Chapter 33 #2
“Naturally, when my father broached the offer to marry the Bridger Adams, I figured, why not? Our merger would satisfy my father and the board of Barrington Industries.”
Please. Less talk about your … satisfying merger.
“The two of us working toward positive change together seemed better than continually fighting our parents, right?”
“I had the same thought,” Bridger admits. “Briefly.”
He reaches for my hand, grazing his thumb along my ring finger.
His honesty may be tough to hear sometimes, but the silver lining is being able to consistently believe in him.
Besides, they’re both right. The combined financial influence of the Adamses and Barringtons could be sizable.
And the truth is, Rosalind’s kind of awesome.
A part of me wishes they could merge. Just not that way. And I wish I had more to offer my husband.
Besides my heart.
“The times we’d met before,” Rosalind goes on, “you were a total gentleman. Not to mention, you’re extremely handsome.” She sends me a cringe of apology. “Sorry, but I’m just stating facts. Like … the ocean is wet. Space is vast. Your husband is hot. Am I right?”
Yes. … and I’m the tiniest bit tempted to gouge out your eyes.
“More importantly,” I say, “Bridger is brilliant.”
“That’s obvious too,” Rosalind agrees. “But believe me, I am not here to steal your man, hot and brilliant and kind as he may be. I had no idea he already had a wife until this morning. And Margaret forcing you to annul your marriage so I could take your place as his new wife? That’s just …
” Her voice trails off, and she shakes her head.
“Diabolical?” Bridger suggests.
“Shakespearean?” I chime in.
“I sure do love an English teacher,” Rosalind says. "And you’re so beautiful. Bridger is a lucky man.” Her bright smile reaches her eyes.
Maybe I’ll let her keep them after all.
“You know,” I tilt my head, “Rosalind is one of Shakespeare’s most underrated characters.”
“Underrated?” Rosalind smirks. “I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment.”
“Definitely do,” I say. “Most people know Juliet and Lady Macbeth. Some even know Katherine the shrew and Violet the muse. But Rosalind actually has the most lines of any of Shakespeare’s women.
She’s super clever in As You Like It. Independent, too.
She also solves the complicated love lives of other couples in the play. ”
“If I could wave a magic wand,” she says, “I’d do that too.”
“On second thought,” I say, “maybe you should marry Rosalind.”
Bridger guffaws. “Ignore my wife. She’s had a long day.”
“I’ll bet.” Rosalind’s expression softens. “My dad told me your mom was holding control of your trust hostage.”
“That was the original clause,” Bridger says, “which I already satisfied by getting married.” He sends a tender look my way. “Now she claims that if Loren and I stay together, she’ll make it her mission to prove our marriage is a sham.”
“Can she do that?”
“She can try.”
“Wow.” Rosalind exhales. “Diabolical.”
“Stupid napkin,” I mumble.
“Excuse me?” Rosalind blinks.
“Long story,” Bridger says.
For a split second, I consider telling him about his mother’s offer to take care of my dad if I forced the annulment, but that’s a conversation to be had in private.
No need to reveal how low his mother is willing to sink in front of Rosalind.
And honestly, Margaret’s carrying around some pretty big demons of her own. I wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone.
At least I know I’m loved.
“Hmm.” Rosalind lets out a breath, and her gaze goes distant for a moment. “You know I was just thinking …”
Bridger and I share a glance. Maybe she’s thinking she should leave. We still have a lot to discuss. I sure hope she doesn’t want to spend the night. Still, as Mrs. Adams, I should be a good host. Maybe—
“What if we collaborated anyway?” Rosalind says, laying her palms on her tailored trousers. “Just not as a couple,” she adds. “As partners.”
Bridger leans forward. “I’m listening.”
“If Margaret insists on turning your life into a battle,” she says, “we’ll simply redirect the energy.
My money. Your ideas. We could maybe meet once a month—online—to discuss potential investments in foundations we believe in.
Or scholarship funds. Philanthropies. Charities.
The causes you’d want to back anyway would get support, just in the Barrington name, not Adams.”
“I couldn’t care less whose name gets credit,” Bridger says. “It’s never been about that for me.”
“He made his donations last year completely anonymous,” I add.
“Nice.” Rosalind’s forehead lifts, and she addresses me. “Would you be comfortable with us working together on projects like that? I promise I have the utmost respect for your role as his wife. So any intellectual contributions you’d want to make would also be welcome.”
“Well, that’s good, because I don't have any cash to give.”
“Hold on.” Bridger frowns. “Won’t your father threaten you, too? I can’t let you suffer Lyle’s wrath just to get some projects funded. That defeats the whole reason behind our giving up the trust.”
Rosalind arches one delicate brow. “That won’t be a problem,” she says. “Margaret may be your trustee, but Lyle isn’t mine.”