14. Ivy
— ? —
Ivy
He tells me after dinner, when Amelie’s gone home and Maddie’s asleep and there’s nothing left to distract us from the truth.
“Millie called today.”
I’m washing dishes, hands deep in soapy water, and I go very still.
“And?”
“She’s engaged. To Richard Ashworth.”
“Good for her?”
“She’s also giving an interview.” He’s standing by the window, not looking at me. “About her time at Mason Industries. About what it was like working for me. About us.”
I turn off the water. Dry my hands slowly, deliberately, giving myself time to think.
“What kind of interview?”
“Human interest piece. Her journey from assistant to billionaire’s fiancée.” His voice is hollow. “She’s going to paint a picture, Ivy. The neglectful husband. The emotional affair. The wife who ran. By the time she’s done, I’ll be the villain of a story the whole country wants to hate.”
“You were the villain.”
“I know. But this isn’t just about reputation.
” He finally turns to face me, and there’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen before.
Real fear. “The board’s already unhappy about how much time I’ve spent here.
Everything’s down. Investors are nervous.
An interview like this, timed right, could tank the stock.
Partners will distance themselves. Clients will walk. ”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough that there might not be a company left when the dust settles.”
The words land heavy in the quiet kitchen.
“You spent fifteen years building Mason Industries.”
“I did.”
“And now it might all collapse because you’re here. Because you stayed instead of going back.”
“Yes.”
I wait for it. The accusation, the blame. The part where he tells me this is my fault, that if I’d just forgiven him sooner, if I’d come back when he asked, none of this would be happening.
He doesn’t say any of it.
He sits down at the kitchen table, looking smaller than I’ve ever seen him. This man who commanded boardrooms and closed billion-dollar deals, shrinking into one of my wooden chairs like the weight of the world is pressing down on his shoulders.
“I need to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“If everything falls apart.” He swallows hard.
“If the company fails and the money dries up and I’m not Kurt Mason the CEO anymore.
If I’m just… Kurt. Some guy with nothing to offer except himself.
” He looks up at me, and his eyes are wet.
“Will you still let me see her? Will Maddie still know who I am?”
The question breaks something inside me.
“That’s what you’re worried about? Not the company? Not the money? Not fifteen years of work going up in flames?”
“I don’t care about the company.”
“Kurt…”
“I mean it.” His voice cracks. “I built that company because I thought it would make me happy. It didn’t.
I thought it would make me feel successful.
It didn’t. I thought if I was rich enough and powerful enough, eventually I’d feel like I was enough.
” He laughs bitterly. “I had everything, Ivy. The penthouse, the cars, the board seats. And I was miserable. The only time I’ve been happy in the last year is here.
In this kitchen. Wrecking pastry and folding boxes wrong and watching our daughter grow. ”
“You’d really let it all go?”
“I already have.” He spreads his hands on the table.
“The quarterly calls I’m missing. The meetings I’m skipping.
The board members I’m ignoring. I’ve been letting it go for weeks because being here matters more.
Millie’s interview is just the final nail in a coffin I started building the day I decided to stay. ”
I pull out the chair across from him and sit down.
“You’re telling me that Kurt Mason, the man who scheduled our anniversary dinners through his assistant, is willing to lose everything for Saturday mornings at a bakery?”
“I’m telling you that Kurt Mason finally figured out what everything actually is.
” He reaches across the table, not touching me, just letting his hand rest palm-up near mine.
“It’s not the company. It’s not the money.
It’s her. It’s you. It’s this life I didn’t know I wanted until I almost lost it. ”
I stare at his open hand.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he says quietly. “If I have nothing. Will you still let me be her father?”
“Kurt.” I put my hand in his. “You being her father was never about what you have. It was about whether you’d show up.”
“I’ll always show up.”
“Then yes. Whatever happens with the company, whatever Millie says in her interview, you’re still Maddie’s dad. That doesn’t change.”
His fingers tighten around mine, and I watch a tear slide down his cheek. He doesn’t hide it. Just lets me see him, broken and hopeful and more human than he’s ever been.
“There might be a way,” I say slowly.
“A way to what?”
“To beat her to the story.”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“The interview airs next week, right?”
“Yes.”
“And the Ashworth Foundation gala is when?”
“Saturday. Three days before.”
I lean back in my chair, thinking. “She’s going to paint a picture of a broken marriage. A neglectful husband. A wife who ran away and never looked back.”
“That’s the narrative she’ll sell.”
“So we change the narrative first.” I meet his eyes. “We show up to that gala together. Happy. United. A family that figured it out. By the time her interview airs, she’ll look like a bitter ex-employee telling lies about a couple who’s clearly doing fine. Her integrity will fail.”
“You want to go public. At her own party.”
“I want to take the weapon out of her hands.” I squeeze his fingers. “She’s counting on us hiding. Staying here, licking our wounds, letting her control the story. What if we don’t? What if we walk into that ballroom and let everyone see exactly what we’ve built?”
“Ivy, you hate those events. You hated them when we were married.”
“I hated being invisible at those events. I hated standing next to you while you worked the room and forgot I existed.” I lean forward. “This would be different. This would be us, together, on purpose. Not because your calendar said so. Because we chose it.”
He’s quiet for a long moment.
“It could backfire. If the interview is bad enough, showing up together might just make us both look foolish.”
“Or it could work. The press loves a redemption story.” I shrug. “It’s a better headline than ‘Heartless Billionaire Neglects Wife For Years.’”
“You’ve thought about this.”
“I’m thinking about it right now.”
“And you’d do that? Walk into a room full of people who’ll be watching every move we make, judging every smile, looking for cracks?”
“I’d do that.” I hold his gaze. “For us. For the story we’re actually living, not the one she wants to tell.”
The silence stretches between us.
“I don’t deserve you,” he finally says.
“Probably not.”
“I’m serious, Ivy. After everything I did, you should want me to fail. You should want to watch me lose everything.”
“I did want that. For about a year. Then I accepted the fact that I can live without you.” I stand up, pulling my hand from his, and walk to the window.
“Then you showed up at my door and stood in the rain for three hours. Then you fumbled through a Saturday rush in my kitchen and learned to make petit fours from scratch. Then you sat through a fever with me and didn’t reach for your phone once.
” I turn back to face him. “Somewhere along the way, I stopped wanting you to fail. I started wanting you to be the man I thought I married.”
“Am I? That man?”
“You’re becoming him.” I cross back to the table and stand in front of his chair. “The man I married would never have asked if he could still see his daughter when he had nothing. He would have assumed money was the answer. He would have tried to buy his way back into our lives.”
“I tried that. It didn’t work.”
“No. It didn’t.” I reach down and cup his face in my hands, tilting it up so he has to look at me. “But this worked. Being here. Showing up. Putting Maddie first. Putting us first, even when it cost you everything else.”
“So what happens now?”
“Now we go to a gala.” I lean down and press my forehead to his. “We smile for the cameras. We dance at least once. And we let Millie Walker see exactly what she lost.”
“And after?”
“After, we figure it out. One day at a time. No grand plans. No five-year projections. Just us, doing the work. You probably need to attend meetings too though. But I won’t leave my bakeshop.”
“That sounds like terms.”
“It is terms.” I pull back slightly. “I’m not forgiving you, Kurt. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I’m negotiating with you. And you’re going to live in it.”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes to all of it. The gala. The terms. The one day at a time.” He stands up, bringing us chest to chest. “Whatever you’re offering, I’ll take it. Whatever you need, I’ll give it. Just tell me what to do.”
“Right now?” I step back, putting space between us. “Right now, you go back to the inn and get some sleep. We have a lot of planning to do before Saturday.”
“You’re kicking me out?”
“I’m setting boundaries.” I smile despite myself. “That’s one of the terms. We do this right. No shortcuts. No falling into bed because it’s easier than talking.”
“That’s a terrible term.”
“Take it or leave it.”
He laughs, and it’s the most genuine sound I’ve heard from him in months.
“I’ll take it.” He moves toward the door, then pauses. “Ivy?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For not giving up on me.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You still have to survive the gala.”
“I’ve survived hostile takeovers. How bad can a ballroom be?”
“You’ve never seen Millie Walker in competition mode.”
He grimaces. “Fair point.”
I watch him walk to his car, and I stand at the window until his taillights disappear around the corner.