Page 38 of Pucking Secret

“Agreed,” Skyler nods. “And this bullshit doesn’t sound like the Owen I remember. Something’s up here.”

Feeling a little defensive, I ask, “And what do you remember about him?”

She sighs and gives me a soft smile. “I remember how you two couldn’t keep your hands off each other. Honestly, I’m not surprised he knocked you up. You were sluts for each other.”

I roll my eyes, but she’s not wrong. Images pop into my head from my encounter with Owen in the PT exam room, and how easily I fell back into old habits with him. Fell back into that old desire… it had felt so much more intense than I remembered. My cheeks heat at the thought and I grow flustered, shaking my head and dropping my gaze.

When I look back up at Skyler and Grace, they’re exchanging a look between them, as if they can read my mind, but neither comment on it.

I slump back in my chair. “Look, I know I have to talk to Owen. Especially because my mom is apparently in town and I’m terrified she’ll somehow find out he’s here and confront him herself. I won’t be able to stop her or the disaster that is sure to follow.”

“Oh, shit,” Skyler whistles. “That’s messy.”

“You definitely need to talk to Owen before your mom gets a hold of him,” Grace says with a wince. She knows how much of a wildcard my mom can be.

My phone suddenly buzzes and I pull it out of my pocket. It’s a Google news alert. Since Owen came to Denver, I set it to notify me whenever it comes across a news story about the Westons. There’s an article from the Vancouver Star, and the headline makes my stomach drop.

WESTON EMPIRE LOOKING TO SECURE IT’S FUTURE

CEO Henry Weston discusses the Weston legacy as they look to future generations of the family to carry it on.

“Oh, my God!” I gasp. “Look at this.”

I give my phone over to Grace and she and Skyler read the headline for themselves.

“This… this might not mean anything,” Grace shrugs, though she doesn’t sound all that confident. “Rich families like this are always talking legacy and keeping the line going in the future.”

“Yeah, but Millie is part of that line. According to that article, the public doesn’t believe the Westons will have any more heirs after Owen’s generation. If they’re so concerned about future generations, and they find out about her, they might decide that Millie needs to be closer to them so they can, I don’t know, mold her into an heir or some shit like that.”

Skyler and Grace exchange a wary glance.

“What’s so bad about that?” Skyler asks.

“I don’t want Millie to be put under that kind of pressure. She’d have to follow their rules and meet their expectations. She’s such a creative, curious, energetic child, and I’m afraid they’d try to diminish all that. Having money might make some things in life easier, but I think a lot of the responsibilities that come with it are more a burden than a gift. I don’t want Millie to have to go through any of that.”

“Okay, so that might be a legitimate concern,” Skyler says. “But you shouldn’t stress about it now, when you’re not sure something like that is actually going to happen.”

I release a long breath and murmur, “Yeah… you’re probably right. It’s just so hard…”

At that moment, movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention and look to find Millie shuffling into the room. She’s rubbing her eye and clutching her bear. My heart drops. For a second, I’m terrified she overheard us.

“Mommy, my nose is stuffy,” she murmurs. “I can’t sleep.”

I hurry over to her.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” I say, pressing my hand to her forehead to see if she has a fever. “Let’s get you back up to bed.”

Grace and Skyler give Millie a hug. They leave soon afterward, and once they’re gone, I take Millie’s hand and lead her back up to her room. Tucking her back into bed, I grab one of her fairytale books and snuggle in next to her to read her a story. I keep a close eye on her, noting when she sniffles and how red her nose is getting. Is she getting sick? God, I hope not. I can’t stand to see my little girl suffering at all.

When I finish the story, she curls into my side and puts her head on my chest.

“Mommy, do you think the prince in my story looks like Owen?”

The question catches me totally off guard. “Wha-what do you mean, baby?”

“They both have blue eyes and yellow hair.”

“Lots of people have blue eyes and yellow hair,” I say. “It doesn’t mean they look alike.”

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