Page 14 of Her Ex's Father
I leave.
But my hands ache to return.
Chapter 5
Maddie
Less than an hour after sayingI doto my would-be father-in-law, I text Jack.
Wish you were here. The wedding was a disaster.
No response. I wouldn’t blame him if he ghosted me after this. I don’t even know what I’m doing—what just happened. My hands are still shaking, even though the makeup artist came back in to touch up my face and reminded me to "glow, not crumble."
The ring on my finger gleams against the silk of my dress.
A new one. A man’s choice. Weightier than the one I picked with Derrick via impersonal email.
When did Benedict find out that his son wasn’t going to show? I wonder what the moment looked like, when he decided to meet me at the altar. Did his jaw brace with the determination to martyr himself? Did he scowl in disgust, inconvenienced with a girl?
Not a girl,I remind myself, hitching up the corset top and lifting my chin. I’d feel more at home in jeans right now, more confident, but unless I raid Ben’s closet this is all I’ve got.
It’s real. All of it. The kiss, the legal ceremony, the quiet but all-consuming way Benedict looked at me when he said, “I do.”
I’m not just Madeline Clarke anymore. I’m Madeline Bronson.
The kiss.
My brain gets stuck on the memory, spirals. If there wasanydoubt before that I was marrying a mature man… that kiss knocked it out of the park. The way he took possession of my mouth, hand on my hip and tongue grazing my lower lip, makes me tremble even now.
Have I evenbeenproperly kissed until today? I’m not sure; my mind is fuzzy with the replay of his stubbled upper lip, body tight like a bow.
Every other guy has been… not inexperienced, but not so sure. So, demanding.
Ben Bronson took my mouth like hewantedit. Like he wasclaimingit.
There's a knock on the door, then it creaks open without waiting for permission as I jump, a hand on my chest. Stella slips inside, stops, and stares in awe.
“Um,” she begins, eyes wide, cheeks pink. “You married the wrong man. And wow—this room!”
“Don’t say it out loud,” I groan, hugging myself as I sit at the edge of the bed in Ben’s luxurious suite. The air smells faintly of his cologne—woodsmoke, clean linen, fresh air. It’s not helping clear my head at all.
“But like…” she sinks into the armchair across from me, her dress hiked up slightly so she can sit cross-legged. “Youmarriedthe wrong man.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” I hiss. “Can you imagine if I’d said no? Do you really think Mom and Dad would’ve laid the blame at Derrick’s feet?”
An arrow of hurt pierces me, reflected in Stella’s eyes. I love our parents, in a twisted way. Ithinkthey love me, though theyrarely show it. Still, we both know that if this marriage hadn’t gone through, it would be more fault.
“Well, yeah,” Stella agrees, “but you didn’t have to marryhis dad.”
“He’s the one who offered!” I press my fingers to my temples. My skull is a kettle about to whistle.
“Mad,” she says softly. “You just married a man who’snineteen years older than you.Are you okay?”
“Seventeen and a half,” I correct reflexively. Just because I’m usually color coordinating linens and desserts doesn’t mean I didn’t do my research—into the whole Bronson lineage.
Benedict Bronson was born here, in Aspen, to his mother and father. He did a brief stint at Yale before returning to enmesh himself in the family business. At twenty-five, he took the company international. At twenty-seven, he married. His wife passed away a handful of years ago and Derrick is his only child.
Stella’s brow arches. “Okay, you’ve already done the math. You’re panicking.”
