Chapter 34
Meirna
My parents are ecstatic about the news of me moving to Boston. Callie has already sent me several Zillow listings of homes for sale. I’ve looked at them, but I’m not ready to start house shopping just yet.
There’s a lot of loose ends that still need to be tightened and my life has changed so much in the last week and a half, that I’m trying not to get so overwhelmed.
Social media broke out this morning about Bobby and my postponed wedding—the one that didn’t happen and was supposed to today.
My phone has been going off from people I’ve met through the Hardings. How I could stand Bobby up after everything we’ve gone through.
But, within an hour, a new story broke out and that made all the calls and text messages stop.
Meirna Stetson married to Bronte Vasiliou.
Bobby Harding a fraud, a liar, and a cheat.
The narrative was not off at all. It described Harding Holdings making questionable deals and gambles with customer’s funds. It spoke of Bobby and his potential ties to “a Chicago” mob. Jolene—bless her heart—even made an appearance, which pissed me off.
There’s only one way this got out and I know exactly who it was.
However, that man disappeared this morning before I woke up.
Eleni has been bustling in the kitchen, making lunch and preparing her famous New Year’s Eve dinner.
Callie gave me some space, taking my parents to the grocery store for something or another, and I’ve been left alone in Bronte’s room while every thirty minutes, the story evolved and became more colorful.
Jolene Fontaine—the mistress that drove Meirna Stetson to Bobby Harding’s mystery twin.
I sigh for the millionth time because this isn’t what I wanted to end the year off with.
However, on the optimistic side, at least I won’t go into with people side-eyeing me for allegedly standing Bobby up. The world will see him as he truly is and I won’t be some flighty woman who decided to change her mind last second.
Meirna Stetson—a saint. The Champion of Silver Pines Senior Assist Living.
What?
Clicking on the link, it goes to a local newspaper and I quickly read the article.
Meirna Stetson, a twenty-nine-year-old from Upstate New York, has been the talk of the town this weekend, but what should be spoken about is her non-profit for loved ones who have been left behind.
Stetson has transformed Silver Pines into a beautiful senior assistant living home for war veterans and grandmothers. She has raised over four million dollars to renovate, obtain better health care and assist with the needs of seniors, and plays bingo regularly on Thursdays.
Stetson was engaged to the heir of Harding Holdings, Bobby Harding, for two years under false pretenses and big lies.
According to sources, Bronte Vasiliou met Stetson at a volunteer event in Stone Haven a few months prior to her ever speaking to Bobby Harding. The misidentification and communication led Stetson to believe it was the man she plants trees and flowers with prior.
And helped with eighteen bags of mulch.
Stetson was under the impression she was meeting the same guy. Vasiliou, the older twin brother of the Harding family, was cast out at the tender age of sixteen, never to be seen again.
Now, the CEO of the Vasiliou’s shipping company in Boston, Harding discovered Stetson’s relationship with his estranged brother.
And the rest is history.
Stetson and Vasiliou final met, got married, and live under the guise of fate-bounded lovers.
And rightly so.
There’s nothing like a hardworking woman, lured in by a villain, and rescued by the rich billionaire.
Harding had cheated, lied, and convinced Stetson of their so-called past and drew her into a life with him.
Stetson was due to marry Harding days before Christmas, but Mrs. Catherine Harding—the mother of the alleged serial cheater—lied to friends and family about Stetson being ill to buy herself some time.
The point—no idea.
Stetson had already married Vasiliou in a secret ceremony and was whisked away on her honeymoon. The same day, Mrs. Harding lied to the press about Stetson’s illness.
So, what’s to become of the Hardings? Should a woman who was tricked into a relationship be compensated for such deceit?
While there are no laws about lying and cheating, Stetson did what every woman wishes she could do—get even.
And, with that, I say, well done, Mrs. Vasiliou.
Well done.
“I didn’t correct the reporter when she used my last name as yours,” Bronte’s voice cuts through the room, causing me to jolt a bit. “We haven’t discussed it.”
Nope.
You were too busy fucking me last night for me to operate at a normal level.
“Fate-bounded lovers?” I glance up at him, standing in the doorway of his bedroom with his hands shoved in his perfectly tailored suit pocket. “Is that what you’ve been doing all morning instead of spending time with me?”
“Last time,” he replies evenly. “I promise.”
I lift my phone. “What was the point of this? We’re going to be the talk of the town with this story, and I don’t want—”
“Better this than Bobby claiming you’re the whore that married his brother.
” He stares at me, long and hard, but with a bit of softness in his eyes.
“Catherine would and was on her way to drag you through the press for making her look like a fool. Bobby isn’t going to be a victim.
You’re not going to be his victim. You already were.
And, I may not have saved you completely, but I will do everything in my power to have the upper hand on the Hardings at all times.
There is no universe where you’re to blame for anything. ”
I quirk a brow, even though his words sink heavy and warm into my chest for always putting me first. “And do you have a plan to kill this story so I don’t spend the next six months talking about Bobby? Because I’d rather not.”
Bronte closes the door with a soft click and steps deeper into the room. “I dunno, Daydream. You tell me.” I stare at him because I’ve got nothing to say. “My mother thinks you’re pregnant.”
My eyes bulge from my head because no.
No.
No.
No.
It’s not that I don’t want children. I mean, shit, I have a baby name list that’s how basic stupid I am because I had a plan.
A plan with Bobby.
A plan that was ruined, burned alive, and shattered.
I don’t have a strategy now. I meant what I said last night when I told Bronte that I loved him. I want to move to Boston to start a new life with him, but that’s as far as I’ve gotten. I had time to figure the rest out.
Had now being the past tense version of have.
Oh crap.
“You’re freaking out.”
My brows clash together because no shit. “Wouldn’t you?”
“No,” he says flatly and oh-so-confidently.
Easy for him to say because he’s psychotic. And it’s always the hot ones that are slightly unhinged.
“We haven’t discussed babies and diapers yet,” I retort matter-of-factly. “And we haven’t been married a whole month. I just said I was moving here with you. A baby—”
“Would be a Christmas miracle.”
Ha.
Leave it to him to use my love for the holidays to his damn advantage.
“I’m not pregnant,” I vouch with a long and unsteady exhale. “You’re not that good.”
“Aren’t I?” He cocks his head to the side, fully confident of himself on that feat.
“I vaguely remember you begging me last night for harder and deeper, but that could’ve been my imagination.
However, I do remember you crawling on top of me while half-asleep while you fucked me, so I guess I’m doing something right. ”
I scowl, but it’s weak at best. “This isn’t the time to be cocky. You just threw the P word at me.”
“Blame my mother. She’s the one who mentioned it this morning and asked.” He pulls a long white box from his coat pocket and puts it on display. “So I got you a test. When and if you’re ready.”
Nope.
I’m never going to be ready.
I don’t know if I’m going to be a good mom. I mean, God, I’m about to quit my job because I’m moving to Boston. I don’t even own a car.
“Bronte,” I mutter, rubbing at my forehead because, again, this wasn’t what I was expecting on the last day of the year. “I’m about to throw myself down a flight of stairs.”
He chuckles, deep and sexy in his chest, and extremely rare. “I’ll add potentially suicidal to your freaking out—”
“I’m not freaking out,” I snap, before I realize that I’m already borderlining denial. That I am, clearly, and I’ve done crazier things in the last week and a half.
But bringing another life into this world…I’m not sure I’m the best fit.
Bronte inches closer, stopping at the edge of the bed before he hunches down beside it, taking one of my hands into his.
“I’m not going to lie and say you carrying my child doesn’t do shit to me. In fact, I’ve never run to a drug store quicker in my life. However, I understand it not being the right time. And I’m not—”
“It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me.”
“You?” he repeats with zero indicators that he has doubts. “You’re talking to a man whose mother was Catherine Harding. You’d be a fantastic mother.”
Right.
Still.
“I’m…about to make a big move. I have to look for a new job. I need to buy a car.”
“I already did that. It’s in the driveway.”
It’s already in the driveway, he says.
And I’ve got nothing.
Nothing.
Just blinks and zero words that come to mind. Bronte just speaks and handles it. He doesn’t look for praise or holds it over my head.
He manages, protects, and loves me.
That’s all.
“You must really like being married to me,” I utter, holding his vivid light green eyes because they’re easy to fall into. They’re easy to believe.
“More than you’ll ever know, Daydream.”
With a small tug on his hand, Bronte is prompted to the meaning and begins climbing onto the bed, hovering on top of me as I wrap my arms around his spine.
“If we’re pregnant…I’m going to need time to mentally adjust.”
“Understandable.”
“And I need you to be patient with me.”
He nods. “I can do that.”
“And, Bronte…”
“Mhm?”