Chapter 19: Finding Forever: Chapter 18

Waking up alone after the most remarkable night of her life, didn’t do much to dampen Fern’s spirits. Her body ached and throbbed in places she hadn’t previously known existed, and she desperately needed a shower… but she still thrummed with energy.

Everything about the night before had been wonderful. And yes, she was aware that for Cade it had about rectifying a mistake, appeasing his ego and showing her exactly how sex should be, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the knowing.

She was unable to contain her smile as she bounced out of bed—wincing only slightly when her much-abused muscles protested the movement—and padded her way to the bathroom. It was probably like that for him with every woman. That first time with her had been the terrible exception. She knew that. No wonder he’d been so appalled. She laughed at the memory of his horror upon discovering that her first experience with sex had been so bad. No wonder he’d felt honor bound to rectify that mistake.

She giggled, getting shampoo in her mouth, but she didn’t care. She felt ebullient, as if she could conquer the world today. She didn’t even care that Cade would likely revert to his non-verbal grumpy self today. She was just happy it had happened. And she had zero regrets.

Well, she did have one regret.

It could never happen again. She knew that. It was too intimate. And made her too vulnerable. Cade had shown her a different side to his personality last night. A gruffly tender, generous, almost playful side… and Fern was concerned that if she spent too much time with that guy, she’d lose herself very quickly.

That gentle, unguarded man was dangerous to her emotional well-being. She needed to protect her heart from him. Because it would be very on brand of her to fall in love with a man just because he was a considerate, generous lover. A man who would in no way ever find himself reciprocating whatever blown out of proportion feelings she’d developed for him.

That thought was the one that finally killed her bright smile. She was happy last night had happened and grateful she could take that experience into future relationships with her.

But it was all that could ever happen between her and Cade. They both knew that.

Cade had found himself unable to sleep after leaving Fern alone in her room five hours ago. Instead—feeling restless—he’d gone out for a run. After returning, he checked his emails and messages. Mitch—evidently eager to prove that he could manage without Cade’s supervision—had sent only a brief text informing him that the finalized Greenleaf contract had been emailed. Nothing more, nothing less. And aside from the actual email—which Mitch had cc’d him on—there was no other work correspondence.

That left Cade at loose ends for the rest of the morning.

He wished he’d taken the time to have some of his latest amateur horology projects boxed up and sent to this apartment, but he hadn’t expected to be here this long. He wouldn’t have minded the distraction of the vintage pocket watch restoration he’d been working on for the last few weeks. No point in having them sent now, he and Fern would be leaving here soon.

He made an energy boosting berry smoothie—setting some aside for Fern—and then retreated to the patio with the drink and his laptop.

He reclined on one of the loungers and did more reading on the physical and emotional changes and challenges pregnant women faced.

He was just learning about the disgustingly, but accurately, named—as he’d discovered thanks to some images he would never, ever be able to unsee—mucus plug, when his phone pinged.

He eagerly ditched the laptop, hoping to scrub some to the visuals from his brain with whatever distraction his phone presented.

It was a text from his father:

It was unusual for James Hawthorne to send a message like this himself. He would usually have left it to Petra—their PR guru—to contact Cade directly.

Cade frowned down at his phone, considering the terse message, before typing a response.

Cade stared at the screen in disbelief and fury.

What the fuck?

He should have known Abernathy would go there, but somehow, he hadn’t even considered that the man would stoop so low.

His phone rang. His father. It figured, the old man found texting tedious. He preferred barking directly at the person on the other end of the line.

Only his father’s voice was strained, tentative, and—alarmingly—quietly apologetic.

“I’m sorry, lad,” he muttered, sounding uncomfortable. “We should have seen this coming. Protected you better. Fuck, come to that should have just closed the deal and moved on. Left the girl out of it. She’s proving to be more trouble than she’s worth. But I didn’t think the dirty prick would resort to blatant fucking fairytales.”

“We’re not exactly dealing with a man of integrity here, Dad,” Cade said with a sigh, squeezing his nape as he tried to knead away the rampant headache that had instantly lodged itself at the base of his skull. “What’s the damage?”

“It’s left the Greenleaf people shaken, they’re hemming and hawing over the contract.”

Fuck!

“Jesus,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut as the headache migrated to his temples. “What does Petra think we should do?”

“She’s lined up a couple of interviews with the usuals; WSJ, Bloomberg, and a—uhm—segment on that Holmes@Home show.”

“Holmes@Home? Dad, come on, I’m not a fucking celebrity. Nobody who watches that show will know who the hell we are. It’ll look ridiculous and desperate to appear on something like that.”

“I agree. I’ve said as much to Petra. But she argues that you and Fern are young, good-looking and wealthy, the public are going to want to believe in your star-crossed lovers story. And public opinion⁠—”

“Won’t matter to our investors and shareholders. And it won’t matter to Pete McPherson.” Greenleaf’s CEO.

This was turning into a goddamned clusterfuck. Cade could wring Abernathy’s throat with his bare hands right now.

He released his nape to scrub his hand over his face and sighed.

“Dad, there’s something else,” he admitted in a low tone, reluctant to give voice to the words. Once spoken there was no turning back. No pretending it was all just some mistake or misunderstanding. His life would be forever altered. “Fern’s pregnant.”

There was a long, fraught silence and Cade glared unseeingly out at the horizon, uncomfortably aware of his father’s every even breath on the other end of the line. He shouldn’t feel like a chastened adolescent and yet… he did.

His father finally spoke, a long string of invective that would’ve made a pirate blush.

“She looks like such a sweet, butter wouldn’t melt wee thing. I didn’t have her pegged as the type to pull something like this,” his father finally said once he’d run through his encyclopedia of profanity.

Cade’s glare deepened as he tried to puzzle through his dad’s baffling words.

“What do you…”

“Is the father in the picture? Is it that weasel, Wilson?”

“Jesus, no.” Cade hastened to reply, finally grasping his father’s misapprehension. “Dad, you don’t—” Christ. “Her baby is…I’m the father.”

This time he could practically hear his father’s absolute bafflement in the silence that followed. Cade ground his teeth, longing for some ibuprofen and a cold compress, and waited for his father to process his words.

“That’s a little fast, isn’t it?” The old man’s tone was wry and rippling with amusement. Cade bit back a groan. The amusement somehow worse than confusion or outrage or whatever else he might have expected. It made him feel like the butt of some cosmic joke.

“She’s two—nearly three—months pregnant. It was conceived at the gala.”

“That so?” There was determined neutrality in his father’s voice now. Which was unusual. James Hawthorne lacked subtlety and believed that tact was just another four-letter word.

“Yes.”

“I distinctly recall teaching you lads to always slap a rubber on ye wee rascals, aye?”

Their father had taken time out of his busy life—he’d literally had his executive assistant pencil it into his schedule—when Cade and his brothers were kids, to give them the frankest, dirtiest talk about sex and the dire consequences for “men like them” if they didn’t pack their own parachutes. He’d sat them down in his office, intimidating and larger than life as he glared at them from across his desk and over his steepled fingers. It had been the most uncomfortable moment of Cade’s life—recently usurped by his first encounter with Fern—and he and his brothers couldn’t look one another in the eye for days afterwards.

“I used a condom,” Cade defended himself bleakly, feeling exactly as he had all those years ago at fourteen.

“Then how can it be yours?”

“It is.” He wasn’t about to get into Fern’s lack of experience. It was none of the old man’s business.

“Niall…”

“It’s not up for debate, Dad,” he inserted steel into his voice. His father was just going to have to take his word on this one.

Surprisingly, the old man—stubborn though he was—backed off.

“Okay, you’re the father. I’m sure that Petra will agree, this’ll add weight to your love story.” Even though he’d thought the same thing, for some reason hearing his father say it made Cade uneasy. He found he didn’t like the idea of using Fern’s pregnancy in this way.

It was private. Not open to public scrutiny. He didn’t like that others might speculate about the child’s paternity as well. Didn’t like that it would open Fern to even more critical scrutiny. He was supposed to protect Fern, not sacrifice her and her baby to the hypercritical court of public opinion to save his and his company’s reputation.

“How much damage can Abernathy’s baseless claims do?” he wondered out loud.

“I’d rather not find out, Niall,” his father said, his voice brooking no argument. “I want to lay any and all speculation about this marriage to rest right now. That means interviews. It means going on Mike Holmes’s show and being a charming bastard and showing the world how happy and in love you are with your pregnant bride.”

Aah, fuck.

“Petra can send me the details and I’ll discuss it with Fern,” Cade hedged.

“Niall…” More uncharacteristic hesitation in the old man’s voice. “How is it all going with her? If she’s pregnant that means there’s some chemistry, aye? So maybe it’s not all that cold-blooded and passionless?”

Just yesterday, Cade would’ve disagreed with that assessment, but after last night, he couldn’t honestly claim that there was no desire or chemistry between them. He recalled her face when she’d admitted to burning for him and swallowed to lubricate his suddenly parched throat.

“It doesn’t matter,” he negated hoarsely. “This isn’t permanent.”

“But the bairn…”

“The baby is Fern’s. She’s the one who wants it. I won’t be a part of the child’s life. None of us will be, so it’s best to not get too attached.”

“Ye’re talking about my first grandchild, Niall,” his father’s accent thickened on the outraged words and Cade winced, dropping his forehead into his palm, feeling defeated and helpless.

“It’s better if you never think of it as such.”

“F’get what I said about this not being passionless, that’s the most cold-blooded fookin’ drivel I’ve ever heard.”

Fern—rejuvenated after her shower—exited her room with a spring in her step. She spotted Cade immediately on the patio, straddling one of the loungers and her smile widened as she made her way to him, intent on asking him if he wanted some lunch.

It was only as she drew closer to the open sliding door that she finally noticed that something was amiss. He was sitting upright with his phone pressed to his ear. His body language was unusual—almost defeated—shoulders hunched, head bowed, forehead pressed into his palm.

She stopped dead in her tracks when she heard her name.

“Fern doesn’t expect me to be a part of her child’s life,” he was saying, the low words floating toward her clear as day through the open doors. “And quite frankly, that suits me fine. Once these three years are up, we’re better off just never seeing each other again. I don’t want to be a husband, or a father, and she’s not the type of woman I ever imagined myself settling down with.”

He paused for a moment, listening and then sighed, an impatient gust of breath exhaled through his nostrils.

“That’s not what I meant. Yes, at first I was thrown by her—I don’t know how to say it—sheer lack of anything resembling color. I still don’t understand what drew me to her that first time. She was pale, quiet, and faded into the background. Maybe that was it, I was intrigued by her chameleon-like ability to almost disappear from view. She reminded me of a little moth, pale, gray…” Fern’s hand went to her mouth in horror as she listened. Every word making her feel as small and insignificant as the moth to which he was likening her.

He was still talking, his voice almost a whisper now. “Soft. She looked soft. And fragile. And everything I’ve learned about her since has reinforced that first impression. She is soft and fragile. And she’s latched onto this baby like it’s some sort of saving grace. It’s given her purpose. An excuse to finally crawl out from under Abernathy’s bootheel. I’m just the sperm donor.”

He listened again.

“Aye, I’m okay with that. Fern and her baby can’t and won’t ever mean anything to me. It’s impossible.” The words were terse, unequivocal, and spoken in a frigid, uncompromising tone.

He shifted slightly and Fern went still, like a small animal terrified of being spotted by a predator. She took a few steps back, needing to retreat before he saw her here. Before he realized that she’d overheard every humiliating word. She wanted to spare them both the inevitable awkwardness that would follow.

When she was about halfway across the room, she swung on her heel and scurried back to her room. Feeling like a spineless little coward he already believed she was, but really not in any mood to put on a brave face right now. Not when she felt devastated and irrationally betrayed.

So stupid, she knew the man harbored no tender feelings for her. So, they’d had sex. And it had been amazing.

So what?

Fern had already resolved that it wouldn’t happen again. She knew he was bad for her. So why did confirmation of that fact sting—no damn it, not anything so mild as sting… this hurt—so badly?

She still had her pride and hearing his opinion of her was humiliating. So much for all his talk about her being brave for outmaneuvering Granger. He’d clearly only said it to stroke her ego a little and keep her compliant and content.

Feeling sick she staggered her way to the bathroom and heaved up the sparse contents of her stomach, before shakily rinsing her mouth and face. She stood for a while, palms curved over the edge of the sink, staring at her miserable reflection.

She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to spend another day in her husband’s strained company. But her options were as limited now as they’d ever been.

He might have protested and been offended when she’d claimed to have swapped one master for another but the reality was, Fern was once again desirable only for what she could offer. As an individual with opinions and feelings? Not so much.

At this point, after so many years of being treated like she was a waste of oxygen and nothing but an unwanted burden, Fern found it hard to see any glimmer of positivity in her situation. Beyond the obvious… her hand absently went to her flat abdomen in a move meant to comfort both herself and unborn child that rested there.

She recalled what Cade had said, about her using this baby as an excuse to finally take control of her life… about her seeing it as a saving grace.

But Cade knew that she wasn’t only intent on being a mother to this baby. She wanted to improve herself, find a purpose other than motherhood. The fact that he hadn’t said as much to whomever had been on the other end of the line felt like a betrayal. An omission that made her appear even more pathetic and useless to his unknown listener.

She contemplated the pristine white porcelain basin for a few long moments before shaking her head resolutely and pushing away from the vanity.

She refused to hide in her room any longer. If Cade didn’t want to be around her, he could be the one to ghost away from her presence. Fern was done being a scared mouse or moth or whatever small, prey-like creature the Hawthornes were going to liken her to next.

She tossed her shoulders back and scanned her appearance critically. Her hair was up in a high ponytail and she was wearing a new pair of denim shorts, which left her slender legs exposed from mid-thigh down, combined with a cute, cami top with a sweetheart neckline and an empire waist. Beth had insisted that the delicate shell pink color of the top complemented Fern’s pale skin and had pointed out that the empire waistline would come in handy once she started showing.

The top cupped her smalls breasts quite nicely lifting and supporting enough that she didn’t need to wear a bra with it. Still, even though she liked the outfit, Fern felt exposed. She was showing miles and miles more skin with this new wardrobe than she was used to. But she knew the shorts and top combination was quite modest by most standards.

“You’re not a nun,” she reminded her reflection critically, then immediately contradicted the sentiment by tugging at the hemline of the shorts.

Ugh.

“Stop it!” she whisper-shouted at her reflection. She was dressed like most other twenty-something-year-olds, it wasn’t a big deal.

Her self-doubt was crippling. Just seconds ago, she’d been about to flip the script on the old Fern, on her way to being brave, assertive, less timid, and afraid.

Now this.

Earlier, she’d felt confident, sexy, high on life, eager to show off another one of her new outfits to the man who’d so thoroughly rocked her world just a few hours before. Now a few overheard words from that same man had brought all her old doubts and insecurities flooding back.

Goddamnit. She was more than this.

More than his opinion of her. More than a trust fund. More than a soon-to-be mother. And nobody’s opinion mattered but her own.

She was brave. She had outmaneuvered Granger. She had bested him, had survived him…

This was nothing. Just another dark moment to overcome. She’d done it before. She could do it again.

She took another look and ignored the screaming voice in her head imploring her to run, hide, or at the very least change into a camouflaging skirt, then shut her eyes and determinedly turned her back on the mirror.

“Have you eaten?” Fern’s voice, coming from behind him, penetrated the painful pounding in Cade’s ears and head, and he turned to face her with great effort.

She stood in the doorway, wearing just a pair of butt hugging shorts and floaty kind of tank top. A soft pink color that looked pretty against her skin. God, so much skin. Miles of it. Soft, satiny, touchable skin. Her legs looked deceptively long in those shorts and her small delicate feet were bare.

It was still so jarring seeing her in something other than those awful ill-fitting skirts and blouses that he couldn’t do anything but stare at her for a few long moments.

Her face pinkened, a more delicate shade than her top. And he found himself utterly charmed by it.

“I like the outfit,” he blurted, then winced, he wasn’t usually so inept around women.

Still, she’d proven to be a sucker for even the smallest of compliments and he waited for the shy, beaming smile that usually followed any hint of praise.

Nothing.

Not so much as a spark in those expressive eyes. He had a killer headache but despite the distracting pain, he could still tell something was amiss. Her gray eyes were somber, that sweet smile remained absent and he found himself resenting the lack. She seemed to have reverted back to the quiet, unhappy woman who’d been haunting his apartment for the last week.

“Thank you,” she said and he was tempted to check his extremities for frostbite her tone was so cold.

This was not quite what he’d been expecting after everything that had happened between them last night. He’d expected shyness, maybe a bit of clinginess, he’d anticipated needing to gently remind her that the sex had meant nothing.

“Are you okay?” he asked, then immediately regretted the question because his uncertainty was apparent in his voice.

“Yes, of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

Why, indeed?

“You don’t want to talk or anything? About what happened?”

When she gave him a blank stare he coughed into his fist, feeling like a fucking idiot.

“We’ve already said everything that needed saying about that.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “I think we both know where we stand, right?”

She stepped onto the patio and sat down sideways on the lounger next to his, facing him with her knees pressed together and ankles neatly crossed. He moodily glowered at her exposed skin.

“Did you put on sunscreen?”

“I won’t be out here for too long.”

He shook his head, got up, and noisily dragged over the heavy patio umbrella, opening it up right next to her lounger. She watched him with a slightly bemused expression on her face while he shifted the umbrella slightly to ensure she was completely protected from the midday sun.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said mildly, after he sat back down.

“It’s done.”

“Thank you.” She linked her fingers together and lowered her hands to her lap, watching him for a moment before speaking again. “There is something I’d like to discuss.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t want to move to London,” she said, her words emerging in a rush. “I know you’re based there and I know you have to return for work and everything, but I’d be happy to stay here on my own when you leave.”

Cade’s immediate, visceral reaction to her words was overwhelmingly negative. What was she suggesting here? That he leave her behind? Alone? In the same country as Abernathy?

He bit back his instinctive reply which was a resounding hell no and instead—ignoring the throbbing in his head—tried to read her expression in an attempt to figure out where this was coming from.

She kept her eyes downcast though and her expression was uncharacteristically blank.

“Why?”

“I’ve done some research and believe it would be best if I obtained my degree here.”

“Separating so soon after the wedding will add credence to all the shit Abernathy’s been spewing about our marriage.”

“We can call it a long-distance relationship while I complete my studies. We can visit each other regularly to keep up appearances. I could stay here. Or find a completely different place, maybe somewhere close to Gideon and Beth?”

“No. I don’t like it.”

“It’s what I want,” she said, shocking him with her assertiveness.

“If we’re going to do this, we have to do it right, Fern.” Cade was baffled by Fern’s abrupt about-face. It would be of zero benefit to either of them to split this early in their marriage. She should know that. “Separating now makes no sense.”