Page 109 of Ardently Yours

I look out at the trees and shake my head. “None of it matters if Arden doesn’t think Bronnie and I can handle it.”

Teresa skims her gaze up and down my body like she just discovered I have three arms. “Since when is it someone else’s job to tell you what you can handle?”

I frown.“That’s not what I meant. I know I can, but Arden is a protector. I don’t blame him for his concerns, but …”

“He’s afraid the press will hurt you the way they did his first wife,” Teresa says.

Pained frustration seeps into my words. “Yes, but I need the man to tell me he has faith in me.”

“Well, maybe he needs that from you.”

“I . . . What do you mean?”

“I get that he’s this big, powerful man. From the outside, guys like that look invulnerable. But maybe, he’s the one who needs the reassurance from you. What does he actually want? Does he get off thinking you’re weak? Does he like the idea of you being helpless?” she asks.

“Ew. No. Why would you ask that?”

“Because if the opposite is true, then what would actually make him happy isn’t feeding his fear. It would be you showing him that you’re strong enough to stand beside him."

I pull the phone Arden and I use from my pocket and chew my lip.

Teresa indicates the kids. “I’ve got the girls. Go talk to him.”

I step inside the house and dial his number. It rings once, then Arden picks up, his voice worried. “Charlotte. Are you okay?”

“Yes. I love you.”

“And I love you.”

“Do you want me with you?”

“You know I do, but it’s more important for you to be happy.”

“In a perfect world, where you could have anything you wanted, would Bronnie and I be with you right now?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, then, voice ragged, he says, “You were right. It hurts more when you dream.”

Six Hours Later

This is life.Rip off the Band-Aid.

Our driver, Tim, glances in the rearview mirror. “Almost there. Are you ready?”

Bronnie looks up at me and nods. Then she flails her arms and legs. “I’m gonna kick butt.”

“Let’s see. Biiiig blanket to cover up with?”

Bronnie gives me a thumbs-up. “Check.”

“Sunglasses.” I pop mine onto my face and pass Bronnie hers. “Check.”

“Cool, tough bodyguards to stand between you and all those noisy people?” Margot peeks into the backseat. “Check.”

“Some awesome tunes,” I say, passing Bronnie a pair of noise-cancelling headphones.

Bronnie fits them over her ears and shouts, “Check.”

I cover her head with the blanket, and she holds her arms out, pretending to be a ghost.

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