Chapter 33
Maddie
The city below us is alive with noise, but all I can hear is the pounding of my own heart. Ben’s words still echo in the air between us, heavy and impossible and terrifyingly sweet.
I don’t need you to love me the way I feel for you.
The way he said it—quiet, steady, stripped of all his usual armor—unravels me. My lungs tighten, my pulse races.
He’s in love with me.
He’s in love with me, and he’s not even hiding it anymore.
I grip the railing, my knuckles whitening against the cold metal.
The wind stings my cheeks, but it’s nothing compared to the burn inside me.
A small part of me in the very back of my mind misses Colorado—misses it even more than I missed the sprawling acreage of Montana when I first went to live with Ben.
If he means what he says—if he’s truly willing to accept me, baby and all—then I can’t keep hiding. I can’t build whatever this is on silence and secrets. Not when the truth is pressing at my ribs like it wants out, and not when I’ve expected the same—the truth—from him.
I turn to face him. His eyes—God, those eyes—search mine with a kind of restrained desperation, like he’s bracing himself for a blow.
“Ben,” I whisper, my throat thick. “If we’re going to do this, if you’re serious about what you just said… then I do need to tell you. Otherwise, I’ll carry this around forever, waiting for someone—Derrick, one of your friends—to tell you, and wondering if you’ll hate me for it.”
Benedict doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t interrupt. He just nods once, hands loose at his sides, waiting.
“It’s about Jack,” I say. My stomach twists as the words scrape out. “There’s… history there. Not the way you think,” I add quickly, before the hurt can sharpen in his eyes. “It was never romantic. Not like that.”
The wind picks up, tugging my hair into my mouth. I swipe it back, pressing forward before I lose my nerve.
“We grew up together. He was my best friend, more like a brother. And when his mom got sick, he was desperate to be stationed close enough to help her. There was a loophole if he was married.”
Ben’s eyes flicker, just barely, but I push through it.
“So, we did it. We went to a courthouse one afternoon, signed papers, and that was it. We were husband and wife on paper, so he could get his posting. No rings, no vows, no wedding night.” My chest tightens, heat flooding my cheeks as I remember my wedding night with Ben—what shouldn’t have happened, and what I wanted. And savored. How right it felt.
A seed of worry, the one I’ve been carrying around for months now, blooms in my chest. Despite everything he said only moments ago, I can’t help but wonder—what if he isn’t okay with this?
“We divorced a few years later, after his mom passed. It’s been over for a long time. Only Stella ever knew. And now you.”
Silence swells between us, broken only by the hum of traffic far below.
I force myself to look at him. “I was afraid to tell you. Afraid you’d see me as…
tarnished. Dishonest. Like I was keeping some ugly secret.
” My voice cracks. “And it’s cheating the system; if they, the government, had found out what we did…
I’ve felt so damn lonely most of my life, Ben.
Even when I was surrounded by people, even when I was doing everything I was supposed to. But then you—”
My breath stutters. “You made me feel seen. Wanted. Like maybe I wasn’t a burden. Like maybe I could belong to someone. Be good at something.”
The confession rips out of me raw, leaving me shaking. I can’t stop the tears burning at the corners of my eyes, tumbling down my cheeks.
Ben doesn’t speak. Not at first. He just closes the distance between us in three steady steps and gathers me into his arms.
The solidity of him, the sheer size, swallows me whole. His chest is warm and unyielding, his heartbeat steady against my cheek. His hand cups the back of my head like he’s afraid I’ll shatter.
“You’re not tarnished,” he says roughly, into my hair. “You’re not dishonest. You’re mine. That’s all that matters.”
Something inside me breaks—something brittle I’ve been holding onto for years—and I cling to him, sobbing into his jacket. Relief surges through me, wild and unsteady, because he means it. I can feel it in the way he holds me.
When I finally ease back, he doesn’t let me go far. His thumb brushes over my damp cheek, steady, sure.
“We’re leaving,” he says simply.
“What?”
“Pack your things. We’re leaving.”
But there’s no threat, no anger in the declaration. Just a softness in his eyes that I’ve seen a dozen times before—a look that makes my cheeks flush, makes it feel like we’re alone even with the entire city below us.
Before I can protest, he’s already guiding me back toward the stairs, his hand firm at my back. It’s decisive, commanding—but not harsh. He’s not dragging me away. He’s guiding me forward.
Jack is waiting in the living room, leaned casually against the arm of the couch with a mug in one hand and the TV remote in the other. He straightens when we come down the stairs, and his eyes flick between us.
Ben doesn’t posture, gloat, or do what I’ve feared in the last few moments coming back down: tell Jack he better never look at me, contact me, again. He just reaches out his hand. “Thank you,” he says, voice low but genuine. “For taking care of her.”
Jack looks at him for a long beat, then nods once and clasps his hand. “Of course.” His eyes soften when they shift to me. “You know where I am if you need me, Maddie.”
I nod, throat tight. “I know.”
Ben retrieves my bag from the guest bedroom, his eyes narrowing with something sweet at the sight of my things barely unpacked.
Tucking a few things back in, glancing my way as if to ask if that’s everything, he slings it over his shoulder like it weighs nothing and steers me out the door.
I glance back once—Jack gives me a small, encouraging smile—and then the door shuts behind us.
I expect the airport. Another flight. Home.
But when the car pulls up to the Four Seasons, my brows shoot up. “What is this?”
Ben pays the driver, then turns to me with a ghost of a smile. “A suite I booked three days ago.”
“You—what?”
His gaze sharpens, heat flickering there. “I told myself it was insurance. In case you needed time. But the truth?” He exhales, shaking his head. “I was hoping. Hoping you’d let me bring you here. Hoping you’d give us a chance to fix what’s between us.”
My chest swells so painfully I can hardly breathe.
The suite is breathtaking—gold-hued walls with a built-in bar (not that I could have anything from it), green marble accent tables, a sprawling rug calling to my tired feet, and a wall of windows overlooking the city.
Ben tucks our baggage away and trails me as I walk through, chuckling at the fact that this suite is pretty much the same size as Jack’s apartment.
“Oh,” I moan, leaning against the wall and staring into the bathroom, “thank God.”
A smile ghosts Ben’s lips. “I thought you might like that.”
He’s talking about the soaking tub, a perfect free-standing curve of white porcelain with a gorgeous brass faucet. Two robes hang on the wall, waiting, and the lights spill an amber glow throughout the room that compliments the late afternoon light.
“Thank you,” I whisper, turning to face my husband. His brows knit as I step into his reach, gently drawing his hands to my hips. Searching his face, I find that same stripped-down intensity from the rooftop. No mask. No performance. Just him.
“I don’t want space anymore,” I murmur.
His breath hitches. Then he’s on me, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that sears me down to the bone. It’s not frantic. It’s reverent. Devouring. The kind of kiss that says I almost lost you and I will never let you go again.
Tugging my t-shirt off, Benedict actually growls when I’m in nothing but the bra and leggings, earning a laugh from me. He guides me back carefully to the bed, pulls the curtains closed—not that anyone could see us on the 58th floor—and then starts discarding his own clothes.
The jacket first, leaving him in tailored jeans and a fitted t-shirt that leaves little to the imagination. My hungry eyes rove his body, the twist of his muscles beneath thin fabric, as he starts to yank it over his head.
Then the jeans.
The sight of him, hard, in just boxers, stalking toward me.
His eyes snap to mine as he kneels at the foot of the bed and eases my leggings off, then my underwear—far from lace trimmed silk, but he licks his lips like they’re luxury anyway, then stares down my naked body as I feel a hot flush unfurl over every inch of my skin.
“Here,” he rumbles, moving over me and helping me slide up the bed, my body aching for his as his thighs brush my hips and his erection bobs against the base of my stomach. “This might be more comfortable.”
I laugh as he positions us, like mannequins, his hands lingering just under my breasts, smoothing down my thighs, until he’s pressed against my back with me on my side. It’s surprisingly comfortable given how big I already am.
“Oh,” I gasp, caught off guard at his hand sinking between my thighs and plying my pussy like it’s his. Because it is—all his. I open my legs for him and drop my head back onto his shoulder, moaning as he sinks two fingers inside me.
“You missed me, Maddie?” he asks, chest vibrating against my back. I make a sound of agreement, already hazy with how bad I want him.
It’s been a while since it was just us, unfettered by our fears, giving in to each other. How strange that only months ago he was mine for the first time at Bronson Hall… in his suite… my bridal lingerie not going to waste, my annoyance and anger turning to lust the moment he claimed me.
I feel it all over again as Ben guides my legs open and enters me from behind, sliding in effortlessly, stretching me deliciously. We both moan, the sound obscene in the quiet room, and his fingers clutch my hip to pull me closer.
With his fingers playing my clit almost lazily, a juxtaposition to his reckless thrusts, it doesn’t take long before my back arches and I dig my nails into his thigh as the orgasm crashes over me.
It literally makes my toes curl, his fingers slowing to a caress, his own hips stuttering as he comes with a groan, pressing himself as deep inside and against me as he can.
We lay there, both panting, bodies sinking into the plush bedding as the light breaking through the curtains turns butter-gold.
Benedict presses kisses against the back of my neck, gently moving my hair behind my ear, running his hand over my belly and cupping it as I finally manage to catch my breath.
“Stay here,” he murmurs, carefully extricating himself. “Don’t worry about the mess.” His eyes, dark with lust and satisfaction, flicker over my body as I shift onto my back.
He disappears into the bathroom and as soon as the bath starts running I sigh in contentment. When he reappears, he has a warm, damp towel and cleans me up before helping me on shaky legs to the tub.
“This is amazing,” I murmur, feeling buoyant and pliant as the warm water loosens my muscles.
“We can stay,” Ben answers, reaching into the standing shower nearby and turning the knob. “Forever, if you want. Anywhere, Maddie—as long as I’m with you.”
Sinking into the water to hide my smile and the blush that covers my cheeks, I watch as he cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and steps into the shower.
He finishes before me—unsurprising, even though I know I need to get out, pee, get some food in me, and finally rest. After weeks of feeling hunted by my past, by Derrick, and unsure about Ben’s real feelings for me and our child, my mind is blissfully quiet.
I feel secure, reassured, and most of all, wanted. And that makes all the difference.
Later, tangled in sheets that smell of us, I trace circles on his chest with one finger. The city hums somewhere down below, but here in this cocoon, it’s just us.
“We can’t stay here forever,” I murmur.
“No,” he agrees. His hand rests over my stomach, protective, tender. “But we can stay for a few days. See the city. Eat ridiculous food. Pretend, just for a little while, that we’re not who we are.”
I smile faintly. “A vacation.”
“A reprieve,” he corrects, his lips brushing the crown of my head.
Silence stretches, comfortable. But one worry gnaws at me, pulling me back to the surface.
“What about Derrick?” I whisper. “What happens when we go back? He’s your son, Ben. You can’t just—”
“That’s for me to figure out,” he says firmly, cutting me off. His arms tighten around me. “Not you. Not ever again. You’ve carried enough.”
I close my eyes, letting the weight of his certainty sink into me. For the first time in years, I let myself believe I’m not alone in the fight.
And as sleep pulls me under, I think maybe—just maybe—home won’t feel so lonely anymore.