Page 47 of Ardently Yours

Iarrive in BrooklynHeights after six hours on the road. Leaving my car in a parking garage more than a block away, I walk the last leg to Arden’s place. The homes in this neighborhood are stunning, all of them well beyond the million-dollar price range. I dressed in my best skirt suit, hoping to look as though I’m here for business, but it feels like there’s a sign taped to my back with the words “I don’t belong” written in red.

Shoring up my courage, I stand under the shadowed wash of light from the streetlamp across the street from Arden’s home. I dial his number, and hope he has the phone he uses for me turned on.

“Hey, honey.” His voice is ragged and so different from his usual confident baritone.

“I got your letter,” I say.

He sighs. “I should have waited for our call. I made it sound like an emergency when it’s not. This guilt isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.” He blows out a breath. “I should have given him the benefit of the doubt. I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life. The diagnosis is actually a relief, though. Things that I didn’t understand make sense now. What bothers me is that I didn’t see that he needed help. My job is to protect him. I did everything I knew to keep him safe and teach him to survive in this world, but I’ve beenfailinghim the entire time.”

My heart pangs. “You’re only human. Sometimes, no matter how hard we try to get it right, we’re going to make mistakes.”

Across the street, a small boy with messy light brown hair and glasses peers at me through a first-floor window. It must be Henry. He turns his head to speak to someone in the room, and a pretty redhead in an ivory sweaterdress joins him, looking my way. She shoots me a withering glare then yanks the draperies closed.

Crap. I probably look like a stalker or the paparazzi.

“I know, but, God, the guilt I feel for not seeing this sooner,” he says, oblivious to the brief exchange I just had with his . . . What? Who was she?

“Henry has always known you love him and that you’re proud of him. Now he’ll know you believe in him, and you’re trying to understand him. He needs you to come at this from a positive place,” I say.

“I know you’re right,” he says.

“Those magic words—” A siren sounds somewhere in the distance, and I pause until it fades before continuing. “I should have called first, but you sounded like—You said anytime, so . . .”

Arden’s voice sharpens. “Are you in New York?”

“Surprise.”

He’s silent for an unflatteringly long moment.

“This is a bad time. I get it,” I say, voice flat. Maybe there’s no such thing as a good time. Maybe his invitation was a platitude. Something you say to be polite.

“Iwantyou here. I’m glad you came, but, Charlotte . . . honey. I’m not there.”

Iturn down hisoffer of a helicopter ride and drive myself out to his mansion in the Hamptons. Following his directions, I pull up to the second, smaller, wrought-iron gate, rather than the large one.

It’s evening, but lights flood the entrance. Nobody could skulk around in the darkness here.

The man who approaches my car window is the same one who walked me to my vehicle that day at the theater a few years ago. At the time, he said he wished he could be a fly on the wall.

“I figured out who he was,” I quip.

His lips quirk in a suppressed smile, then his expression turns stoic. “May I see your identification?”

“I’m pretty sure you know who I am.”

“Protocol, Ms. Miller,” he says.

When I’ve run through the security checks, the gate opens, and the man drives ahead of me in a black car, leading me down a winding drive to what appears to be a massive garage and a side entrance to the main house.

The moment I step out of my vehicle, the glossy, black-painted side door to the mansion flings open. Arden stands in black trousers and a white button-down shirt with the top button undone. His sleeves are rolled up, and a slow grin stretches across his face. He crooks his fingers in a “get over here motion” and mouths the wordAnytime.

I take a step toward him, but he doesn’t wait. Arden reaches me in the space of two heartbeats, wraps both of his arms around my waist, picks me up, and swings me in a circle.

He kisses me, and the feel of him, his mouth on mine, is so electric that an inadvertent moan escapes me.

The security guy clears his throat.

Arden and I break apart.

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