Chapter 36
Benedict
The engines hum like a lullaby beneath my feet, steady and relentless as we carve across the Atlantic sky. From my seat in the jet’s cabin, I can see the world dissolve into endless white below us—clouds stretched like a blanket, the sun glinting gold against the windows.
The baby shower was a week ago, and Caroline caught me waiting for the other shoe to drop. Right before we left the lodge, she’d kissed me on the cheek and murmured in my ear: “She’s fine, Ben. She has you. Even if her family upset her, she knows now that you’re here for her and the baby.”
Gwen Clarke was certainly the villain of that afternoon; sharp glances at other guests, a single brow raised at comments anyone made about our happy marriage.
Though I only lingered for twenty minutes, it was long enough to see that Gwen still didn’t realize just how much her daughter was cherished here.
The land in Montana was the least I could do—after everything that Maddie has done for me.
She’s sitting across from me in one of the wide leather seats, barefoot, her legs curled under her.
Her hair falls in loose waves, catching the cabin’s light.
The cashmere wrap she loves is pulled around her shoulders, and her hand rests absently over her belly, like she can’t help but touch the proof of what we’ve made.
It’s October, and she’s the epitome of the season back home: all golds and browns and beige, comfort and warmth.
My throat tightens.
Six months pregnant. I don’t think I’ve stopped being in awe of her since the day she told me.
She notices me watching and arches a brow. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say, though my lips twitch. “Everything.”
She snorts. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
She shakes her head, fighting a smile. Then her gaze sharpens, studying me like she can see the restless energy thrumming under my skin. “You’re tense.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not. You’ve been prowling around this cabin like a caged tiger since we took off.”
She isn’t wrong. I hate being idle. I hate hours where there’s nothing to do but think, and the flights to other Bronson resorts are my worst nightmare. And with her so close, with the baby pressing against the fabric of her dress every time she shifts, my mind isn’t in any state to be quiet.
She leans forward, her voice dropping low, intimate. “I could help with that.”
My brows lift. “Maddie—”
But before I can finish, she slides gracefully from her seat and kneels between my legs on the thick carpet. My pulse spikes, my control fraying instantly.
“You shouldn’t—”
“Why not?” Her hands glide over my thighs, firm and sure. “Private jet. No one here but us. You’re restless, Ben. Let me take care of you.”
Every instinct tells me to stop her. To say she needs to rest, that she shouldn’t strain herself. But then her fingers work at my belt and her eyes lift—full of heat, daring, and a devotion that guts me. My resolve crumbles.
I grip the armrests, breath coming rough as she frees me. The first brush of her mouth makes me bite back a groan, cock throbbing with want.
“Christ, Maddie.”
She hums in satisfaction, lips wrapped around the head and slowly moving down, the vibration shooting straight through me. I fist her hair—not to push, but to ground myself. She works my shaft with slow, deliberate care, her tongue wicked, her pace merciless, slim fingers wrapped at the base.
I hold on as long as I can, but she knows me too well. Just as I’m about to break, I haul her up, kissing her hard, swallowing her laugh as I turn her and press her against the seat.
“Mine,” I growl against her mouth.
“Yours,” she gasps back, helping me pull down the comfortable, luxurious sweatpants she has on.
Pregnancy has made her a woodstove, constantly putting off heat, and I’m like a missile seeking that heat out—my hand goes right to her core, making sure she’s wet and ready for me as I tug her ass to the edge of the chair.
I thrust into her in one hard stroke, and everything else disappears—the altitude, the hum of the engines, the years I lost believing I’d never feel this again. There’s only her, wrapping around me, pulling me deeper, her nails biting into my shoulders.
“Fuck, Ben,” she gasps, her tits jiggling under the wrap that’s coming undone with each thrust. I push it aside, palm her breasts and lean back, pumping into her relentlessly.
Her nails dig into my forearms as she comes, pussy tightening around my cock, and I’m not sure if it’s the altitude or the blissed-out look on her face, but I follow quickly after.
When it’s over, I adjust her clothes with shaky hands, fix myself up, and sit her in my lap. With a happy murmur, Maddie sinks back into a cat nap as the world below us shifts from autumn-gilded trees to the Atlantic.
Maybe the mile-high cliché exists for a reason.
With her in my arms, I start to drift off myself.
Eyes heavy-lidded, memories of Derrick as a boy come back to me; and Georgiana, laughing as he ran down a trail on the lodge’s property.
But now, with my little wife curled up against my chest and our future ahead of us, I feel only gratitude for Georgiana—for showing me what love was capable of, and giving me the strength to welcome it into my life again.
This trip to Sweden feels different. It’s because this time around, I made sure Maddie was by my side instead of leaving her behind.
This feels right.
Hours later, the pilot announces our descent.
Maddie presses her face to the window, eyes wide as Sweden unfolds beneath us—green forests stitched with rivers, lakes like mirrors catching the afternoon sun. Her awe radiates through the cabin, warming me from the inside out.
“Ben…” she whispers. “It’s gorgeous.”
“You’ve never been before?”
She shakes her head. “Never even been out of the country until today.”
That surprises me. “Your parents—aren’t they jet-setters? They have clients in France, I know, and Canada…”
Madeline’s smile doesn’t quite catch at her eyes. “They always went just the two of them. Stella and I stayed home with nannies, usually.” She turns back to the window, her blonde hair catching the glimmering sun. “I’m happy it’s happening like this, though. With you.”
Reaching out, I slip my fingers into hers and her smile softens into something more genuine.
“You haven’t even seen it yet.”
She shrugs, turning away from the window. “Doesn’t really matter. I think I’d enjoy myself wherever you are.”
The car ride from the airstrip takes us through winding forest roads, and then suddenly the resort rises ahead, perched among the trees. Glass and timber, steel softened by natural lines, the structure looks grown rather than built. It gleams against the backdrop of mountains and water.
Maddie bites her lip, clutching my hand as she rises from the car. “Ben, it’s even more gorgeous than the photos I’ve seen. I can’t believe it’s yours.”
“Ours,” I correct.
Her gaze flicks to me. “Ours?”
“You’re head of events now. This is your kingdom.”
Her lips part, her eyes shining. For once, she doesn’t argue.
The lobby welcomes us with soaring ceilings, glass walls that frame the wilderness outside, and a fireplace big enough to step into. The management team is waiting—executives in sleek suits, staff in crisp uniforms, faces alight with anticipation.
Normally, I would lead. Shake hands, deliver the speeches, make sure they knew exactly who pulled the strings. But today, I step back.
Maddie slips into the space I leave open like she was born for it. She greets them warmly, her smile genuine, her questions sharp and thoughtful. She listens with her whole body, leaning in, nodding, making them feel heard.
And they respond. Not with the stiff deference I usually command, but with enthusiasm, with respect earned rather than demanded.
As we walk through the halls of the resort, she asks about the kitchen staff, about the event spaces, and about sustainability partnerships.
She laughs at a small joke from the head chef, and I watch the man puff up with pride.
She suggests tweaks to the guest flow, and I see the operations director scribble notes like she’s delivering gospel.
I’ve never seen her like this. Confident. Radiant. Powerful. But I’ve known this whole time she has it in her—after all, part of what attracted me to Crown Maddie kneeling in front of me on the private jet, her hands on my thighs, sliding upwards…
“Better?” I murmur, pressing my thumb firmly into the arch of her foot.
“Much.” Her smile is sleepy, content. She curls against me when I sit beside her, her head on my chest, her hand on our daughter.
“I had an idea,” she says softly, after a long silence.
“For what?”
“For her name.”
I go still. My heart hammers. “Tell me.”
“Juniper.”
The word lingers in the air, sweet and strong. Nervous at my silence, Maddie turns in my arms, looking up at me with a worried gaze. “I thought of it at the shower, but I wasn’t sure… I didn’t know if you had something in mind, or…”
“Juniper,” I repeat, tasting it. It fits. Strong but soft. Rooted in the earth, like the mountains she loves.
Her eyes search mine. “Do you like it?”
“I love it,” I say, without hesitation. My throat tightens. “Juniper Bronson.”
Her smile curves slow and certain, and she burrows closer, whispering the name again like a secret only we share.
I wrap my arms around her, hold her against me, and let the quiet settle.
For the first time in decades, the future doesn’t terrify me. It feels like a promise.