Page 35 of Her Ex's Father
Every wall, every corridor, every breath of air in my home is marked by Madeline Clarke’s presence.
I can’t escape her. Not that I want to; but for so long this home has been empty. With Georgiana long passed and Derrick rarely stepping foot over the threshold, it has beenminein every sense of the word.
Now it’s beenours.For three weeks. And I don’t know how I feel about that.
She doesn’t try to dominate the space—she isn’t loud, isn’t demanding—but somehow she’s everywhere. I hear her laughter echoing from the kitchen, smell her perfume lingering in the hall, see the curve of her hip disappearing around a corner just as I enter a room.
We’ve developed an odd rhythm. She stays mostly in her suite, working on her laptop or chatting with her sister, wandering the grounds when she thinks I’m too busy to notice. I bury myself in meetings and calls, staring at documents I can barely read. But we keep running into each other anyway. The house is vast and yet suddenly much too small.
And every morning, without fail, we share breakfast.
It’s torture.
Today she sits across from me at the long walnut table, hair pulled into a careless knot, skin flushed from the shower. She likes sugar in her coffee, cream thick enough that she swirls the spoon three, four times before tasting it. Sometimes she licks the cream from the spoon before setting it aside. Sometimes she just presses her lips to the rim of the mug and tilts her head back, throat exposed, lips parted.
I grip my coffee cup hard enough to crack it.
I can’t look at her without wanting. And yet I can’t look away.
The only thing that assuages the tension is the fact that she hasn’t gone into the woods again. Not since the day I went with her—insisted she needed protection. As if she couldn’t handle herself.
Maddie should’ve taken it as an insult. She did, I think, snapping at me, trying to outpace me.
But then we got so much closer…
Too close.
I shouldn’t want her like that. Shouldn’t be thinking about catching her around those corners, pressing her back against the walls, pulling her into a private room to listen to her crescendo again, over and over, her core clenching around me.
Sheisn’t mine, even if I want it to be true—even if I keep saying it out loud to try and make it true.
There’s a light knock at the doorway, and Hugh steps in. I straighten up, grateful to have those sinful thoughts interrupted. Though if Hugh is here, back from Europe, it means Derrick might trail in right behind him at any moment.
Madeline gives him a genuine, welcoming smile. If this situation wasn’t so fucked I’d be happy to have her at my side—a perfect hostess, seamless addition to my life.
Hugh drops into the chair beside me with his tablet and mutters, “He dipped out of the country before I could find him. From what I can tell, he’s in Thailand now.”
My jaw locks.
“Festival,” Hugh adds with a grimace, trying to speak quietly. But it’s just the three of us; Maddie can hear every word. “Friends, drugs, women. The usual. I can head back out first thing if you want me to.”
It feels like my body is being tugged in a dozen different directions.
Part of meistempted to send Hugh back right away. To book the flight to Thailand, get Derrick home immediately, hand Maddie off to him with a few signatures and more regrets.
The other part of me wants to let my son languish in his debauchery. The idiot doesn’t know what he’s missing; what he could have at his fingertips.
“Christ.” I shove my plate away, the food suddenly tasteless. My son has disappeared into another country while my brand-new wife sits across from me sucking jam off her thumb. “No, I won’t do that to you, Hugh. Just stay in contact with him for now. Try to talk reason into him. He still picks up your calls?”
Hugh nods. In some ways, I think, he’s been more like a father to Derrick than I have.
I should be focusing on damage control, on dragging him back by his collar and forcing him into responsibility. Instead, all I can think about is Maddie’s mouth and how badly I want it wrapped around… something else.
Hugh glances at me, then at her, and back at me again. He’s too sharp, too loyal, but not blind. “We’ll get him back,” he says carefully, but his eyes are full of questions.
I don’t answer.
By afternoon, I’ve convinced myself I’ll make it through the day without snapping. That lasts right up until Cameron shows up.
