45. Ill Stand by You
I'll Stand by You
Charlotte
B ronnie and I have been hiding at Arden’s aunt’s estate in Blackwater for a week. No one has figured out the connection between Arden and his aunt, so no one has bothered to look behind those wrought-iron gates for me.
When Arden realized the protection the estate offered, he stopped talking about keeping us in the Hamptons and decided to leave me in Blackwater for the duration of the media blitz. He estimates five more weeks of hiding. Nevermind that his PR people say if we address it now, it’ll be over in a week.
I sit on the back patio sipping sweet tea with my sister, Teresa. Bronnie’s Close Protection Officer, Margot, stands nearby as Bronnie chases her cousins, Dierdre and Marie, in the backyard, attempting to “tag" them.
I look out at the trees and shake my head. “None of it matters if Arden doesn’t think Bronnie and I can handle it.”
Teresa skims her gaze up and down my body like she just discovered I have three arms. “Since when is it someone else’s job to tell you what you can handle?”
I frown.“That’s not what I meant. I know I can, but Arden is a protector. I don’t blame him for his concerns, but …”
“He’s afraid the press will hurt you the way they did his first wife,” Teresa says.
Pained frustration seeps into my words. “Yes, but I need the man to tell me he has faith in me.”
“Well, maybe he needs that from you.”
“I . . . What do you mean?”
“I get that he’s this big, powerful man. From the outside, guys like that look invulnerable. But maybe, he’s the one who needs the reassurance from you. What does he actually want? Does he get off thinking you’re weak? Does he like the idea of you being helpless?” she asks.
“Ew. No. Why would you ask that?”
“Because if the opposite is true, then what would actually make him happy isn’t feeding his fear. It would be you showing him that you’re strong enough to stand beside him."
I pull the phone Arden and I use from my pocket and chew my lip.
Teresa indicates the kids. “I’ve got the girls. Go talk to him.”
I step inside the house and dial his number. It rings once, then Arden picks up, his voice worried. “Charlotte. Are you okay?”
“Yes. I love you.”
“And I love you.”
“Do you want me with you?”
“You know I do, but it’s more important for you to be happy.”
“In a perfect world, where you could have anything you wanted, would Bronnie and I be with you right now?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, then, voice ragged, he says, “You were right. It hurts more when you dream.”
Six Hours Later
T his is life. Rip off the Band-Aid.
Our driver, Tim, glances in the rearview mirror. “Almost there. Are you ready?”
Bronnie looks up at me and nods. Then she flails her arms and legs. “I’m gonna kick butt.”
“Let’s see. Biiiig blanket to cover up with?”
Bronnie gives me a thumbs-up. “Check.”
“Sunglasses.” I pop mine onto my face and pass Bronnie hers. “Check.”
“Cool, tough bodyguards to stand between you and all those noisy people?” Margot peeks into the backseat. “Check.”
“Some awesome tunes,” I say, passing Bronnie a pair of noise-cancelling headphones.
Bronnie fits them over her ears and shouts, “Check.”
I cover her head with the blanket, and she holds her arms out, pretending to be a ghost.
Incidentally, Reginald and his ladies have the most beautiful, haunted chicken coop I’ve ever seen. Not that I saw it in person, but the pictures are beautiful.
Arden is at his home in Brooklyn Heights with the boys. When we pull up in the car, the reporters who’ve been stalking the area, waiting for Arden to leave his brownstone or for someone interesting to arrive, don’t appear to be inclined to move out of the way to let us park.
Tim honks the horn and moves steadily forward, until understanding seems to sink in, and like a school of fish, the reporters make way for the vehicle, then throng around it. They pound on the windows as Tim eases the car into position in front of Arden’s home.
Bronnie and I stay in the backseat behind dark-tinted windows until a team of five guards clears the way. When Margot opens the back door, I step out with Bronnie in my arms, her head and body covered by the blanket. She rests her face against my neck, and her lips tickle as she sings the theme song from her favorite TV show.
I keep my spine straight, and my expression blank. I ignore every question the reporters shout at us and every camera flash in my face. If I maintain the pace we practiced, it’s a twenty-seven-second walk from the car to the front door. I focus on counting in my head and point my eyes straight ahead.
One . . .
“Is the child under the blanket the same one on the boat?”
Three . . .
“Is your relationship with Arden McRae serious . . . ?”
Five . . .
“Have you neglected your child before the night on Lake Michigan?”
“How did you feel when you realized she might die?”
“Miss Miller, look over here.”
Ten . . .
“Where did you meet Arden McRae? Was it love at first sight?”
“Is the child Arden McRae’s biological daughter?”
“Show us her face.”
“How long have you been in a relationship?”
Twenty. . . I walk up the stairs . . .
. . . Reese opens the door.
And then we’re inside, surrounded by warm wood tones, the scent of beeswax furniture polish, and safety.
Arden sprints toward us, taking the corner at the end of the hall so fast that he has to grab onto the wall to prevent himself from skidding past it. Then he’s standing in front of us, his eyes darting from me to blanket-covered Bronnie and back. He takes my head in both hands, his eyes wild. “What did you do?”
“I chose us.”
He sucks in a hard breath and squeezes his eyes closed.
I run my fingers over the sharp plane of his jaw, my words fierce. “This is part of our life together. I’m not afraid. We’ll give them a press conference tomorrow, and then we move on. Whatever comes next, we weather it together, and it will always be worth it because you are,” I say fiercely.
He presses his forehead to mine. “Life is going to throw the hard stuff at us sometimes, Charlotte. I wanted to shield you from it.”
“We shield each other, but don’t ask me to cower in front of bullies or raise my daughter thinking she has to either. Those people out there are nothing but noise. You and I are going to have a wonderful life together. Everything else is silverware and campfires,” I say.
Arden pulls Bronnie and me against his chest, his mouth pressing hard to mine. “Yes. Charlotte.” He chokes on a watery laugh.
Bronnie squirms, then rips the blanket off her head. Arden pulls back to look down into her smiling round face. She dimples at him and lifts both her arms in the air. “Surprise!”
He laughs and swipes the heel of his hand across his left eye, then he lifts the headphones off her ears. “You did surprise me, baby. It’s the best one I’ve ever had.”
“It’s a honor to meet you, matey,” she growls, then she throws herself at him, not even checking to see if he’s ready to catch her first. He does—of course—and tucks her against his chest as he kisses her little blonde head. Then he wraps me in his other arm.
When he squeezes his eyes closed again, I reach up to wipe the wetness from his face for him.
Arden clears his throat. “We’re never telling a soul you had to do that.”
“Not even Reese?”
“Especially not Reese.”
I laugh. “Let’s go find the boys.”
He nods, then looks into my eyes, expression intense and unwavering. “I’m going to love you so hard, Charlotte Miller.”
“You already do.” My lips quirk. “Is it going to be difficult for you to remember to call me McRae after we’re married?”
“Not even a little. All I have to do is practice.” His lips meet mine. “Mrs. McRae.”