16. Chapter 16
Chapter 16
Lily
The woman at the door is absolutely gorgeous, her blonde, shoulder-length hair falling in loose, perfectly placed beach waves. She’s impeccably dressed in a dark blue A-line dress that stops just above her knees, paired with expensive Jimmy Choo leather pumps I recognize—Laila has a pair just like them. Tall and svelte, her hazel eyes are watching me with an intensity that can only be described as pure disdain.
Without waiting for an invitation to come in, she brushes past Noah, approaching me with such swift purpose that the force of her presence nearly knocks me off balance.
"Marian." Noah's voice is clipped but steady.
“Where’s my son?” she demands, stopping just a foot in front of me before dramatically whirling around to face Noah again. Every movement she makes is sharp and intense, like she’s commanding the room with her presence.
This is Noah’s ex-wife? Davey’s mom? She's so cold.
"Lower your voice, Marian," Noah's tone is curt, matching her intensity. "Davey’s sleeping. He had a long day."
The dynamic between them is unsettling, charged with tension. It’s hard to imagine them ever being a couple in love, let alone a family.
I’m frozen in place, wishing I could make a quick, undetected exit and give them space to talk. Anything to avoid witnessing their argument.
"You knew I was coming today," Marian says, her voice sharp with accusation. "Why didn’t you make sure he was awake for my visit?"
"It’s almost ten o’clock at night," Noah replies, his frustration barely contained. "Even if he’d waited all day for you, by eight, he’d be ready for bed. You can’t honestly expect me to keep him up this late for you."
"This is a special occasion," she insists, her voice rising. "It’s not every day his mom is here to see him."
"You can say that again," Noah murmurs under his breath, the frustration in his tone clear.
"What?" she snaps, her eyes narrowing. "You think I enjoy being away from my son?"
"All I know is that you're being unreasonable," Noah responds, the tension in his voice increasing with every word.
I want to leave. I don’t know what to do or where to look. My gaze is locked on Noah, silently willing him to stay calm, to feel my support—as if I could somehow send him strength telepathically. What a stupid notion.
I turn to leave the room, but Noah's calm voice halts me. "Lily. You don’t have to leave, Sweetheart. Please stay."
His words are enough to unleash Marian's wrath, her attention snapping to me, and suddenly, I’m standing directly in her line of fire.
"So, is this the insignificant girl you're sleeping with?" she asks, her gaze sharp and condescending as she looks me up and down before addressing me.
"Well, Sweetheart , the official Mrs. Linder is here. You can leave now." The way she spat out "Sweetheart" was dripping with contempt, and her dismissive wave of the hand makes it clear she views me as nothing more than a fleeting distraction.
"Lily," Noah's voice cuts through the uncertainty created by Marian's harsh words, grounding me in the midst of the confrontation.
I stand my ground, refusing to leave. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I must look like a deer caught in the headlights. I’m so out of my depth. Who am I kidding? This is a battle between two experts in the art of warfare, and I’m just a girl, willing to risk it all for the man I love.
"Fine," Marian says, her tone icy as she tilts her head. "Have it your way."
She turns to face Noah, and the battle of wills begins. A few long seconds tick by before Noah strides to the door and opens it. "Davey gets up at nine. You can pick him up at ten and spend the day with him. He’s eager to see you. Good night, Marian."
Marian approaches Noah with a calculated grace until they’re inches apart. "Good night, Love. I'll see you tomorrow," she purrs, holding his arm and leaning in for a kiss. Noah shifts his head just in time, and her lips brush his cheek instead.
When she’s finally gone, my defenses crumble, and tears begin to pool in my eyes. I want to reach out, hold him, and offer comfort. He’s so tightly wound right now that I can see the veins in his temples bulging from the strain.
If I touch him, will he snap at me? Do I just stand here and wait for his temper to cool? Should I leave? What do I do?
"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice soft and caring. "I'm so sorry, Sweetheart."
I nod, as he moves towards me, wrapping his arms around me. His protective nature envelopes me in a warm embrace. We find solace in each other, offering comfort for everything we’ve just endured.
We walk into the living room and sit on the couch, his arm around me.
"Are you okay?" I ask, drawing strength from his gentle response amidst the chaos.
"Yeah," he chuckles sarcastically. "I'm fine. What an introduction that was. I bet you weren’t expecting it to be so intense."
"How can you be so blasé about what just happened?" I ask, completely perplexed. "It was so hard to witness. So hard to endure."
"I’ve lived through it for so long that it no longer phases me."
"You know, they say there's a fine line—" I say, a hint of worried curiosity in my voice.
"I don’t love Marian, but I don't hate her either. She’s the mother of my son. It’s a vital role, but wholly separate from me."
I nod, trying to grasp the deeper meaning behind his words. "Can I ask you a personal question?" I ask, desperate to understand.
“There are no personal questions between us, Lily,” he says, his words infused with such genuine honesty that they fill me with a deep sense of confidence. Confidence in us, in what we have together, and in the future we can build together.
"How can a man like you marry a woman like Marian? You two couldn’t be more different. You’re like oil and water. Some people might find that contrast exciting but watching you two clash was exhausting. And I was just an observer, witnessing everything from the outside looking in."
"I married her because she told me she was pregnant," he reveals. "I was about to break up with her, so she lied. She was never pregnant. After we married, she claimed she lost the baby a few months later. We spent the next ten years trying to conceive, and I was none the wiser. When we finally got pregnant with Davey, I began attending doctor’s visits with her. The doctor kept referring to Marian’s pregnancy as the first. When I tried to correct him, he looked puzzled. That’s when I knew. It had all been a lie."
"Noah," I whisper in disbelief. "How could she?"
"I was so eager to be married, to have a family, to have what my brother had, that I was willing to overlook just about anything. But our union was never easy. What you saw today—that’s classic Marian. Harsh, sharp, vindictive, narcissistic, and cold."
"I don't know what to say," I confess, feeling utterly at a loss for words.
Noah's gaze is intense as he continues, "Now you understand why I never gave Marian my family's ring. When I met you, you were different—sweet, gentle, kind, and humble. Everything Marian wasn't. Even that day when you scolded me in the middle of the road, despite your anger, I felt something extraordinary about you. Your words were never meant to hurt me. You've never spoken an unkind word, either to me or about anyone. There’s a pull towards you that I’ve never felt before, a connection I never knew was possible."
"I feel it too," I say softly. "Words can hardly capture how I feel whenever we're together. I felt it that day just as strongly as you did."
"This ring was destined to adorn your finger," he whispers, taking my hand and pressing a tender kiss to it. "Do you know what's so special about this ring?"
"What?" I ask, my curiosity piqued.
"This ring has never been resized to fit its new owner. It has fit every Linder woman perfectly when slipped onto their finger."
"Like Cinderella's shoe," I add with a smile.
"Exactly," he laughs. "Just like that."
"I love you," I say, gazing deeply into his eyes.
"I love you," he whispers into my ear, his lips tracing a path from my ear to my lips. This kiss is different—more meaningful, more intimate. Where there was once hesitation and doubt, there's now intent and what can only be described as sweet abandon. When he finally pulls away, he murmurs, "It's getting late, Sweetheart. Let me walk you home."
We rise together, his hand clasped in mine. We move toward the kitchen, but as we enter the hallway, I pull him gently but decisively toward the bedroom. His eyes silently question me.
"I want to stay with you tonight," I say, reaching the door. "Don’t ask me to leave. Not tonight. I want us to erase every trace of the last hour and replace it with us."
He opens the door and ushers me inside before following and closing it softly behind us.