Page 50 of Her Ex's Father
“Quiet,” Ben snaps, eyes never leaving Derrick.
“You think this—this scandal of a marriage—will save your empire?” Derrick’s voice rises, heads turning from other tables. “She’s half your age, Dad. Everyone knows you lost it the second Mom died.”
The words land like knives. Ben’s expression doesn’t flicker, but his hands curl against the tablecloth.
“Don’t,” he growls.
“Don’t what?” Derrick sneers, leaning forward, voice thick with venom. “Don’t bring her up? Don’t remind you that the night she died, you were too busy signing contracts to notice she said goodbye instead of goodnight? Don’t remind you that every whisper in Aspen says you drove her to it?”
The table goes dead silent. My stomach twists so hard I grip the arm of my chair, head snapping in Ben’s direction.
I didn’t know.
I’ve never heard…
Caroline’s face hardens. “That’s enough, Derrick.”
But he barrels on, voice breaking with anger. “You ruined Mom. And now you’re ruining me. Congratulations, Dad. You really are a Bronson—heartless to the end.”
Ben pushes to his feet, chair scraping against the polished floor. The whole restaurant watches, breathless. For a moment I think he’ll strike Derrick—his body is wound tight, fists clenched, jaw locked.
But he doesn’t. He just stands there, shaking with fury, eyes burning into his son.
“Get out,” Ben says, low and deadly.
Derrick scoffs, grabs his phone, and stalks away without another word. The sound of the doors slamming echoes like a gunshot.
Silence crushes the table. Then, slowly, conversation resumes at the other tables, as if nothing happened.
Ben sinks back down, shoulders rigid. He doesn’t touch his wine. He doesn’t look at me.
I want to reach for him, to tell him it isn’t true, that Derrick’s words don’t define him. But I don’t knowwhat’strue.
Does the town really whisper that he’s the reason Georgiana died? He told me she was sick. Had been for a while… so what really happened?
When I set my hand on his arm, trying to find some sense of security in the sudden spinning of my world, he jerks away like I’ve burned him.
“Not here,” he bites out.
I flinch. Caroline watches with narrowed eyes but says nothing.
The rest of dinner is a hollow performance. Plates arrive, food untouched, words meaningless. Nausea roils in the pit of my stomach, but it’s not from the child growing there. I keep my head down, my throat tight with unshed tears.
Later, back in the suite Ben reserved for us to stay the night instead of returning to the lodge, I try again. He’s at the window, staring out at the night like it owes him something.
“Ben,” I say softly. “Talk to me.” The rooms are familiar now, months after our marriage. Like a mirror image I remember him leaving me in here to sort out the mess—giving me time to breathe, to accept the decision we’d both made.
Now I feel unmoored once again. Rocked.
“There’s nothing to say.”
“There’s everything to say.” I cross the room, standing close but not touching. “First of all, you could have told me you wanted to tell them tonight.” I don’t even touch the subject of inheritance, not now. “I wasn’t ready, and I…” My cheeks burn with the heat of embarrassment; the memory of everyone’s eyes on me.
This pregnancy shouldn’t feel like shame.
But Ben’s breathing, shallow and controlled, draws my attention back. I might not get answers about Derrick’s accusations right now, but I can at least try to comfort my husband. “He hurt you. I saw it. And I know it’s not true—what he said about Georgiana?—”
His head snaps toward me, eyes blazing. “You don’t know anything about Georgiana.”
