Single Dad's Spring Break: A Billionaire's Second Chance Romance

His hand came down onto my shoulder as I drew in a deep breath. It was warm and welcoming like I remembered the brothers to always be. I threw back the rest of my wine, grimacing as it went down. I hugged them all one last time before I made my way back to my seat.

As I locked my eyes onto Michael, I was begging him to look at me, to pull his gaze away from his friends at the table and acknowledge my presence. That was all I needed to settle my soul and know I was doing the right thing, to know that neither of us was going to waste our lives away with someone we shouldn’t be with. I counted the seconds in my head.

One.

Two.

Three.

But instead of a glance my way, I saw a waitress come up alongside him and tap him on his shoulder. I watched him turn around and smile up at her, his eyes sparkling and his smile beaming.

Then I watched his eyes slide down to her chest as he began to stare.

I wove my way through the tables. He was smiling up at her in a way he hadn’t looked at me in some time. His hand was on top of her hand as she rested it on his shoulder, and I tried to reason everything away.

Until I saw her slip him a piece of paper into the palm of his hand.

I stood there, frozen in my spot as I looked at him.

He unfolded the note and showed it to his friend, who automatically gave him a thumbs up. Like a fucking teenager in high school. I felt tears crest my eyes as I watched his eyes dance with happiness. His fingertips gracefully folded the piece of paper back up before he tucked it into his pocket.

He was keeping it.

The bastard was keeping the waitress’s number.

Oh... hell to the no.

“I can’t do this,” I said.

I must’ve said it a lot louder than I’d intended because the room slowly quieted down as Michael’s eyes whipped up to mine.

At least I had his fucking attention now.

“What?” he asked.

“I can’t do this,” I said as tears crested my eyes. “I can’t marry you.”

Gasps ricocheted across the room as I began to backpedal toward the door. People were beginning to murmur as I heard a chair scrape along the floor. I turned, ready to make a run for it with the boots that covered my numbing feet.

But I felt a pressure on my upper arm as my body was whipped around.

“You can’t marry me?” Michael asked. “Since when?”

“Since I watched you take that waitress’s number,” I said.

“She didn’t hand me her number,” he said. “She handed me her email address.”

“For what? Does she have some sort of case she needs help with? Were you having a consultation with her when you were staring at her tits?”

“I would advise you to keep your voice down unless you want this whole room thinking there’s going to be no wedding tomorrow,” he said.

“Michael, there isn’t,” I said. “We aren’t right for this. We aren’t right for each other.”

“You’re calling off the damn wedding? After all I did for you? All the money I spent flying you to and from this wretched state? The funeral I planned at your side? Have I not shown myself to be a devoted man?”

“You called me stupid ten minutes ago, and you’ve hardly acknowledged my presence all night.”

“Because everyone is here, Katie, and you act like it’s your show. This is for both of us. This is our wedding, not only yours. People didn’t fly in just to see you. They came to see me, too. And I’m not ignoring them because my bride-to-be is pissed that the spotlight isn’t on her all the time.”