Page 102 of Ardently Yours

He nods, but the dent between his brows remains.

I hesitate. Henry hasn’t shown me the type of physical affection Gabriel has, but there’s something in his posture that tells me he may need it. “Do you want a hug?”

He nods harder. Bronnie climbs off my lap, and Henry steps closer. When I put my arms around him, he returns my embrace. Bronnie joins in, squeezing him with sound effects. “Henry doesn’t like squishy hugs. Hard hugs are better.”

I tighten my grip, and he relaxes against me. Gabriel climbs on the sofa behind me and tries to join in, so I let go of Henry with one arm and bring him in, holding on to all three kids, until they get squirmy and ready to step away. Henry and Gabriel may have needed a hug, but it turns out I really did too.

An hour later, after snacks, a guard named Tim finds a deck of cards and gathers all three of the kids around the kitchen table to teach them a game called Euchre. There’s not a doubt in my mind they’re too young to understand the rules. But he nods to the great room where Arden stands near the fireplace and says, “I’ve got them for a while, Miss Charlotte.”

I nod in thanks and carry my cooling mug of tea with me to the sofa, tucking one leg under me and waiting for Arden to notice I’m here and say something. He doesn’t even look my way. Swallowing anxiously, I peer around as if the answer to our problems will float down from that mason jar chandelier and magically rewind the nightmare of the last eighteen hours.

Expressionless, Arden stands next to the fireplace. No anger. No frustration. Just . . . nothing. When he catches me staring at him, he turns his attention to the dock outside the window. “We’re bringing in a fleet of boats within the hour. We’ll get you and Bronnie out of here on one of them. The press won’t know who to follow. You’ll have to leave your car here for now, and I’ll send a separate team to secure your home. You and Bronnie will go to the house in the Hamptons. You’ll have to stay inside until the furor dies, but we’ll release a PR statement from you. I’ll take care of everything.”

“I don’t want them to think I’m hiding. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not planning to give them anything interesting either. But shouldn’t we make a united front?”

“I won’t allow them to harass you,” he says.

“If I have to hide with Bronnie inside the mansion for any length of time, I’m going to feel harassed, regardless.”

Arden crosses the room and crouches in front of me. Removing my mug from my cold fingers, he sets it on the end table and warms my hands with his own.

“This is going to be worse than you’ve imagined.”

Considering my nightmares about the press run straight to them discovering the body in the basement, I beg to differ. “I’ve thought about this a ton, Arden. If I’m available and answer questions with the most boring answers possible, this’ll blow over faster. If they think we have something to hide, they’ll dig harder.”

“They’re going to be assholes to you. They’ll tear you up. They’ve already started with suppositions that we neglected the kids. Your name and address will be public within twenty-four hours.”

“How long do you think the press will be a problem?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “This time? Probably a month or two. But they’re always going to circle like vultures.”

When the landline disturbs the peace inside the cabin with a strident, irritating tone, I jump, and my nerves jangle at the sound. It’s been ringing all day as Arden and the team make a hundred different arrangements. From the open plan great room, I see Reese walk to the wall unit in the kitchen to answer it.

I look back at Arden and ignore the distraction from our conversation. “What does your PR team recommend?”

“Miss Miller?” Reese calls.

I turn back to face him.

“Did you give your friend, Rochelle, this number?” he asks. “She says it’s an emergency.”

Hells Bells

Arden

Charlotte bolts to stand.“Yes.”

Charlotte darts to the far wall and takes the handset from Reese when he holds it out. “Hello?”

As she listens, color drains from her face. “Rochelle, stop. Slow down. Say that again.”

She lapses into silence, her head moving in mute denial. When Rochelle apparently pauses to take a breath, Charlotte says, “No . . . This is the worst possible time for . . . Hecan’tdo that . . . How could he go over your head? You’re the one in charge. Tell them . . . Don’t you dare . . . You’re not throwing yourself on a sacrificial altar. We’ll figure it out.”

Apparently oblivious to her audience, she paces as far as the coily black cord will allow, then back the other way.

“I know!” Her voice raises in near panic.

Charlotte’s gaze darts to mine. She takes a visible breath, then lowers her pitch. “I’m leaving now . . . It’s fine, Rochelle . . . No. No to Plan B . . .Please wait for me.”

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