STUCK WITH MR. BILLIONAIRE FOR CHRISTMAS novel Chapter 10

Chapter 10

CINNAMON:

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Excitement didn’t let me finish my coffee and waffles at Maple & Main, the breakfast spot that had been feeding Meadowbrook residents since before I was born.

I was jumpy. Jittery. Barely sat still long enough to take three bites before someone walked through the door, spotted me, and pulled me into a bone-crushing hug.

“Cinnamon Wealth! When did you get back?”

“Last night, Mrs. Patterson. You look amazing!”

“Oh, stop. You’re the one who looks like a city girl now. So fancy

Word traveled fast in Meadowbrook; the moment I walked in, the morning rush folded around me like I’d never left.

Dante sat in his booth across from me, methodically finishing his breakfast of eggs, bacon and toast, acting like he had all the time in the world. He didn’t look up and never acknowledge the chaos swirling around me. Just ate, sipped his coffee, and scrolled through something on his phone.

By the time we left, I’d hugged half the town.

Carlos, our driver, waited outside in the Jeep. He’d been driving tourists and out-of-towners around Meadowbrook for decades, knew every backroad and shortcut, and was genuinely good at his job. He didn’t remember me because last time he’d seen me, I was probably five years old, gap-toothed and covered in dirt.

I climbed into the passenger seat, memories flooding back with every street we passed.

Christmas in Meadowbrook had always been magical. The smell of cinnamon and pine everywhere you turned. The town buzzed with holiday energy.

People waved as we drove past. I waved back.

“Cinnamon! Welcome home!”

“Hi, Mr. Daniels!”

Dante glanced at me, eyebrow raised. “Were you the town leader or something? Everyone knows you here.”

I ignored him.

“Carlos, can you take us to my mom’s house? The one on Birch Lane.”

He nodded, turning onto a narrow road lined with snow-dusted trees. Carlos wasn’t surprised that I knew his name because he was pretty famous for his job.

“You know his name?” Dante asked in absolute fascination.

“Yep.”

Coming back wasn’t just nostalgia; I needed things to go right this time.

Mom’s house came into view a few minutes later. Her small, single-story home with white siding and a green roof. Nothing fancy. But it was ours. And Mom had already gone all out with decorations.

Lights outlined the windows. The wreath on the door looked twife as big as I remembered. Inflatable snowmen leaned in

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the wind like they had gossip to share. Mom had gone all-out because of course she had. Christmas was her Olympics.

Eighteen days before Christmas, and she’d already transformed the place into a winter wonderland.

Dad would’ve teased her for it.

Joy always lived in this house, even when it came wrapped in old grief.

Mom loved the holidays. Always had. She’d inherited that obsession from her mother, passed it down to me. Dad used to grumble about it, said December was the busiest month, too much to do, too much chaos. Khole had inherited his practicality, rolling her eyes every time Mom dragged out another box of ornaments.

God, I missed him,

Twenty years gone, and the ache still hit me out of nowhere. Ou family had never been whole since the day his boss forced him to fly in a storm that should’ve grounded every aircraft in the state. Dad and his boss both died in that crash. Two families shattered because someone didn’t prioritize safety.

I was eight. Khole was three. Dad was one hell of a pilot, and back then, our family felt light. Life was something we soared through instead of survived. When he died, everything crashed with him. We’ve been clawing our way through the wreckage

ever since.

I exhaled slowly, pushing the grief back down where it lived.

I swallowed the ache. “Rest well, Dad,” I whispered in my head. “Wherever you landed.”

I hoped his boss’s family had found some kind of peace too. Losing someone like that didn’t just break you. It changed the shape of your life forever.

Dante trailed behind me as I climbed out of the Jeep, waving goodbye to Carlos.

I scanned the property with fresh eyes. Snow needed shoveling. The board on the roof’s edge hung loose, probably one strong wind away from falling. The gutter sagged on the left side.

Mental note: handle all of that before I left.

I grabbed three of my suitcases, struggling to roll them through the snow.

Dante picked up his carry-on, tucked his iPad under his arm, and added his one suitcase to my pile.

I stared at him. “Seriously?”

He didn’t look up from his screen. Just typed something, completely unbothered.

Asshole.

Now I was rolling four suitcases through slush while he strolled along as if we were on a casual walk. When I reached the porch, I left the suitcases and climbed the steps alone. I’d come back for them in a minute assuming I didn’t freeze first.

I knocked on the door, letting the excitement bubble back up. This was home. My mom. My sister. The place where I could let my guard down and just be.

The door unlocked.

Khole stood on the other side, eyes lighting up the second she say me.

“Sister!” She pulled me into a hug strong enough to reset my spine. Then she yelled over her shoulder, “Mom! Your favorite child is home!”

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I laughed, hugging her back just as hard.

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Khole was twenty-three now, but she still looked like a younger, wilder version of Dad. Same dark curls, cheekbones, mischievous glint in her eyes that meant trouble was never far behind. She was funny and lively. Khole made every room feel a little brighter just by walking into it.

Chatter echoed from inside the house. Voices layering over each other, laughter, the clatter of dishes.

“What’s going on?” I asked, pulling Khole aside.

Khole waved a hand. “You know Mom. She invited half the neighborhood over. Again.”

“Of course she did.”

Khole’s gaze dropped to the suitcases. “The real question is, what’s going on here? Why do you have this many luggages?”

Before I could answer, Dante cleared his throat behind me.

Right. He existed.

Khole blinked, noticing him for the first time. Her smile faltered slightly. “Uh… hi?”

“Khole,” I said, stepping aside. “This is-”

Mom appeared in the doorway, flanked by three other women. One of them was Beatrice Hartley.

Mrs. Hartley ran Meadowbrook. Not officially. Of course there was a mayor somewhere but everyone knew if you wanted something done in this town, you went to Beatrice. She was in her late sixties, sharp as a tack, and had an intimidating presence that made grown men straighten their posture.

We needed her on our side. Desperately.

“This is Dante Moretti,” I said, voice bright. “My fiancé.”

They went went quiet. Utterly pin-drop silence.

Mrs. Hartley’s eyebrows shot up. “Did I hear you say fiancé? You got engaged, Cinnamon?”

Every conversation inside the house died. Faces turned toward the door. Eyes locked on us.

I grabbed Dante’s hand, threading my fingers through his, flashing the ring on my left hand.

“Surprise, everyone!” I beamed, squeezing his hand maybe a little too hard. “Yes, I got engaged.”

Dante stepped forward, smooth and polished. “Dante Moretti. Its a pleasure to meet you all.”

Khole narrowed her eyes. Mouthed, “You have to be kidding me

Mom pushed through the crowd, face glowing. “Oh, sweetheart! Congratulations!”

She pulled us both into a hug, nearly knocking me off balance.

“Come in, come in!” She waved everyone aside. “This calls for celebration!”

“I just need to get those,” I pointed at the luggages, already turning my back to go get them.

Mrs. Hartley stopped me with a firm hand on my arm. “Leave those, dear. Dante can handle it.”

Dante’s smile tightened.

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“He’s strong,” Mrs. Hartley added, eyeing him appraisingly. “I’m sure he can put those muscles to use.”

The other women crowded around me, ushering me inside before I could protest.

“Let me see that ring!”

“Oh, it’s gorgeous! Dante has excellent taste.”

“When’s the wedding?”

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They herded me into the living room, surrounding me on all sides, firing questions faster than I could answer.

Khole stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold with a look that said, “I’m not buying this for a second.”

Khole didn’t trust easily. Never had. She analyzed people the way a scientist analyzed data looking for cracks in the story. And right now, she was looking at me like I’d just told her the moon was made of cheese.

Typical Virgo energy.

Meanwhile, I was a Leo through and through, already believing the fairytale I was selling, even if I’d made it up five seconds

ago.

I glanced toward the widely open door.

Dante was now down at the foot of the porch. He stood still, surrounded by four massive suitcases, his face a shade of red I’d never seen before.

He turned and glared at me.

Not just annoyed. Furious.

His face non-verbally said, “I’m going to make you pay for this.”

I bit back a smile.

He’d been rolling a carry-on and an iPad while I hauled everything else. Now he was stuck outside, wrestling with luggage, while I sat inside being congratulated.

Karma tasted sweet.

Mrs. Hartley leaned in, inspecting my ring under the light. “This must’ve cost a fortune. How long have you two been together?”

My brain scrambled.

“How long? What’s our story? When did he propose?”

Of course they’d ask. I’d told him this would happen. I tried to plece together a simple fake timeline on the flight over-a clean script so we wouldn’t end up tripping over our own lies. But he refused to listen, too wrapped up in that impossible ego of his, brushing off every attempt I made to get us on the same page.

I opened my mouth, hoping something coherent would come out.

The front door slammed open.

Dante stood in the doorway, all four suitcases somehow stacked and balanced in his arms, jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might crack.

“Darling,” he said, voice dripping with false sweetness. “We need to talk.”

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