Page 13 of Her Ex's Father
Leaning against the wall, I explain, “I don’t come here often, as my actual home is just south of the town. But I’ve made sure over the years that the staff is well cared for, and in return they take care of me.”
That seems to please her. She walks slowly into the space, taking it in, and as she does I see it through fresh eyes all over again.
It smells faintly of cedar and smoke. The furniture is rich but comfortable, the kind that invites you to sink in and disappear. It’s where I stay when I want to be reminded of who I am without all the noise.
Madeline removes her heels with a wince and sets them beside the velvet bench near the door. Then, without looking at me, she walks to the windows and stares out at the mountains, her arms folded tightly across her stomach.
I watch her in silence. Her dress is magnificent. Her spine is straighter than ever. But I can see the tension coiled in her shoulders.
“I didn’t mean for this,” I say finally. “I didn’t expect it either.”
“No?” Her voice is light. Controlled.
“No. But I wasn’t going to let Derrick ruin this.”
“You mean our companies’ partnership,” she says, still not facing me.
“I mean everything,” I say, the words clipped. “Your family’s survival. Ours. This entire empire we’ve built, all of it anchored to this moment.”
There’s a long silence. Am I being too forward, too honest? Will she decide this isn’t something she can do, someone she can be with?
“And now I’m your wife,” she says softly.
“You are.”
She turns finally, and there’s a ghost of a smirk on her lips. “You should probably apologize for your son.”
“I’m sorry,” I say without hesitation. “He’s… not a man yet.”
“No,” she says. “He isn’t.”
Which makes it even more obvious that when it comes down to it, Madeline and I are just that: a man and a woman. Newly married.
Alone.
For a long beat, neither of us says anything. The mountains look as if they’re holding their breath, watching us through the glass.
“I’ll give you space,” I say, gesturing to the room. “Take all the time you need.”
She tilts her head. “And what will you be doing, husband?”
The word lands like a dart between my ribs. I shouldn’t like the way it sounds in her mouth.
I shouldn’t like it at all.
“I need to go call my lawyer. And find your father,” I reply. “There’s work to be done.”
“Of course.” She lowers her eyes. “Always business.”
I nod once.
But as I step toward the door, her scent wafts past me—vanilla and something darker, something that reminds me of aged whisky and long rides on cold mornings. When I come back, will the room smell this way?
Like her?
I’ll have to stop at management’s office on the way down and request that another suite be prepared for her. Something betterthan what was initially on offer, if she’d ended up with Derrick. I’ll fill the room with flowers, whisky, whatever she wants—just to let her know how sorry I am.
I don’t touch her again.
