Page 38 of Her Ex's Father
And I see it then—it’s not that he doesn’t like the dress.
It’s that he likes it a littletoomuch. His eyes trail up the slit, as if wanting to delve further underneath, run along my inner thigh.
I take a deep breath and focus on each careful step down, instead of the desire creating a steady, warm thrum inside me. The anticipation setting my skin on fire.
Aspen glitters under the evening spring sky. The streets are strung with lights, shop windows glowing, the mountains a dark silhouette beyond. The restaurant Ben’s chosen is tucked into a row of stone buildings, elegant but understated.
Inside, it’s warm, filled with a hum of laughter and the clink of glassware. Firelight flickers along the walls, and the scent of roasted meat and truffle butter wraps around me. It’s clearly the lap of luxury, a quiet place for both old and new money to get away from the tourist traps. Heads turn when we’re led to our table, and I feel the weight of every stare.
I don’t need to guess what they’re thinking.
That’s Benedict Bronson. Andthat’shis new wife.
His much younger wife.
Ben orders for us—scotch for him, wine for me, a series of courses I can barely keep track of. It should annoy me to have a man choosing my food, but the truth is, I’m relieved. I don’t think I could concentrate even if I wanted to. My hands are trembling too much to hold a menu. There’s so much to look at, and it takes such controlnotto look. Belonging out here is different than belonging back home, where all the rich families were rowdy ranchers.
The server doesn’t question Ben, only scribbles obediently, nodding here and there.
Once the drinks arrive, I wrap my fingers around the stem of my glass and say, “You didn’t have to bring me somewhere this fancy.”
“Yes, I did.” Ben’s voice is quiet, steady. “You deserve it, after everything. Not just the solve for Bronson Hall—but for…” He trails off, looking over my shoulder at nothing at all. His throat bobs.
The words shouldn’t mean so much. But they do. My chest feels tight, and I’m happy he’s not lookingatme. I don’t want him to see the tinge of desperate happiness I feel at being recognized as worth something.
We eat slowly, course after course. The food is exquisite—melt-in-your-mouth beef, wild mushrooms in cream, a chocolate soufflé so delicate it collapses at the touch of a spoon. I moan around a mouthful and Ben looks up sharply.
The atmosphere changes.
Suddenly it’s just the two of us, and I can’t ignore the direction the night has been going.
The way his eyes linger on me when he thinks I’m not looking. The way his voice drops when he asks if I’m enjoying myself. The way his hand brushes mine briefly when he reaches for the breadbasket, and how the touch lingers in my skin long after.
“Are you okay?”
I blink back to reality. Ben is watching me through his lashes, chin lowered, those pine-green eyes locked on me.
“Madeline?”
Clearing my throat and sitting back, I answer, “I’m fine. Sorry, I was distracted for a moment. This was amazing Ben, thank you.”
He waves the thanks off. “I should have taken you out long before this. I’m sorry you’ve been cooped up at the lodge.”
I shake my head, not wanting him to think I see it like that: as being trapped. “No, home is beautiful. I couldn’t have picked a better place. I hope it doesn’t seem like I’m restless, I just…”
I just can’t stand being so close to you.
My lips press together before the words can slip out, but I can’t look away from his steady gaze. Benedict nods slowly, as if he understands exactly where my mind is.
By the time dessert is cleared, I’m flushed and lightheaded, from wine or from him, I can’t tell. “Um, I’m just going to step away to the lady’s room before we leave.”
Ben acknowledges me with a small smile, but looks absently across the room, stroking his stubble in thought. As I stand and weave my way toward the back, I can’t help noticing people noticingme.The way their eyes trail after me, narrow and curious, judgmental and scandalized. Surely there must be one or two people here who attended the wedding and witnessed the moment Ben stormed down the aisle, set on claiming me and securing the future of Bronson Hall.
That’s when I hear it.
Two servers by the bar, whispering, but not trying very hard to be discrete.
“Can you believe it? That’s his wife. She looks younger than his son.”
