Chapter 22
STERLING
I t had been a few days since Laney had moved into my penthouse, and I still hadn’t found my rhythm again. I wasn’t used to sharing space. I liked things the way I liked them.
Quiet. Orderly. Predictable.
My nights usually followed the same blueprint of working late at the office, bringing work home, having a scotch while continuing to work until I didn’t feel like staring at my screen anymore.
I usually only headed to bed when I was half nodding off with some or other document still glowing on my screen.
Now, I found myself getting distracted. Laney was neat and tidy as a housemate, but there were subtle signs of her in my space, the mug left standing in the sink, rinsed out but not put in the dishwasher.
The faint scent of something floral, maybe her lotion, that lingered in the hallway when she’d passed through.
Soft humming drifting from her bedroom as she got ready to turn in for the night.
It wasn’t bad. It was just different and it tripped me up more than I wanted to admit.
At the office, I tried to stick to the usual flow.
My team was as focused and efficient as ever.
No one asked too many questions about my personal life.
Mostly because they knew better. I’d let it slip, intentionally, that I’d gotten married, but I hadn’t elaborated and no one was dumb enough to press.
Except for Nathan. He had no boundaries, leaning against the doorway of my office, sipping some overpriced brew with too much enthusiasm. “So, the new Mrs. Westwood. Have you got any photos? Scandalous stories from your one-night honeymoon? Sudden changes to your tax bracket?”
I looked up from my screen. “No.”
He grinned and pushed away from the door to amble into my office. “You can’t just drop something like, ‘I got married last weekend,’ and not expect any follow-up questions. That’s like casually mentioning that you adopted a tiger. People are going to have questions.”
I half closed my laptop. “What exactly do you want to know?”
He chuckled. “First things first, why are you acting so cagey about it? Is she even real? Did you secretly marry a Russian heiress? Or is she an AI program? Bro, don’t fall for a robot.”
“I’m leaving early,” I said, standing and pressing my laptop the rest of the way closed. “Have a good afternoon, Nathan.”
The grin slid off his face. “Wait. Seriously?”
I didn’t answer, just packing up, grabbing my jacket, and heading out. Nathan called something after me about catching a computer virus, but I let the door swing shut behind me before I could hear the rest of it.
The drive across the city didn’t take long, and before I knew it, I was parking across from the familiar little storefront with the bubblegum-lettered sign. Baby Blossom.
I knew she would still be here. It was nearly six, but Laney didn’t know how to leave work before at least seven, if my security system at the penthouse was to be trusted.
I stepped out of the car and adjusted my cuffs. I’m just checking in. This is about appearances. A gesture. I’m just playing my role as a devoted new husband.
All of those were things I told myself as I headed toward the store, but the truth was that I’d come because I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.
The way she’d looked this morning in her robe, sipping coffee while reading through some documents carrying the Baby Blossom logo.
Her hair had been up, a toe tapping against the leg of the stool like she was counting down seconds in her head.
I hadn’t been able to get that image out of my head all day and I’d wanted to see her. That was the long and short of it.
The second I stepped inside the store, however, I realized I’d walked into something I had not expected. I’d thought the place would be quiet at this time of day, Laney and her people winding down, but nope.
The place was packed. Folding chairs filled every inch of free space on the floor, every seat taken by a parent or someone soon to be one.
Some were holding infants while others cradled coffee cups and notepads.
At the front of the room, a pediatrician—judging by the banner behind him—was giving a talk on sleep cycles, his voice calm and practiced.
On the far wall, another banner branded with the Baby Blossom logo fluttered gently in the breeze of the ceiling fan. It read, “Blossoming Parenthood, in proud partnership with leading pediatricians, presents Everything you Need to Know for the First Few Months .”
Laney had turned her store into a community center for the evening, and somehow, she’d made it look effortless. I stood off to the side, near a tall shelf stacked with colorful onesies and pastel swaddles, just in time to see her step onto the low platform at the front.
She wore a navy dress I hadn’t seen before.
It was simple and professional but undeniably flattering.
Her hair was pinned back in soft waves. The second she took the mic from the doctor, the energy in the room shifted.
People perked up. They lowered their phones and the quiet hum of whispered conversations faded.
For the first time, I realized that she had presence. In her own easy, undemanding, accepting way, she commanded this room as if she was a keynote speaker for a convention at the United Nations.
“This next speaker is someone I’ve admired for years,” she said, her voice clear and warm. “Whenever we start planning any of these educational workshops, Dr. Joyce is always my first call and she always, always says yes.”
The room applauded politely, but I barely heard as she kept introducing the next expert, rattling off a list of degrees and accolades. I couldn’t care less about the doctor. It was Laney who held my attention. I couldn’t stop looking at her.
“She’s amazing, huh?” a voice said beside me.
I turned to find a man in his early thirties beside me. He wore jeans and a baby carrier strapped across his chest, bouncing a sleepy infant inside it like it was second nature to him.
“Are you here with your wife too?” he asked. “Mine is trying to wrangle our three-year-old in the restrooms. Potty training would’ve been even more of a beast without the Baby Blossom seminar last month, though.”
“Yes, I am here with my wife,” I replied automatically, realizing that I quite liked saying it.
“Is she one of the speakers?” he asked, following my line of sight to the stage. “Dr. Joyce?”
“No,” I said. “My wife is the owner.”
He let out a low whistle. “Wow. Are you two expecting your first?”
There was something about the way he asked, casual, kind, without judgment, that made the question hit harder than it should have. I hesitated for a moment too long. “Something like that.”
He nodded, smiling as he bounced the baby again. “Well, Laney’s incredible. You must be really proud.”
I looked back at the stage where she was laughing quietly with the speaker she’d introduced. Her smile lit up her whole face, her hands moving with confidence, and her posture easy and commanding.
Proud didn’t even begin to cover it, but then her eyes skimmed across the crowd and landed on mine, and her smile faltered. Just for a moment and just slightly, as if by seeing me in her space, she had remembered that I’d threatened all of this once.
In all honesty, in a way, I was still threatening it. At first, I’d thought it was just a retail shop. Some quaint side hustle she clung to out of pride, but then I’d learned about the community aspect. The passion.
What I’d realized today was that this was her purpose. Her place. Her world. I shouldn’t have cared. The forecasts were still the forecasts, but a thrum in my chest said I did care. God help me, I care.
As the applause swelled again and the new guest stepped up to the microphone, Laney slipped away from the crowd and made her way over to me. “Enjoying yourself, Mr. Westwood?”
I smiled despite myself. “I am. You’re a rather impressive host.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m not.” I paused, eyes locking on hers. “This is a great turnout. Do you regularly host such large events?”
“Yes.” No more than that. Just a straight answer, delivered while looking directly at me. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason. I’m just taking an interest in my wife’s work.”
She arched an eyebrow at me and sighed. “This changes your forecast, doesn’t it?”
“It might,” I admitted crisply. “I’m not certain as to the extent. There are workshops online as well, no?”
“Of course, but not where the speakers are doctors or other professionals who practice in your own neighborhood. Online workshops also don’t allow the same opportunities to network with other new parents who live close by.
Our clients arrange play dates and help each other out when they need someone to babysit.
They exchange baby stuff they don’t need anymore. It’s a community.”
“Those are fair points,” I conceded. “Have you got a dress for the summer party yet?”
“I’m going shopping tomorrow with Gwen.”
Approval raced through me. “You’re finally going to use your card.”
“Uh, no?” She lifted her chin, proud and stubborn. “Why would I? I have my own money and I work hard for it.”
“You do, which is why you should keep it.” I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. “Use my card.”
She groaned. “Are you really going to make me?”
“You’re my wife,” I said, pulling back to look into her eyes. “Let me spoil you.”
I didn’t know what I expected her to do, probably roll her eyes, argue, or brush me off, but instead, she took a minuscule step closer, her gaze locked on mine.
That mouth, so sharp and clever when it wanted to be, curved into a slow, knowing smirk and the sight of it hit me like a spark to dry grass.
The unexpected urge to touch her shot through me and I reached for her hip, but before I could close the distance, she turned and walked back into the heart of the event, that same quiet confidence trailing behind her like perfume.
I watched her go, my jaw tight and my pulse ticking faster than it should. I was married to her, proudly so, and that smirk had ignited a fire within me that I’d never felt before.
As the days passed, this was feeling less and less like just another business deal. Right now, it didn’t feel like a deal at all. Instead, I felt like a man who had bet everything and, for the first time ever, had no idea how he was going to win.