Page 11 of Where We Belong

Ben: Weirdly, you’ve been with him for some time, and no one knows him. I just want to ensure you’re with someone worthy of you.

Cory: Stay away from my personal life, Ben. I’ll contact you with more questions or when I’ve made a decision about the inn.

Ben: By the way, Bernie misses you.

Cory: I hope she’s doing well. Talk to you soon.

Chapter Five

Cory

Contacting Benedict was a terrible idea. I should’ve stuck to the original plan—reach out to him when I’m home and ready to discuss the old inn.

“You okay, babe?” Bodhi asks, his eyebrows drawing together in concern as I shuffle into the kitchen.

I force a smirk and nod, avoiding his gaze. Instead of pouring myself some coffee, I take a long sip of his, the rich bitterness jolting me awake. Perhaps, I should’ve done this before, drink something to wake me up before I texted Benedict and made a fool of myself. When I check the time, I realize it’s too early to get out of bed. Bodhi is dressed. It seems like he’s already read the news and even worked for a couple of hours.

“You woke up a little too early,” I state.

“Story called while we were still sleeping.” He glances at his watch. “It was about eleven at night in San Francisco.”

“She’s ten, right?” I ask lightly, trying to sound casual as I fish for more information about his daughter.

He nods and there’s a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Bodhi is nothing but a doting father. It’s not as if he talks about his children, but I see how amazing he is with them. “Next month she’ll be eleven. Two more years, and I’m going to have to buy Rowe a car. My only hope is that Tallulah doesn’t grow up as fast as her two older siblings.”

I bite my tongue to keep from blurting out questions about Tallulah’s age and the rest of his family. This might be the first time he’s opened up about his children. I don’t want to break the spell and have him shut down again.

“Do you mind if we go back home this Wednesday?” he asks abruptly.

His question catches me off guard. Is it rhetorical, or does he actually want my input? And what am I supposed to say? Sorry, but I need another week away from my family and him. I don’t want to sound like some heartless woman who can’t understand that his children come first.

“Story wants me there.” A fond smile tugs at his mouth. “Though she’s not the youngest, she’s Daddy’s little girl.” He grins proudly, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I’m sure you know how that is,” he adds, glancing at me. “You’re the only girl in your family, right?”

I plaster a smile on my face. “Fern. Fern was daddy’s little girl.” I shrug one shoulder, trying to look nonchalant even as my throat tightens. “Dad wasn’t around much while I was growing up. He…” I trail off, shrugging a shoulder as if to imply it doesn’t matter.

My father died when I was eleven, but before that, he traveled constantly for work. And when he was home, he poured himself into the family business and vineyard. Don’t misunderstand—he was a loving father. But he divided his attention between my siblings, leaving me as an afterthought. The triplets—Aslan, Gatsby, and Lysander—as the oldest, got the most dad time.

Fern was daddy’s little girl. Caspian got all his attention because he was his hockey prodigy. Heath could spend hours with him playing chess or just talking about adult things—even when he was a teenager.

Hux had a learning disability, so he tried to do his best to help him. And then there was me—self-sufficient and overlooked. Dad loved me in his way, but since I never demanded his time, he let me be. I think I was okay with my place in the family until I learned about his affair and the child he had with his mistress.

He could’ve given me that time. I could’ve spent more time with my father and less trying to impress my older brothers, hoping they would give me the time of the day.

“Cordelia, are you okay?” Bodhi draws me back into the conversation.

I blink a couple of times, making sure no tears fall. “Yeah, I was just remembering Dad.”

“You can always call him, you know?”

I press my lips together, recalling my conversation with Ben. Six months and I really don’t know much about Bodhi. Our relationship is superficial at best. Yet here I am in Paris, enjoying a free vacation from my family and the reminder that the hope of being with Benedict Farrow disappeared three years ago.

Don’t get me wrong, I adore Bernie, but I’m not even allowed to love her, so what’s the point?

Realizing that I’ve been keeping Bodhi at arm’s length, I do what I expect him to do with me. “Umm, I probably forgot to mention before that… he died when Hux and I were eleven.”

Bodhi’s shoulders slump. “Shit. I’m so fucking insensitive.”

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