Chapter 17 Madeline
Madeline
The restaurant at Bronson Hall glitters like a crown jewel in the heart of Aspen.
It sits low and sprawling in the belly of the resort, paneled in dark walnut and glass, glowing with chandeliers that spill warm light over the tables.
Guests murmur over their cocktails, polished silverware flashes against crystal glasses, and the mountain view through the broad windows is dusted in stars.
It’s beautiful, and easy to see why the company spread like wildfire through the luxurious cities of the world.
I tug at the skirt of the dress Stella helped me pick before I knew I’d be marrying Benedict, trying to quiet the gnawing unease in my stomach. It’s short, cocktail, a muted gold with a square neckline. Shows enough of my legs that I wonder if it would tempt him…
Tonight is not about me, I remind myself. It’s about Ben—about family, about… appearances. He didn’t say it outright, but I know. Ben wants to make this… civil.
My chest tightens at the thought of Derrick. The last time I saw him was yesterday, right before I was going to let his father debauch me in the middle of the living room.
The thought of Benedict’s sultry offer tugs something deep inside me, sending a shot of electricity from my core to my nipples. I ignore the thread of arousal, shaking my hair out over my shoulders.
Derrick showed up unannounced, eyes sharp as soon as he saw just how close we were standing. I’d been half-embarrassed, half-furious at his timing. Now, sitting at a table in his father’s empire, I feel the whole weight of the Bronson family legacy pressing down like the chandelier overhead.
“Stop worrying,” Caroline murmurs at my side.
She’s stunning in a simple black dress, her dark hair swept back to show off diamond earrings that could pay off a mortgage.
Not hers; a gift from Ben, I’m sure. Caroline and her son live somewhere on the property in a little cottage, comfortable and private.
I haven’t interacted with her much since the wedding.
She catches me fiddling with my napkin and lays a cool hand on mine.
“You’ll give yourself wrinkles before your thirties. ”
I laugh lightly, though it doesn’t reach my stomach. “I’m already thirty, Caroline, but thank you. I just… I don’t know what to expect.”
“You expect Derrick to behave like an adult. And you’ll be disappointed.” She lifts her wineglass and takes a long sip.
“Then why,” I murmur, “would Ben want to do this here and not at home?”
Caroline’s sharp eyes cut to me, narrowed in calculation. I like her, a lot. She’s feisty, a fallen angel in a line of kings and queens. But smarter than people realize.
“The last couple years have been… hard on Derrick. And now this. Just try to keep that in mind; every time the boy thinks he’s found his footing, something is taken from him.”
The meaning of her words sinks in, unspoken: His mother.
Now you.
Before I can reply, I feel Ben’s presence beside me. He’s in a tailored black suit that makes the whole room seem lesser. His hand brushes my shoulder briefly, grounding me, and when I glance up his green eyes are all control and restraint. I see the warning in them: stay calm, Maddie.
The ma?tre d’ approaches with a polite bow. “Mr. Bronson, your son has arrived.”
The air at our table tightens. Caroline exhales like she’s about to enjoy a play. Leo, her teenage son, perks up from behind his water glass, his eyes already bright with drama. And me? My palms sweat.
Then Derrick strolls in.
He’s dressed in a casual button-down and slacks, careless beside his father’s severity. His brown hair flops over his forehead; he pushes it back with the same hand holding his phone, as if the dinner is already boring him. He saunters up with a half-grin that doesn’t touch his eyes.
“Dad.” He doesn’t bother with a handshake, just drops into the seat across from Ben like he owns it. “Caroline. Leo.” Interestingly, it’s Caroline at the head of the table. His gaze flicks to me, lingering a moment too long. “Maddie.”
“Derrick,” I answer evenly, though my pulse stumbles.
Ben’s jaw tightens, but he gestures subtly for the waiter to pour wine. I’ll have to leave mine untouched and hope that no one notices. True to his word, Ben hasn’t told anyone yet. And tonight, would not be the night to do so.
“Thank you for joining us. I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”
“Well, you know me,” Derrick drawls, tossing his phone on the table. “Never miss a free meal.” It’s a careless comment, self-deprecating, but when Derrick looks at Ben I can see an edge of hate in his quick glance. What went wrong between them?
Caroline’s smirk widens. “Charming as always.”
The waiter fills glasses, sets down a basket of bread. Conversation stumbles forward in halting fragments—the weather, ski season, Bronson Hall’s new wing in Switzerland. Derrick feigns disinterest until Ben finally cuts clean through the civility.
“I’ll be direct,” Ben says, voice clipped. “You should know where things stand regarding the company.”
Derrick leans back, arms crossed, bored. “Enlighten me.”
Ben’s gaze is steady, brutal. “You are not inheriting Bronson Hall.”
The words drop like stones into the hush. My throat goes dry. Even Caroline looks startled, her brows arching. Leo swears softly under his breath, practically praying it won’t be his responsibility someday.
Derrick blinks, then barks a laugh. “That’s funny.”
“It isn’t,” Ben says. “The business will remain with me. And in due time, with the child Maddie and I are expecting.”
The air vacuums out of the room.
Everyone stares at Ben, and then me—or more fittingly, at the hand that flies to my stomach. Ben’s gaze is cold as he, too, turns his attention to me. A knot of betrayal forms in my chest. Why didn’t he ask before making this announcement?
And what the hell does he mean, our baby will be the heir to all of this?
Derrick’s face reddens in a slow, ugly bloom. “You’re joking.” His fists clench, a sneer turning his lip up. “You marry my fiancée, send Hugh halfway across the world to demand I come back and take your place, and in the meantime you knock her up?”
Ben’s face is stone. I suck in a breath, not realizing I’ve been holding it, and wish I could disappear beneath the table. But no one is looking at me now, at least not with Derrick’s accusation.
“You can’t be serious about cutting me out. I’m your only son.”
Caroline shifts uncomfortably. “Benedict—”
“Quiet,” Ben snaps, eyes never leaving Derrick.
“You think this—this scandal of a marriage—will save your empire?” Derrick’s voice rises, heads turning from other tables. “She’s half your age, Dad. Everyone knows you lost it the second Mom died.”
The words land like knives. Ben’s expression doesn’t flicker, but his hands curl against the tablecloth.
“Don’t,” he growls.
“Don’t what?” Derrick sneers, leaning forward, voice thick with venom. “Don’t bring her up? Don’t remind you that the night she died, you were too busy signing contracts to notice she said goodbye instead of goodnight? Don’t remind you that every whisper in Aspen says you drove her to it?”
The table goes dead silent. My stomach twists so hard I grip the arm of my chair, head snapping in Ben’s direction.
I didn’t know.
I’ve never heard…
Caroline’s face hardens. “That’s enough, Derrick.”
But he barrels on, voice breaking with anger. “You ruined Mom. And now you’re ruining me. Congratulations, Dad. You really are a Bronson—heartless to the end.”
Ben pushes to his feet, chair scraping against the polished floor. The whole restaurant watches, breathless. For a moment I think he’ll strike Derrick—his body is wound tight, fists clenched, jaw locked.
But he doesn’t. He just stands there, shaking with fury, eyes burning into his son.
“Get out,” Ben says, low and deadly.
Derrick scoffs, grabs his phone, and stalks away without another word. The sound of the doors slamming echoes like a gunshot.
Silence crushes the table. Then, slowly, conversation resumes at the other tables, as if nothing happened.
Ben sinks back down, shoulders rigid. He doesn’t touch his wine. He doesn’t look at me.
I want to reach for him, to tell him it isn’t true, that Derrick’s words don’t define him. But I don’t know what’s true.
Does the town really whisper that he’s the reason Georgiana died? He told me she was sick. Had been for a while… so what really happened?
When I set my hand on his arm, trying to find some sense of security in the sudden spinning of my world, he jerks away like I’ve burned him.
“Not here,” he bites out.
I flinch. Caroline watches with narrowed eyes but says nothing.
The rest of dinner is a hollow performance. Plates arrive, food untouched, words meaningless. Nausea roils in the pit of my stomach, but it’s not from the child growing there. I keep my head down, my throat tight with unshed tears.
Later, back in the suite Ben reserved for us to stay the night instead of returning to the lodge, I try again. He’s at the window, staring out at the night like it owes him something.
“Ben,” I say softly. “Talk to me.” The rooms are familiar now, months after our marriage. Like a mirror image I remember him leaving me in here to sort out the mess—giving me time to breathe, to accept the decision we’d both made.
Now I feel unmoored once again. Rocked.
“There’s nothing to say.”
“There’s everything to say.” I cross the room, standing close but not touching.
“First of all, you could have told me you wanted to tell them tonight.” I don’t even touch the subject of inheritance, not now.
“I wasn’t ready, and I…” My cheeks burn with the heat of embarrassment; the memory of everyone’s eyes on me.
This pregnancy shouldn’t feel like shame.
But Ben’s breathing, shallow and controlled, draws my attention back. I might not get answers about Derrick’s accusations right now, but I can at least try to comfort my husband. “He hurt you. I saw it. And I know it’s not true—what he said about Georgiana—”
His head snaps toward me, eyes blazing. “You don’t know anything about Georgiana.”
The words slice clean. I stagger back a step.
He drags a hand through his hair, muttering, “I thought dinner in public would keep him civil. I thought—” His voice cracks in frustration. “But Derrick has always blamed me for her death. Always. And he always will.”
“Ben…” Is it true? I’m tempted to ask.
He shakes his head, furious, wounded. “Enough, Madeline. Leave it.”
The dismissal cuts deeper than I expect. My throat aches, but I nod, retreating to the edge of the bed. He stays at the window, a silhouette carved from stone, refusing to look at me.
When Caroline knocks an hour later, I’m still sitting there, arms wrapped around my stomach, trying not to cry. Ben is gone; off somewhere in the resort, “taking care of some business” being his excuse, despite the fact that it’s late.
She steps in without asking, carrying a glass of water and a look too sharp to be pity.
“Don’t take it personally,” she says. “Ben shuts everyone out when he’s bleeding. And tonight…” She sighs, shaking her head.
“I only wanted to help.” My voice is small, ashamed.
Caroline sets the glass on the nightstand. “You can’t fix what broke between him and Derrick. And you can’t fix what broke when Georgiana died. All you can do is… be here. Even when he pushes you away.”
I nod, but it doesn’t ease the hollow ache in my chest.
Caroline’s hand lands lightly on my back, rubbing slow, maternal circles. It helps me drift closer to exhaustion, both mental and physical. Emotional, too, with the tears clogging my throat and hormones raging through my body.
She takes my hand, squeezes it. “I meant to say earlier—congratulations.”
Her eyes are bright in the dim room, her smile genuine.
“It’s exciting, having another Bronson on the way. And it’s a lot, Maddie, but I promise—it’ll be worth it.”
When she leaves, I lie back against the pillows, one hand pressed to my stomach. For the first time since the wedding, I wonder if I’ll ever truly reach him—or if his ghosts will always stand between us.