Page 10 of Her Ex's Father
Just as that thought crosses my mind, a loud bang echoes through the hall. I turn and finally take in the stunning vision of my wedding day: one wall is floor-to-ceiling windows, a view of the nearby mountains, sunlight spinning in and turning golden as evening approaches.
The guests’ murmurs and questions pick up in pitch.
My father, frozen in shock and anger where I left him, turns. His eyes widen.
Benedict Bronson rounds the corner where, only moments ago, I stepped out to be married to his son.
There’s a pause as everyone takes in the sight of Benedict. He towers over my dad, his silver hair catching the light, a scowl of anger on his face.
Derrick is nowhere in sight.
Before I can say anything he’s striding down the aisle. Right for me.
What the hell is happening?
My heart pounds at the sight of him, fists clenched, dark green eyes locked on mine and a look so determined I know that this man gets anything he desires.
Chapter 4
Benedict
I’ve made a lot of impulsive decisions in my life. Expanding Bronson Hall to other countries was one of them, when property became available in Germany. So was slugging the reporter when they swarmed my steps the day Georgiana died.
But marching down the aisle toward my son’s bride-to-be, intent on replacing him at the altar, might just take the crown.
Madeline Clarke stands at the end of that runway of expectation, a breathless portrait of grace and disbelief. Her gown glows gold in the afternoon light. Her hair is swept up once again, neck exposed, shoulders bare.
And no Derrick.
No goddamn sign of him anywhere.
He disappeared hours ago—off the grid, unreachable, like some rebellious teenager rather than the grown man I raised and gave every goddamn advantage to. I learned of his absence just after arriving. A staff member at the resort, tight-lipped and pale, approached me in the lounge with the words, “Mr. Bronson, there’s been a situation.”
Of course there has.
I’m livid—but not at her.
Madeline’s eyes widen as I approach, her expression morphing from poised to stunned to guarded again, all within seconds. She stands alone, her sister having stepped quietly back and to the side. The priest is watching like a hawk, taking in the situation with a calculated gaze. He’s older, at least in his late seventies—and at his word, this wedding could be shut down.
Guests turn in their seats like flowers seeking the sun. Whispers swell behind me, but I don’t hear them. I hear only the sharp snap of leather beneath my shoes as I close the distance between my legacy and its salvation.
Maddie blinks up at me, brow furrowed.
“Where is he?” she asks, quiet, even as the crowd leans in.
“Gone,” I say. There’s no point in trying to whisper; it’s obvious that Derrick isn’t intending to show up at this point. “And I’m not letting this fall apart because my son can’t tell time.”
Her shoulders stiffen. She glances over at her parents—her mother is turning an amusing shade of purple, hand clenched around the cell phone that she must think fixes everything. Exceptthis.Rupert Clarke looks like someone clubbed him in the gut. My mouth quirks up in a triumphant smile; he seems to be struggling, having realized exactly what I’m about to do. And as we’re close in age, it’s probably about to give him a stroke.
Yet it’s Madeline who turns back to me with her spine straight and her chin lifted.
The string quartet has long since stopped playing.
I hold her gaze and lower my voice. “This deal was never about love. It was about legacy. And I have no intention of watching the work of a decade slip away because Derrick couldn’t get his head out of his ass.”
Amusement flickers in her brown eyes. “You’re proposing to me,” she says, more observation than question.
“I am,” I confirm. “Here. Now. In front of the people who need to see it happen.”
