Page 99 of Her Ex's Father
“Ben…” she whispers. “It’s gorgeous.”
“You’ve never been before?”
She shakes her head. “Never even been out of the country until today.”
That surprises me. “Your parents—aren’t they jet-setters? They have clients in France, I know, and Canada…”
Madeline’s smile doesn’t quite catch at her eyes. “They always went just the two of them. Stella and I stayed home with nannies, usually.” She turns back to the window, her blonde hair catching the glimmering sun. “I’m happy it’s happening like this, though. With you.”
Reaching out, I slip my fingers into hers and her smile softens into something more genuine.
“You haven’t even seen it yet.”
She shrugs, turning away from the window. “Doesn’t really matter. I think I’d enjoy myself wherever you are.”
The car ride from the airstrip takes us through winding forest roads, and then suddenly the resort rises ahead, perched among the trees. Glass and timber, steel softened by natural lines, the structure looks grown rather than built. It gleams against the backdrop of mountains and water.
Maddie bites her lip, clutching my hand as she rises from the car. “Ben, it’s even more gorgeous than the photos I’ve seen. I can’t believe it’s yours.”
“Ours,” I correct.
Her gaze flicks to me. “Ours?”
“You’re head of events now. This is your kingdom.”
Her lips part, her eyes shining. For once, she doesn’t argue.
The lobby welcomes us with soaring ceilings, glass walls that frame the wilderness outside, and a fireplace big enough to step into. The management team is waiting—executives in sleek suits, staff in crisp uniforms, faces alight with anticipation.
Normally, I would lead. Shake hands, deliver the speeches, make sure they knew exactly who pulled the strings. But today, I step back.
Maddie slips into the space I leave open like she was born for it. She greets them warmly, her smile genuine, her questionssharp and thoughtful. She listens with her whole body, leaning in, nodding, making them feel heard.
And they respond. Not with the stiff deference I usually command, but with enthusiasm, with respect earned rather than demanded.
As we walk through the halls of the resort, she asks about the kitchen staff, about the event spaces, and about sustainability partnerships. She laughs at a small joke from the head chef, and I watch the man puff up with pride. She suggests tweaks to the guest flow, and I see the operations director scribble notes like she’s delivering gospel.
I’ve never seen her like this. Confident. Radiant. Powerful. But I’ve known this whole time she has it in her—after all, part of what attracted me to Crown & Range as a partnership was their marketing and events.
It hits me, hard and humbling: her family never gave her this. They never let her stand in her own light. They kept her in the shadows, an inconvenience because she wasn’t a boy. Only useful on the day we married.
But here? Here she glows.
I fold my arms, watching her command the room, and for once in my life, I feel no urge to take the spotlight back. She was made for this.
The tour takes hours, winding through the property—conference halls that open to terraces, ballrooms with ceilings of carved wood, suites that overlook the fjords. Each time Madeline asks a question, each time she touches a surface or makes a note, I feel something inside me swell.
When the general manager turns to me for an answer, I gesture to her instead. “Mrs. Bronson can speak to that.”
She does, and she nails it, her cheeks flushing as the staff nod, impressed.
By the time we return to the lobby, she’s glowing, her hand resting protectively on her belly, her notebook full of ideas.
I’ve never been prouder of anything in my life.
Our suite is perched high, glass walls framing the lake and mountains, a fireplace flickering in the corner. The bed is enormous, layered with furs and soft linens. Leaning against the balcony railing, I take in the sight of the trees changing colors—the dark green of pines mixed with a pale yellow, a vibrant lime green. Almost two hundred acres of it out there is ours.
Maddie collapses onto the sofa with a groan, kicking off her shoes. “I think my feet are permanently swollen.”
