Page 106 of The Unwanted Wife

“And if I said I did?”

Arthur’s features grow more pinched. "Then I wouldn’t believe you."

I hold his gaze for a second longer, then sigh. "You’re right. It wasn’t an attack of conscience. I did not sell out because I want to be the kind of man my wife is proud to be married to."

Surprise flits across his features, then a kind of satisfaction, before he masks it. I bet the old man is thinking he was right in making me marry. And I can’t fault him.

"You wanted her to be proud of you," he says slowly.

"I did."

He lowers his chin to his chest. "And how does that make you feel?"

"Proud as hell and also, shit," I confess.

"Because you haven’t gotten your revenge for how we treated your mother?”

It’s my turn to be surprised, but I keep the emotion off of my features. At least, I hope I do. Since I met my wife, it’s become increasingly difficult to retreat to that hardened part of me where I can hide behind the barriers I put up against the world. She’s brought my emotions to the surface, and now, there’s no going back to the unfeeling, dispassionate person whose focus was to avenge the wrongs done to my mother. There’s no going back to the dumbass who denied his feelings for his best friend’s little sister. There’s no going back to staying detached from how I’d be hurting my own flesh and blood if I went through with the plan of selling out to the Madisons, then watched as they broke up the company Arthur built and sold it off for parts.

Pain laces Arthur’s expression. The shadows from under his eyes seem to creep into his gaze, so when he looks at me, there’s remorse etched into his features. "I don’t blame you for wanting vengeance on your father’s family. If I were in your shoes, I’d have wanted to do the same thing. Still, you shouldn’t blame my wife for buying off your mother. Times were different then. She wanted to protect her family from what she saw as scandal that would have touched every part of our lives."

"So, she sacrificed my mother instead."

"She ensured the two of you would never lack for any creature comforts."

"Just no emotional support from the Davenports. She made it clear she didn’t want me to ever know my father. And because she moved away from her family and friends, my mother found herself isolated.”

"She was wrong in that." Arthur smiles sadly, the expression tinged with tiredness. "Forgive your grandmother."

"I can’t forget what she did, but I’m ready to forgive and move on, thanks to my wife."

Relief floods his features. "And are you ready to forgive yourself?"

55

Skylar

"You sure you’re ready to forgive him?" Grace eyes the C!itasaurus with a longing expression.

"You don’t have to." Imelda snatches one of the double-chocolate bonbons shaped like a woman’s butt—the ones called Spanked—and pops it into her mouth.

"Unless, of course, you want to." Summer flutters her fingers in the air. "Which one do you think? The Sp1cy Scene, the Red Room, or The Earth Moved?"

She’s joined our weekly book club meeting. Every week, it’s been a struggle to get the customers out of the shop in time to close up. Eventually, I gave up. I extended the hours, as evidenced by the people at different tables.

Hiring someone to do social media has paid off big time. That, and putting some money into advertising the bakery locally. Foot traffic has increased, mothers have begun coming in for coffee with their girlfriends, and the packed goodies are flying off the shelves. And being able to introduce free-Wi-Fi for all customers is a game-changer.

The best part? I know there are at least two romance authors who’ve been writing their novels in the seating area of the bakery, and they’ve featured the desserts in their books. For the first time since starting The Fearless Kitten, I’m in the black.

And it’s thanks to him. Not just the money he deposited in my account, but the feedback he gave me when I showed him my business plan. The gentle nudge toward hiring staff, which I knew I should do, but couldn’t find the courage to do it. He steered me in the right direction, then stepped back. If only he could see the place now.

I glance around the still-crowded shop. We managed to grab one of the bigger tables so the book club could meet. Every Friday night, the girls and I have been catching up here. It’s a welcome break, and my one social activity of the week. That, and meeting up with Hugo. Initially, I went every day, but when it was clear he was getting on swimmingly well—partly due to the new medication he’s on, that resulted in longer pockets of lucidity where he could communicate with me on the phone—I dropped the frequency of my visits to weekly.

I’ve visited him four times since Nate left. Four weeks since I last saw him.

Of course, I told him to give me time. I told him I needed space. But I didn’t expect him to actually give me space. I’ve been sneaking glances out of my apartment window and scanning the street below, but there haven’t been any cars parked there—at least, no one who looks like my husband stationed outside keeping a look out on the building. Apparently, he’s sticking to his word, which is good, right? It’s what I wanted, after all.

He had some of my clothes sent over and messaged me to say he’d arranged to have food delivered to me thrice a day, so I wouldn’t starve. I told him he needn’t have bothered, but he said he knew how hard I’d be working and that it would take me time to get my new team up and running. Meanwhile, he’d rest easy knowing I was being fed.

---