to earth one, was as welcome as the protective, masculine one.

  “Hang on. This one is good. To make it up to my teacher and pass the class, I enlisted my grandfather’s help. He was like Sydney,” Wyatt added. “He could do anything. Including, make apple hand pies.” Wyatt went on to describe the personal sized apple pies that didn’t require a pie tin but just a sheet pan, crust, and the filling.

  “Then you passed?” Birdie asked, clapping her hands together.

  “I did.”

  “And you haven’t stepped foot in a kitchen again,” Charlotte said.

  Wyatt gestured around. “A man has to eat, and remember, we officially met in a kitchen.”

  “It was more like a hallway.”

  Birdie insisted they tell the story. They took turns, sharing details and correcting each other.

  “The apple rose pastries sound delicious, Mummy.”

  Wyatt shrugged. “I’m mostly a cookie and pie kind of guy. Nothing too fancy.”

  “Can we make the apple hand pies, please?” Birdie folded her hands together, pleading.

  “We have to get you ready for camp.”

  “I can bring them with me so I’ll always have a snack to remind me of home.”

  “How about this, I’ll send you the recipe,” Wyatt offered.

  “Only if you come back tomorrow to say goodbye before I go to camp.”

  “It’s a d—” Wyatt started. “Wait a minute. In that scenario, you get a recipe and a goodbye. What do I get?”

  “Maybe if you’re lucky, Mummy will share some of her Kisses with you.”

  Charlotte and Wyatt froze, glanced at each other, and then away.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized Birdie meant the massive quantity of candies left over from the party. “Okay, it’s fine with me.”

  Wyatt nodded. “It’s a deal.”

  That night, Charlotte hardly slept. She reviewed the checklist three times to be sure Birdie had everything for camp. She checked the luggage twice as many times to make sure everything was accessible for her daughter while they were apart.

  Birdie’s best friend, Clementine, was going to the sleepaway camp and although Charlotte was nervous about it, all four of Clementine’s older siblings had attended the camp and had the most memorable experiences. Not only that but Clementine’s mother, who Charlotte was friendly with, encouraged Charlotte to allow Birdie to go not only so the two girls would have each other, also so Birdie could become a bit more independent. Plus, she knew Charlotte hadn’t had a break since Birdie was born, nor had she had time to grieve the loss of Sydney.

  When she got in bed, she listened to Sydney’s message before sleep took her.

  The next morning, Birdie was up at dawn, hardly able to contain her excitement. While Charlotte reviewed where she’d put the first aid kit, extra towels, and sunscreen, the dogs started barking.

  “It’s my cowboy,” Birdie shouted as she raced for the door.

  “Good morning, camper,” Wyatt said, returning her hug after she launched herself into his arms. He sauntered into the foyer.

  An icy hot thrill shot through Charlotte every time she laid eyes on him anew. Thankfully, he was leaving that day as well because she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to handle it much longer.

  Wyatt leaned against the counter. “I have a question. What’s Mummy going to do while you’re gone at camp, Birdie?”

  “Oh, she’ll keep busy with all her work.”

  “You don’t think she’ll be blue without you?”

  Birdie’s eyes widened. “That means she’d eat all the chocolates.”

  “What if she came to the ranch with me? We could keep each other company.”

  “Then you’d get to ride a pony too, Mummy.” Birdie was very enthusiastic. “Yes. That’s a grand plan. Then I won’t have to worry about you being blue.”

  Charlotte cupped her daughter’s cheek. “You don’t have to worry about me, darling.”

  “Mummy, you cry every night. Of course, I worry.”

  That was a secret she didn’t want Wyatt to know.

  A honk came from outside.

  “That’s Clementine.”

  Birdie rushed out the door, as excited as ever. She chirped, introducing Clementine and the other few kids to the cowboy. “And Mummy is going to his ranch where he has ponies.”

  Not even answering the ridiculous notion, Charlotte settled Birdie in, kissed her forehead, and said goodbye.

  “I’ll write you a letter every day,” she called as she waved.

  The van pulled away.

  Charlotte’s posture sagged and she fought the tremble in her chin, already missing her little girl. Two large hands gripped her shoulders, gently massaging away the tension.

  Chapter 10

  Wyatt

  The nape of Charlotte’s neck was irresistible with its delicate curve, but that wasn’t why he rubbed her shoulders. He saw that Birdie brought her a kind of joy that cast away the shadows that otherwise haunted her. He’d learned in the few short days they’d spent together that she did a good job hiding her sadness, but it was there all the same. She’d allowed loss to carve hollows into her expression whenever she thought no one was watching. He could almost feel the ache in her chest and the loneliness masked under her well-contained life.

  Wyatt had thought Will wanted him to look after his sister because their father had suddenly turned up, but perhaps it was because he saw the sadness slowly consuming her and wasn’t sure how to help.

  Of course, Will had dealt with some of the same challenges Charlotte faced, but she h
ad a daughter and an ex-husband. It also could’ve been that brother and sister were too close to each other’s pain to do much more than limply hold the other up to keep from falling.

  But Will knew Wyatt had faced his own trials and might be able to help. That’s what he wanted to do. That was why he invited her to the ranch—the open country had once saved him from himself and all the ghosts of his past, which was ironic since many of them originated at that very same place.

  The feel of her smooth skin under his rough hands made him hyper-aware of his hammering pulse. He released his grip even though part of him wanted to linger a little longer. He slowly turned her to face him. He hated the idea of her crying. As much as he knew she loved her daughter, Birdie did a good job distracting Charlotte from her pain. He knew it was important she finds other sources of joy to help her move through it. He led her back into the house.

  “Did you ever go to summer camp?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No, but we’d spend most summers in France when I was growing up.”

  “Tell me more, but say it in French, s’il vous plaît.” He knew it was dangerous to ask her to speak the language that loved her mouth so well, but he was strong. He could resist the way it made him feel. He was doing it for her, to bring her closer to good memories and help her move toward making more.

  “Do you speak French?” she asked, suddenly pink-cheeked with mortification.

  “No. If you’re wondering whether I understood a word of what you and your cousin were saying at the wedding. Only one word cowboy.”

  She smiled with relief and obliged but then switched to English, offering the translation, telling stories about visiting her mother’s favorite museums and bakeries in the city and then touring the countryside where life was slower, more peaceful.

  “The lavender fields in Provence were amazing.” She drew a deep breath.

  He knew she’d love the wildflowers at the ranch, which were blooming. “When was the last time you were there?” he asked as they settled at the kitchen table.

  “I brought Sydney and Birdie a few months before he had the stroke. Looking back, his health had started to fail. I think he knew what was coming but not how bad. He’d been there many times, and of course, had heard my stories. But not Birdie, though I’m not sure she even remembers it. I think he wanted to make sure her first visit was with the two us. Or maybe he wanted to say goodbye.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know.”