Chapter 34
Benedict
The morning light spills across the Philadelphia skyline like liquid gold, but all I see is her.
Maddie stirs beside me in the suite’s vast bed, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other resting over the gentle curve of her stomach.
My child. Our child. The sight does something to me—something I can’t fully name.
A tightening in my chest, a sharp ache that feels half like joy, half like terror.
For three days I’d been empty. For three days I thought I might never see her again. Now, I can’t stop watching her breathe.
When her eyes blink open, hazy with sleep, I have the unfamiliar urge to say something ridiculous. To tell her she’s beautiful. To tell her I don’t deserve this moment. Instead, I clear my throat. “Get dressed. I’ve planned something.”
She groans into the pillow. “You’re not a morning person. Why do you sound like one?”
“Because I want you out of this bed.” I brush my knuckles along her jaw, a small indulgence. “Trust me.”
She lifts her head suspiciously. “Ben…”
“Trust me,” I repeat, and I can’t help the ghost of a smile.
Boyds looks like a cathedral for the well-dressed. Marble floors gleam, brass fixtures catch the light, and racks of designer clothing line the space with military precision. But today, the store is empty. Not a single customer in sight.
Maddie halts at the threshold, eyes wide. “Ben. Did you—did you shut down the entire store?”
“Of course.” I slide my hand to the small of her back, guiding her inside. “You’ve been complaining about feeling… what was it? ‘Huge and gross’?”
Her cheeks color. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know exactly what you meant,” I interrupt, lowering my voice near her ear.
She must’ve said that phrase at least five or six times the night before, especially when she was wolfing down dinner.
“But for the record, you’ve never looked more beautiful to me.
Still, I thought you deserved some indulgence. ”
A woman in a sleek black suit approaches, beaming like a diplomat about to greet royalty. “Mr. Bronson, Mrs. Bronson. Welcome. Everything is prepared.”
Maddie blinks. “Everything?”
“Yes,” the woman says smoothly. “Private fittings, maternity tailoring, custom footwear. Whatever you need.”
Maddie shoots me a look equal parts awe and exasperation. I merely arch a brow.
“This is ridiculous,” she whispers as we follow the woman deeper into the store.
“This is normal,” I counter. “Get used to it.”
The fitting room is larger than most apartments. A plush velvet sofa dominates one corner, mirrors line the walls, and racks of clothing await her.
I drop onto the sofa, stretching my legs. “Go on. Try something.”
She glares at me, then reluctantly lets the attendant usher her behind a curtain.
Minutes later, she emerges in a pale silk dress that clings lovingly to her figure. My eyes follow the way it shadows around her belly, accentuating her bump. She tugs at the hem, frowning. “I look like a blimp.”
I nearly choke. A blimp? The word doesn’t belong anywhere near her. She is radiant. Lush. Every curve, every line, a temptation.
“You look…” My throat works. “Exquisite.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re biased.” Checking to make sure the attendant isn’t nearby, she adds quietly, “Especially after last night.”
“I’m obsessed,” I correct. “And you’re lucky you made it out of the bed this morning—I thought about keeping you there for quite a long time, Madeline Bronson.”
She laughs, shaking her head, and disappears again.
The procession continues: tailored wrap dresses in jewel tones, a cashmere coat so soft I have to touch it myself, flats made from hand-stitched Italian leather that ease her swollen feet.
Every time she emerges, I feel the tug in my gut tighten.
She pauses at the mirror in a cream wrap, cradling her stomach absentmindedly.
The fabric drapes elegantly over her body, hugging her curves, her glow undeniable.
I can’t stop staring.
“You’re drooling,” she teases, catching my reflection in the mirror.
“Correct,” I say without hesitation.
Her laugh rings out, free and bright, and the sound slices through the guarded walls I’ve built around myself for years.
Halfway through, the attendant appears with a tray. On it: a frosted glass filled with crushed ice swimming in pickle juice.
Maddie freezes. Then bursts out laughing. “You didn’t.”
“I did.” I tip my head toward the glass. “Drink it.”
She stares at me like I’ve just grown a second head. “How did you even—”
“Hugh,” I admit. “He told me.”
She groans, face flushing, but she takes the glass and sips through the straw. Her eyes close with bliss. “God, that’s good.”
I shake my head in disbelief, but the sight of her so happy makes the absurdity worth it.
“See?” she says, straw between her lips. “You don’t have to understand me. Just enable me.”
“That,” I murmur, “I can do.”
When the attendants finally leave us alone, the silence settles warm and thick.
Maddie sits beside me on the sofa, one leg tucked under her, the cashmere wrap draped over her shoulders.
She looks cozy, soft, impossibly tempting.
I can’t help wrapping my arm around her, pulling her closer to breathe in her scent.
“Ben?” she asks quietly.
“Yes.”
Her eyes search mine. “Why are you doing all this?”
The question pierces me. For a moment, my instinct is to deflect. To talk about appearances, contracts, responsibility. But none of that is true anymore.
I lean forward, bracing my forearms on my thighs, and let the words come raw.
“Because I never expected this,” I admit. My voice is low, rough. “Not you. Not the baby. Not the chance for a new chapter after I thought my life was finished. And because I’ll do anything to keep it. To keep you. To make sure you never feel lonely again.”
Her eyes glisten. My chest aches.
“I haven’t been as present as I should’ve been,” I add, hating the confession but needing it spoken. “The past few months… I buried myself in work, in obligations. I let you carry too much alone. And I’m sorry, Maddie. I am so damn sorry.”
Her hand finds mine, small and sure. “Ben.”
“I can’t undo what I missed. But I can promise this: from now on, you come first. You and the baby. Always.”
For once, she doesn’t argue. She just squeezes my hand and leans into my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck.
The rest of the morning passes in a blur of fittings, laughter, and quiet moments.
The staff orbit us at a respectful distance, every one of them deferential.
I can feel their eyes flick to me when they think I’m not looking—intimidated, cautious, but also curious—but I don’t care. Let them think what they want.
Because Maddie doesn’t look at me with fear or awe. She looks at me with something that feels dangerously close to trust.
When we finally step back onto the street, her arms laden with bags, she shakes her head. “That was insane.”
“That was necessary.”
Her lips twitch. “I don’t feel huge and gross anymore.”
“Good,” I say, opening the car door for her. “Because you never were.”
And as she slides in beside me, I swear to myself I’ll prove it every day from now until forever.