“She’s punishing me,” Bridger says, cutting through the quiet. “For not marrying Rosalind. I refused to do her bidding, and this is her response. I should’ve expected this, and warned you better. But you have to believe me. This isn’t about anything she found out about you.”
“How can you be sure?”
"Because she thinks she can fix anything with money,” he says dryly. “So far, she's always been right. Until now.” He lifts my chin gently. “Also …”
I meet his gaze. “Also what?”
His voice drops. “Foster’s an idiot.”
Whoa.
It’s like he’s been reading my mind all this time.
“How did you?—”
“Because.” His thumb smooths the crease between my brows. “I know you, kitten.”
My eyes well up, and when a single tear slips free, he catches it with his fingertip.
Bridger and I spend the rest of the night doing what we do best.
Avoidance.
He settles in to work at the big mahogany desk in the study, taking call after call about donations. Valuations. Foundations. An endless stream of important-sounding -tions.Meanwhile, I camp out in the library, trying hard not to eavesdrop.
I don’t want him thinking my feelings for him have changed because of his money. Everything I valued about Bridger before is exactly the same. His kindness, his integrity, his generosity. The man was always extraordinary.
He just happens to be my husband now.
No one pushes back on his calls, either. Not his mother or her lawyers. No one from the trust. It’s almost like he’s poking the bear and getting nothing in return. But instead of reassuring me, the continued silence feels like a storm building offshore.
The Canes always operated under the theory that no news was good news.
The Adams family? I’m not so sure.
To distract myself from the tension bubble building behind my eyes, I work on lesson plans and reschedule the tutoring sessions I missed the past two days.
Sorry, kids. I was busy getting married.
Except I don’t say that.
After tutoring’s squared away, I email Joanna Parker to arrange moving my dad in this weekend. It’s past normal working hours, but she replies immediately.
Very efficient.
She issues an official warm welcome to the Havenwood community and attaches specific instructions and recommendations to make the transition easier. She also lets me know “my husband” just made a sizable donation to their facility.
One of Bridger’s many -tions,I gather.
Apparently, at his request, she’ll be directing these new funds toward an increase in the salaries of their physical therapy department.
PT. Specifically.
I reread her message twice, considering Bridger’s latest grand gesture. This money will not only help my dad indirectly, but also benefit Noah. Directly.
It’s incredibly generous. But also, Margaret Adams has probably been quiet for a reason. She might need time to process the presence of a new Mrs. Adams in her life. If so, Bridger could be moving too far, too fast, adding fuel to a pile of wood while his mother holds the match.
My head spins, and the tension bubble grows.