Bridger stiffens. “I have no legacy without Loren.”
“That’s simply not true,” Margaret says. “And the sooner we nip this in the bud, the less permanent damage will be done. That’s why you must cut ties now, before either of you gets too deeply attached.”
Too late,I think.
“I don’t believe this,” he says, in a hiss sharp enough to draw blood. “Youwantus to get divorced.”
Margaret flinches. “An annulment should be simple enough to procure. You two have been married for such a short period of time, after all. And should you encounter any problems, of course our lawyers will step in to assist.”
So. Trying to convince Margaret our relationship was real was the wrong strategy from the beginning. What she wantedall along was a true marriage of convenience. Not something genuine.
Not me.
Hot tears bubble behind my eyes, and the blood in my veins might as well be ice water.
“What happens if we don’t comply?” Bridger snarls.
“You will.” She fishes for a tissue in the pocket of her blazer. “Otherwise, I’ll be forced to present evidence to the board that proves your marriage is a farce.” She dabs her nose. “Then control of the trust will revert to me. No more donations to Stony Peak High. Your school district. University scholarships. Charitable contributions. Research grants.” She pauses, her focus snapping to me. “Havenwood.”
I flinch, just barely, but still. Her eyes narrow. She caught the movement. I’m the weak link in this chain, and I gave myself away. My dad’s security is the one thing I won’t risk. Not even for my own happiness.
“Please.” She returns the tissue to her pocket. “Don’t force my hand.”
A low sound rumbles in the back of Bridger’s throat. “You just stood there and admitted our marriage is legitimate,” he spits out. “You have no evidence.”
“There’s where you’re wrong, son.” She digs in her designer bag and retrieves a crumpled-up paper napkin.
From Fig & Apple.
My heart drops to my feet.
“Operation Fool Margaret?” She shakes her head. “Really, Bridger. So sloppy.” She tugs at the edges to smooth out the wrinkles, but there’s no need. I know well enough what’s scrawled across those folds.
“Where did you get that?” Bridger lunges for the napkin, but she withdraws, tucking her proof safely back into her purse.
“In your tuxedo jacket.” She sighs. “You left it in the closet of the guest suite upstairs. Naturally, I investigated.”
His eyes flash. “That napkin means nothing,” he insists. “Just a joke.”
“I disagree. Taken along with the speed of your marriage, and the fact that no one seems to even know you had a wedding … the evidence is damning to say the least. And are you really willing to risk the fallout?”
“Get out of my house,” he fumes.
“This house?” Margaret asks, archly. She sweeps a hand out along the entryway, indicating the vastness of the space. The long hallways and high ceilings. Walls of sunny windows. “You’ll lose this, too.”
“The place can burn to the ground for all I care,” he pushes back. “We don’t need an estate. Before we were married, I lived in a one-bedroom bungalow, and Loren was subletting an apartment. We’ll be just fine.”
“And what about Harlan? How long can the two of you afford his residency, his state-of-the-art care, not to mention all the Cane family’s past-due bills?”
“Enough!” he roars, and she takes a tiny step backward. If looks were daggers, Bridger’s eyes would probably blind her. “We’ll make it work,” he insists, his hand fisting around mine. “I’ll take on another job. As many as it takes to support Loren. And her dad. He’s been more of a father to me in just a few weeks than mine ever was.”
Margaret sucks in a breath, then she quickly gathers herself, peering out the window again. “My car is arriving.” She rounds on Bridger. “Please take my bags out for me and help the driver. Be sure he knows the fastest route to the airstrip. Despite everything, I know you’re still a gentleman. And I take comfort in that.”
“You’ll never see us again.” His words simmer behind a clamped jaw.
“I disagree,” she murmurs. “I think Loren understands exactly what’s at stake here. Given time to think, I’m quite sure she’ll realize the best course of action for you both. Forallof you. And it isn’t a life of starry-eyed debt.” Margaret’s eyes slide over to meet mine. “I believe, like me, that life has taught her love doesn’t, in fact, conquer all.”
“You know nothing about my wife,” he growls, and as he crosses to the luggage, something boils behind his eyes. He snatches the handles, then hauls everything to the door. “You know even less about love.”