Chapter 21
Madeline
Irun my hands down the fabric of the dress again, for the fifth—no, maybe sixth—time.
It’s not like smoothing silk over silk is going to suddenly make the curve of my stomach disappear, but I can’t stop.
The dress is soft and fitted, in the warm shade of deep rose that Stella insisted makes my skin glow.
But the fact remains: there’s no hiding the bump anymore.
Small, yes. It’s barely noticeable to anyone who doesn’t know me.
But to me—and definitely to Ben—it feels like a billboard flashing “expecting.”
My reflection stares back from the gilt-edged mirror in Ben’s closet suite, brown eyes shadowed with nerves, mouth pressed tight.
He moved me into his bedroom four days ago, when I started having trouble sleeping.
It feels like an imposition even though Ben insists it’s not.
I don’t love the feel of needing someone, not after years of being independent, but the truth is I sleep better with Ben’s large body sheltering my own.
Closing my eyes, the way his body gives off heat comes to me unbidden: the stir of longing that makes me restless every night, even worse when he drops his hand to my hip and pulls me back into him. He has no idea how badly I want him, and I keep trying to disguise it.
Things have been… good between us. It still feels like he’s holding me at arm’s length lately, but his protective movements in the dark, the way he gently touches my face when he thinks I’m sleeping… with those small choices, he’s tethered me to him unknowingly.
My stomach twists with the nervous-excitement of realizing I’d do anything for Benedict, that being by his side feels like fate despite the fact that it started with a scandal. Anything, including going to this dinner.
I’ve faced my parents’ judgment my whole life, endured whispers at town events, even handled being abandoned at the altar by Derrick. But tonight? Tonight feels harder.
Because this is Ben’s world.
His friends. His traditions.
And I’m the scandal he’s bringing to dinner.
The soft knock on the door makes my stomach clench harder. I don’t even have time to call out before it opens.
Ben steps inside, broad shoulders filling the doorway, and I swear I forget how to breathe.
He’s in one of those impossibly tailored suits that somehow looks both casual and commanding, charcoal with a pale shirt open at the collar.
His silver hair gleams under the recessed lights.
He’s freshly shaved but left the hint of stubble that I’ve learned the hard way feels like fire against my skin.
His eyes find me immediately. Green, sharp, and—
Hungry.
I freeze, every thought about the bump or scandal evaporating as he shuts the door behind him. The quiet click feels intimate, dangerous, like a signal.
“You’re stunning,” he says simply.
I laugh nervously, brushing my hands down the dress again. “Stunningly obvious, maybe.” I gesture toward my stomach. “It’s not exactly easy to disguise anymore.”
His gaze drops, unapologetic, lingering on the curve beneath the silk. Something dark flares there. Possessive. Aroused. “Good,” he says, voice low. “I like it. More than like it.”
Heat floods my chest, my cheeks, racing downward in a pulse I can’t control. “Ben…”
He crosses the space in three strides, one big hand bracing my hip, the other sliding around to cup the small swell of my stomach.
The touch is reverent and claiming all at once.
“You’re carrying my child,” he murmurs, his lips so close to my ear that my knees threaten to buckle.
“Do you have any idea what that does to me?”
I swallow hard, but can’t help pushing my ass back against the throb of his erection. “Embarrass you, maybe?”
His head snaps up, eyes locking with mine, fierce. “No. Never. Don’t you dare think that.” His thumb traces circles low against my belly, protective. “If anything, it makes me want to lock every door in this house so I can keep you to myself.”
The air between us thickens. My pulse is racing, my breath shallow. His mouth brushes my temple, then drifts lower, grazing the edge of my cheek, down toward my jaw.
Unexpectedly, he spins me around, lifting me by my waist up onto the dresser that holds his watches, ties, miscellaneous things that glint in the dim room. With the only light coming from the spotlight near the mirror, Ben’s face is shadowed and serious, sending a spark of nerves through me.
Slowly, he pushes the silk dress up my legs, eyes glued to my thighs as the fabric clings. I take a shuddering breath, trying to control how badly I want him, trying not to reach out and rumble his suit.
As if reading my mind, he carefully shucks off the jacket and slings it over a chair. Then he presses my legs apart, standing between them, the thick tent of his erection obvious as he surveys me.
“If we had time,” he murmurs, reaching up to ghost his fingers over the pins holding my hair together, “I’d undo all this. Undress you. Make you come undone right here, until you understand just how turned on I am by you, Maddie Bronson.”
“Ben,” I half-whisper, half-plead, leaning further back as he gets to his knees. His green eyes are dark as he stares up at me, one hand palming his erection and stroking it slowly.
The other wraps around my calf, keeping my legs parted.
His gaze drops, staring at my pussy—or rather, the barely-there thong that I’m cursed to wear with this dress, though my fuzzy mind is grateful now that I didn’t have the chance to throw on cotton briefs or something embarrassing and comfortable.
“At night,” he continues in a dark voice, “with you curled up against me, it’s so hard not to take you from behind. To make you come on my fingers, wake up with an orgasm shaking every inch of your body.”
“Why haven’t you done that?” The words come out almost a whine, a frown creasing my brow and drawing a breathy laugh from Ben. His hand climbs higher, fingers brushing my inner thigh.
“You need your rest, Maddie, and you already have a hard time falling asleep. I don’t want to make it harder.”
On the last word, he gives his cock another decisive tug, and at this point I’m sure the trousers are about to be ruined. My breath catches, tongue darting out to wet my lips, as I confess: “I can’t sleep because I’m thinking about you. Doing all those things to me.”
There’s conversation somewhere, out beyond our suite; voices talking casually, lightly.
Probably Caroline and one of Ben’s servants.
He stands, adjusts himself, and holds out a hand to help me slide off the dresser.
His eyes linger as my own hands run over my curves again, trying to erase any hint of how close we almost came to burning this closet down.
“Later tonight,” Benedict says, voice roughened with promise, “I’ll show you exactly how much I like seeing you like this. Exactly how proud I am of you.”
My body shudders with want, the words sinking deep. But somewhere beneath the rush of heat, guilt pricks sharp and cold.
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know about Jack. About the marriage that makes me not who he thinks I am.
I press a hand to his chest, more for balance than resistance. His heart thuds steady under my palm, strong and sure. “We… we should go,” I manage, though every nerve in me screams to pull him closer instead. This is what I want, but it feels like something I can’t have—my own husband.
Happiness.
Benedict searches my face, like he can sense the battle. Then he smiles faintly, wickedly, and presses a quick, searing kiss to my mouth. “Dinner first. Later… mine.”
The word coils through me like a brand.
By the time we leave the house, my skin is still tingling.
Caroline and Leo are already waiting in the car.
Caroline lifts one arched brow as Ben helps me into the passenger seat, his hand lingering on my waist just long enough to be noticeable.
She doesn’t comment—thank God—but her smirk says she’s cataloging every detail for ammunition later.
I wonder what they talk about behind the closed door of Ben’s study.
I know Caroline comes sometimes, usually at night, and sits across the desk from him.
Is it just business? She does have a place in Bronson Hall, even if her father, as I’ve heard, didn’t want anything to do with her after the pregnancy.
The disgrace that Caroline went through, as well as her involvement in the family company being overlooked and thankless, sends a pang of fondness through my chest. If anyone here gets me, it’s her, and she lets me know that by reaching forward from the back seat and squeezing my hand.
The drive winds us through Aspen’s darker streets until the houses grow larger, estates glittering with light behind wrought-iron gates. Ben hasn’t joined these dinners in months, and I can feel the tension in him, the way his hand flexes against his knee, the restless set of his jaw.
“Did you miss it?” I ask softly, leaning closer. “Dinner with your friends?”
He glances at me, lips pressed, then nods. “Joseph and Ann hosted long before I was married to Georgiana. After she passed, they insisted on keeping me involved. I’ve skipped lately. Too many… complications.”
“Like marrying me.”
His hand shifts, finding mine, squeezing firmly. “Like Derrick disappearing, yes. But no. Not like marrying you.”
I don’t know what to say to that. So, I stay quiet, letting the city fade into shadow.
From the backseat, Caroline chides lightly, “Leo, get off your phone please. We need to be polite.”
The sixteen-year-old snorts, but the flickering light I can see in the rearview goes out. “Why?” he asks with a sigh. “They don’t even like you.”
For a moment, the car feels tense. But Ben doesn’t even glance in the backseat; doesn’t bother reassuring his sister. Caroline sits up straighter, pushes her shoulders back.
“It doesn’t matter if they like me, Leo. The best way to get back at someone is to be happy.”
I bite my lip, but the question still slips out: “Are you happy?”
Ben’s eyes cut to mine, darkening. Caroline only laughs and Leo glances at his mom in interest.
“Yes,” she answers honestly. “It wasn’t easy coming back here, pregnant with Leo and no man to ‘take care of me,’” the words are scathing, making it clear that this is a myth she doesn’t put any stock in.
“A lot of my friends stopped associating with me and obviously jokes and cruel comments were made. But I knew it would be worth it. I felt it, and as soon as I saw him, it only reinforced that belief.”
She speaks proudly, unapologetically, despite Leo murmuring an embarrassed, “Mom.”
“Besides,” Caroline adds with a grin, “there have been some rumors about their daughter visiting certain doctors after a little too much fun at college. Funny how the things you criticize can come to roost on your own doorstep.”
It’s good to hear, though, because while our situations aren’t exactly the same, they’re similar. I’m pregnant with the child of a man who never planned to remarry. About to meet his friends, who—I can only assume—were also his wife’s friends.
How will they feel about me?
It isn’t long before we’re pulling up to a mansion of pale stone and dark timber that could rival a European chateau. Lanterns glow along the drive, casting warm pools of light on polished windows. It’s the kind of house that feels both welcoming and intimidating.
As we step out, the front doors swing open.
Joseph is tall, silver-haired as well but softer than Ben, with a booming laugh that echoes down the drive.
Ann is slim, elegant in navy silk, every inch the hostess.
And behind them, a younger woman—Sienna, it must be.
Mid-twenties, beautiful in a sharp, modern way, her dark hair pulled sleek and her gaze curious as it slides over me.
“Maddie.” Joseph’s smile is polite, warm, but his eyes flicker quickly to my stomach before coming back to my face. Not cruel, just… measuring. At least for now.
Ann leans in for the air-kiss greeting. “We’ve heard so much about you. Finally, we get to meet the woman who tamed Benedict Bronson.”
Tamed. My cheeks flame, mostly because I can’t tell if there’s an edge of sarcasm to the words. I glance at Ben, who looks like he’s holding something back, but his arm stays firm around me, grounding.
Sienna lingers at the threshold, arms folded. Her smile is faint, guarded, not unkind but not exactly welcoming either. There’s something in her eyes—curiosity, maybe resentment—that makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
“Come in, come in,” Joseph urges, sweeping us toward the warmth of the house.
But even as the doors close behind us, I can feel it—the tension beneath the politeness, the weight of judgment just waiting for the right crack to spill through.
And as Ben’s hand presses lightly at my back, guiding me forward, I wonder if tonight will be the moment everything breaks open.