Page 46 of Her Ex's Father
The words land deep, a strange kind of reassurance blooming where fear had been.
For the first time since yesterday, I let myself imagine it—me, with a baby in my arms, this house echoing with new sounds, new life. Not Derrick’s resentment, not Georgiana’s laughter, but something ours.
It’s terrifying. Overwhelming. But also… possible.
I curl my arms around my knees and rest my chin there, watching him. “I’m scared,” I admit. “But I want this. I want to try.”
His throat works, his eyes unreadable again, but softer than before. Ben nods once, a man who has made impossible decisions and is trying, for once, not to run from this one.
Something fragile, something tentative, threads between us. For the first time, I don’t feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff alone.
I have only one request: “Can we not tell anyone just yet? I’d like to keep it…” A hand ghosts over my belly under the water, and Ben’s gaze flickers there, his features softening again. “I’d like it to be just our secret. For now.”
“Of course, Maddie. Anything for you.”
And with that, he turns and leaves, closing the door softly behind him.
Chapter 16
Benedict
Aspen gleams in the sunlight. Shops line either side of the street, all dark wood and glass fronts polished within an inch of their lives. Luxury brands, boutique mountain outfitters, galleries that sell “rustic” paintings for the cost of a car.
It is not my world, not truly. I built resorts to cater to this clientele. I learned their tastes, but I do not belong in the crowds of vacationing trust-fund children and newly retired executives who think skiing twice a year makes them rugged.
And yet here I am, because Maddie wanted to come.
She insisted on it this morning over coffee, her eyes bright even though she was queasy again. She’d read about a baby boutique in town that carried “the sweetest things” and wanted to see. I told her we could have them deliver anything to the house. She smiled, shook her head, said she wanted to walk, to feel normal, to be part of life.
So here we are.
She ducks into a small boutique with scarves in the window, promising she’ll be quick. That leaves me standing on the street, coat collar turned up against the sun’s sharp glare, alone long enough for the wolves to circle.
“Benedict.”
The voice drips with satisfaction, and I turn slowly.
Lawrence Whitman. The kind of man who inherited three ski lodges and thinks himself a titan because he hasn’t lost them yet, despite the fact that they’re outdated and he can’t afford to keep up with the maintenance. He’s wearing a camel coat too fine for this street, flanked by two others—men of his set, faces I recognize from charity functions and the club.
I already dislike the tilt of Lawrence’s grin.
“You’ve been scarce,” he says, his eyes flicking toward the boutique where Maddie vanished. “Word is, you’ve remarried. And—” he pauses for effect, savoring it, “—expecting, apparently. Or so I've heard.”
My jaw flexes once. “Yes.”
The man at his elbow lets out a theatrical whistle. “Remarkable, Ben. Spreading your oats, are you? She can’t be more than thirty. What’s the gap?”
“Eighteen years,” Lawrence supplies, eyes glittering. “Quite the scandal in certain circles.”
“Circles I don’t care to travel in,” I reply, voice flat.
They chuckle, but it’s edged, knowing. One shakes his head as if in sympathy. “Doesn’t it feel… inappropriate? So soon after Georgiana. And with someone so young. What will people think?”
Anger spreads through my veins like a sickness at the mention of Georgiana. As if this man—who I’ve only seen fleetingly, who has never been welcomed into my home—should be allowed to utter her name.
It’s clear that these wolves don’t know anything about loss, grief, or maybe even love. My eyes narrow as I imagine their situations: loveless marriages, prenups, kids growing up with complexes because their parents are so cold.
At least Derrickfeelsthings. Enough to be driven away from here, but still.
