Page 110 of Ardently Yours

Incidentally, Reginald and his ladies have the most beautiful, haunted chicken coop I’ve ever seen. Not that I saw it in person, but the pictures are beautiful.

Arden is at his home in Brooklyn Heights with the boys. When we pull up in the car, the reporters who’ve been stalking the area, waiting for Arden to leave his brownstone or for someone interesting to arrive, don’t appear to be inclined to move out of the way to let us park.

Tim honks the horn and moves steadily forward, until understanding seems to sink in, and like a school of fish, the reporters make way for the vehicle, then throng around it. Theypound on the windows as Tim eases the car into position in front of Arden’s home.

Bronnie and I stay in the backseat behind dark-tinted windows until a team of five guards clears the way. When Margot opens the back door, I step out with Bronnie in my arms, her head and body covered by the blanket. She rests her face against my neck, and her lips tickle as she sings the theme song from her favorite TV show.

I keep my spine straight, and my expression blank. I ignore every question the reporters shout at us and every camera flash in my face. If I maintain the pace we practiced, it’s a twenty-seven-second walk from the car to the front door. I focus on counting in my head and point my eyes straight ahead.

One . . .

“Is the child under the blanket the same one on the boat?”

Three . . .

“Is your relationship with Arden McRae serious . . . ?”

Five . . .

“Have you neglected your child before the night on Lake Michigan?”

“How did you feel when you realized she might die?”

“Miss Miller, look over here.”

Ten . . .

“Where did you meet Arden McRae? Was it love at first sight?”

“Is the child Arden McRae’s biological daughter?”

“Show us her face.”

“How long have you been in a relationship?”

Twenty. . . I walk up the stairs . . .

. . . Reese opens the door.

And then we’re inside, surrounded by warm wood tones, the scent of beeswax furniture polish, and safety.

Arden sprints toward us, taking the corner at the end of the hall so fast that he has to grab onto the wall to prevent himselffrom skidding past it. Then he’s standing in front of us, his eyes darting from me to blanket-covered Bronnie and back. He takes my head in both hands, his eyes wild. “What did you do?”

“I chose us.”

He sucks in a hard breath and squeezes his eyes closed.

I run my fingers over the sharp plane of his jaw, my words fierce. “This is part of our life together. I’m not afraid. We’ll give them a press conference tomorrow, and then we move on. Whatever comes next, we weather it together, and it will always be worth it becauseyouare,” I say fiercely.

He presses his forehead to mine. “Life is going to throw the hard stuff at us sometimes, Charlotte. I wanted to shield you from it.”

“We shield each other, but don’t ask me to cower in front of bullies or raise my daughter thinking she has to either. Those people out there are nothing but noise. You and I are going to have a wonderful life together. Everything else is silverware and campfires,” I say.

Arden pulls Bronnie and me against his chest, his mouth pressing hard to mine. “Yes. Charlotte.” He chokes on a watery laugh.

Bronnie squirms, then rips the blanket off her head. Arden pulls back to look down into her smiling round face. She dimples at him and lifts both her arms in the air. “Surprise!”

He laughs and swipes the heel of his hand across his left eye, then he lifts the headphones off her ears. “You did surprise me, baby. It’s the best one I’ve ever had.”

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