Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
I pause. “The Hunters, right? I read online that they own a salad dressing empire or something.”
“You read right.” Ben’s mouth twists in a wry smile. “I’m sure that’s what attracted my father to her in the first place.”
“So they got together?”
“They got married,” he corrects.
My jaw drops. “But wasn’t he already married to your mom?”
“Yup. Dear old Dad neglected to tell his new bride that he’d already tied the knot with someone else.”
“What happened?” I’m utterly fascinated by this soap opera.
“Long story short, Gretchen and my father were married for two years before her parents finally stepped in. They weren’t pleased with the marriage to begin with, but once my father tried to control the trust fund Gretchen received when she turned twenty-one, her father did some digging and found out about my mother and me. They had him arrested.”
“For…bigamy?”
“Theft, actually. When the truth came out that his marriage to Gretchen wasn’t legal, he tried to run off with a wad of cash and some of her jewelry. He was behind bars for a few years.” Ben shakes his head sadly. “He had a heart attack in prison and died.”
“Did you and your mother know about Gretchen?”
“Mom did, but she never told me, and the Hunters made sure to keep the scandal under wraps. I only found out when Gretchen contacted me six months ago. She was diagnosed with breast cancer, and she’d been thinking about her life, her past. She said she’d never stopped feeling guilty for being the reason my dad abandoned his family. I guess that’s why she wrote me into her will.”
Ben picks up his coffee cup and takes a long sip. Then he glances over with a pained expression. He looks so solemn and downcast, that this time I don’t stop myself from reaching over and touching him. I squeeze his hand and interlace our fingers.
“Why didn’t you just tell the truth?” I ask. “To the press, I mean?”
His fingers tighten over mine. “I thought about it, but there was my mom to consider.”
“What do you mean?”
“Gretchen left me that fortune to ease her own guilt, but to me it’s just a reminder of what a fucking asshole my father was. Money isn’t going to make the memories go away, especially for Mom.” Ben lets out a strangled groan. “Fuck, just knowing the money will be released over to me after Gretchen’s estate goes through probate makes me feel like I’m betraying my mom. Like I’m profiting from her pain.”
The vulnerability etched on his features leaves me speechless. How is this the same man who practically ordered me to give him a place to stay? How is this the same man whose arrogance drives me crazy?
“Not to mention,” he goes on, “if I tell the media the truth about Gretchen and me, the vultures will camp out on my mom’s doorstep and demand to know how she feels about her bigamist husband leaving her for an heiress. I can’t do that to her.” He shrugs. “Let the press think what they want of me, as long as they leave my mother alone.”
I stop fighting myself and lean forward to plant a soft kiss on his lips.
“What was that for?” Ben murmurs after I pull back.
I sigh. “That was for being far more decent than I gave you credit for.”
26
Ben
The second we step out of the gate at the airport, I spot the reporters.
Rather than the usual folks waiting for their friends and families, Maggie and I are greeted by a crowd of vultures with microphones and cameras. Angry flashbulbs explode in front of my eyes. A slew of questions assaults my ears.
I swallow back the rage and glance over at Maggie, who looks startled. Her green eyes widen as the mob closes in on us. “What the…”
“Move,” I order before she can finish the shocked sentence.
I take her arm and practically drag her toward the exit. The press stays on our heels, capturing our every move with those intrusive cameras. We’re in a large open space but I suddenly feel like the entire airport is closing in on me, and so I quicken my strides. But I loosen my grip on Maggie’s arm when I notice my knuckles have turned white and are digging into her skin.
“Enjoy your vacation, Ben?” one obnoxious paparazzo calls out.
Another follows up with, “Maggie, how long have you two been seeing each other?”
How the fuck do they know her name? Without pausing to question the reporter, I push Maggie through the automatic doors. Her eyes are still wide, but she doesn’t say a word. Just glances back at the vultures still buzzing around us, her expression flickering with disbelief. She looks dazed, and I don’t blame her. I got used to this bullshit years ago, but I understand how it could be overwhelming for someone else.