Page 96 of Made for Wilde
The weight of Jason’s call sits heavy on my chest, dampening my own contentment. I need to tell her, but I hate to break this peaceful moment.
“Something on your mind?” Charlotte turns in her seat to face me better, her intuition sharp as always. “You’ve got that crease between your eyebrows.”
I keep my eyes on the winding mountain road.
“Jason called while you were asleep.”
Her body tenses immediately and fear flashes across her face.
“Did he?—”
“No, nothing like that.” I quickly reassure her. “He doesn’t know about us.”
Charlotte relaxes slightly, but wariness remains in her posture.
“What did he want, then?”
The road narrows as we climb higher toward our cabin, tall pines closing in on either side. Headlights illuminate the asphalt stretching before us, the yellow line guiding us home.
“He called about your showcase.” I glance at her, gauging her reaction. “He can’t make it.”
Her face falls, the disappointment immediate and raw.
“Oh.”
“There’s a board meeting that same day for a big construction contract he’s been chasing.” I provide the details, hoping they’ll soften the blow. “If he misses it, he’s out of the running completely.”
Charlotte nods, her eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the windshield.
“That makes sense. He needs that contract.”
Her quiet acceptance breaks my heart.
No matter how mature she appears, she still craves her father’s approval and presence. I know how much she’s beenpracticing for this showcase, how desperately she wants to make him proud.
“He feels terrible about it.” I squeeze her hand. “He asked me to go in his place.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I’d be there, of course.” I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss against her palm. Her skin is soft and warm, carrying that faint vanilla scent that always makes me want to bury my face in her neck. “Front row, recording everything.”
Charlotte giggles. “You were coming anyway.”
“Yes, but now I have official permission to be your biggest cheerleader.”
We drive in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the truck’s heater fighting off the mountain chill. Charlotte stares out the window, her reflection ghostly against the glass, contemplative.
“We need to tell him.” Her voice is soft but resolute. “After the showcase, we need to tell Dad everything.”
My heart rate kicks up a notch.
“I agree.”
“I’m tired of lying to him.” Charlotte turns back to me, her blue eyes serious in the dashboard light. Those eyes have always been her most striking feature, clear and honest and completely captivating. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t live with you, that we’re not together, that I’m not carrying your child.”
The determination in her voice both terrifies and impresses me.
She rests her free hand on her small bump.
