Margaret flinches when he storms out to the driveway, slamming the door behind him. Then she directs her withering stare back to me. She remains quiet for a long moment. Probably recalibrating. So I square my shoulders, willing my body not to quake. And while the seconds stretch, my silence eventually becomes strength.
“I never asked him to pay for anything.”
She inclines her head. “I believe you. In fact, I don’t think you’d ever ask him for anything directly. Or me, for that matter.”
I raise my chin. “Good.”
She takes a step closer, and I stay glued to my spot, even though my flight mode is dying to engage. “You see, Loren, if you weretryingto manipulate my son, I’d know exactly how to handle the situation. I have practice with that.”
“What are you implying?”
Her brow arches. “You wouldn’t be the first woman who’s pursued Bridger for his money. His influence. His last name.”
Jealousy flares behind my ribs, like gunpowder added to a cannon. Other women and Bridger. Not my favorite subject. “I’m not like that.”
“Yes, and quite frankly, that’s more unsettling,” she says. “Bridger extended his generosity toward youwithoutleverage. And his plan is to continue in that manner, isn’t it?”
I blink. “Plan?”
Her eyes lock with mine. “He’s arranged a lovely setup for your father in a private villa at Havenwood, hasn’t he? A lovelypermanentsetup. With substantial donations scheduled to repeat there quarterly.”
I swallow. That’s the answer. And my face heats. The exact reason I never wanted to take help from anyone.
“Annul your marriage, and I’ll make sure your father’s status remains unchanged for as long as he … remains.”
My stomach heaves, and I almost throw up.
“Defy me, and—” She cuts herself off. “We hardly need to go through those consequences.”
“What if Bridger refuses?”
“Force the issue. Leave him.”
“I …” My voice catches. “I promise, on my life, I only want what’s best for your son.” The statement comes on a breathless whisper. “I care about him. Genuinely.”
“That much is obvious.” Margaret offers me a grim nod, like she knowscaring aboutBridger is an understatement. “The truth is, you and I are more alike than you realize.”
This earns her a scoff. “You’re sorely mistaken.”
“Am I?” Her expression softens, which may be the biggest surprise of the morning. “You want to protect your people, yes? Your father. Your friends. Bridger.”
“Of course.”
She gestures toward the driveway. “That instinct is familiar.” When she turns to meet my gaze again, her eyes darken. “I loved my husband with everything I had,” she says. “Then one day, out of nowhere …” Her sentence trails off, and the hand clutching her purse strap tightens. “I refuse to let my precious boy feel that pain. To believe he’s missing something vital to his world. He’ll survive losing you now. But later …”
My nostrils flare. “Later, what?”
“You can’t guarantee he won’t have a hard goodbye withyou.” She pauses long enough to let her message sink in. She’s talking about my genetic future. Not that I’d ever leave Bridger willingly, but that someday, I might not have a choice.
“No one can guarantee that,” I manage, even as my chin quivers.
“And yet, I’ll do anything to rescue him from whatever heartbreak Icancontrol,” she says. “So. Tell me now how you and I are so different.”
My lips part, but the words to explain myself won’t come out. Instead, I ask the obvious question. The one I can’t for the life of me answer myself. “Why force him to get married in the first place? You’re the reason he put a ring on my finger.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be you,” she says. “And marriage was never the risk.” Her jaw ticks. “Love was.”
I almost say it.I don’t really love him. We’re still just pretending.But the lie dies on my tongue. “What about Rosalind?” I choke out instead.