“Bridger won’t fall for her. Not like he’s fallen for you. Which is a good thing,” she goes on. “Exactly the kind of complication I’m trying to prevent.”
“I’m not a complication,” I snap.
“Not yet, perhaps. But Rosalind will always be the practical choice for Bridger. The moment I saw them together, I knew he admired her, but nothing more. He’s a worse actor than you are.” She pushes out a laugh. “Their relationship is my insurance policy, don’t you see?”
“In what way?” I ask, although I probably know the answer.
“My son is too honorable to cheat,” she says. “Including emotionally. And he’s far too loyal to violate his vows. Even ones he might take with a certain … mutual understanding. Once he ends things with you and commits to Rosalind, he won’t allow himself to fall in love with anyone else.”
My unshed tears are starting to become a problem. “If that’s all you want, Bridger and I were friends long before any of this.” I spread my hands to indicate … everything. “I can be his Rosalind.”
“No. You can’t.” Margaret’s tone is flat. “And more importantly, he won’t let you go. You’ll have to be the brave one. And from what I’ve witnessed, you’re more than strong enough.”
Glass stings behind my eyes, burning from the rims inward. I think of my mother and all those cold hospital rooms and our own hard goodbye. I think of my father, and the injustice of watching someone you love slip away piece by piece.
“I never wanted to hurt him,” I say, the truth not much more than a creaky rasp. “You have to believe me.”
“I do, and that’s the biggest problem,” she replies. “Even worse, I let this happen. I assumed your relationship was harmless, so in the end, I’m the one who failed my son.” She studies me again, bracing herself. “Once Bridger has a new wife, though, he’ll force himself to forget you.”
“He’ll be miserable, Margaret. Bridger doesn’t want to fight with you. He was ready to walk away from his entire trust to prevent that.”
“You’re probably right,” she relents. “But losingmenow will be far less devastating for him than losingyoulater.”
As if summoned, Bridger steps back through the door, and the pain on his face is gruesome. I wonder how horrified he’d look if he had any idea what just went down in here. And I wonder how much—if anything—I should or will tell him.
“The jet will be ready to go by the time you get to the airstrip,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Thank you, Bridger.” She crosses the foyer and presses a kiss to her son’s cheek. “You’re my good boy.”
“No. I’m not,” he seethes. “And we won’t be pawns in your game. Not anymore.”
We.
One small syllable and my heart is in tatters.
“Perhaps,” Margaret says, as she moves to the door. Then she pins me with a backward glance. “Then again, love does have a way of surprising us.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Bridger
“Good riddance.”
Those are the words I say as the taillights on the Bentley transporting my mother disappear. There are a whole lot of other words waiting to be spoken, millions accumulated over the years, but after the bomb my mom just dropped, I want to take Loren in my arms first and tell her everything will be all right. That we’ll find solutions for our future that don’t include the trust. That Margaret Adams is in the rearview.
Literally.
I reach for her, and she draws in a breath. “Hold on,” she says. “I’ll be right back.” Then she hurries toward the bedroom. Our bedroom. That woman and her pee breaks.
Man, I love her.
A sigh slips out of me, knowing that when she returns, we’ll finally be able to talk freely. After days of holding off—or years, in my case—Loren and I can get fully honest about our relationship. Without an audience. Without threats.
Without any filters separating our behavior from the truth of our feelings.
Good riddance.
So I grab us a couple of waters and a plate of apple cider donuts from the kitchen, because conversations like these require hydration and calories. The sugarier, the better.