Chapter 21: Finding Forever: Chapter 20

Cade’s face was unreadable as he watched Fern. She’d run out of steam after her furious little speech and she wondered what was going on behind that impenetrable facade he hid behind.

“Are you sure, Fern?” he asked, his voice had dropped a couple of decibels, rumbling like distant thunder. “Because that’s a bell you can’t unring.”

“Do you think I’d have a case?”

“From what you’ve told me? What I’ve witnessed? Yes. I would have suggested this course of action myself, only you seemed bound and determined to get out, move on, and leave it all behind as fast as possible.”

“That’s what I wanted, yes. But what he said about you?” Fern remembered the outrage and burning hatred she’d experienced upon hearing Granger’s vile, unfair insinuations about Cade. “I won’t stand for it.”

“I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”

“I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to have to defend your reputation against the likes of him. I want to rip his mask off and expose him as the disgusting little parasitic worm that he is.”

“The Hawthorne PR machine already has a few interviews lined up. So that’s been taken care of. As for the rest… I can recommend a few good attorneys you can speak to.”

She felt a pang of panicked dismay at his words.

“Oh, I thought you’d be able to help with that? I suppose it was silly, you’re busy. And I’ve already been so much trouble, I under⁠—”

“Stop that.” The quiet command effectively halted her stuttering words immediately. “Firstly, it’s not my area of expertise. Secondly, representing you in this matter would be a conflict of interest. You need someone with no affiliation to me or my family or company. Someone to represent you alone and who will ensure that your estate is protected from both Abernathy and me.”

“But you wouldn’t…”

“Of course, I wouldn’t. That’s not the point, you still need to protect yourself against the possibility. It’s the sensible, responsible thing to do. Signing that prenup was a step in the right direction. You should’ve had an attorney look over it first though, or at the very least have given it more than a cursory glance.”

“Still sore about that, are you?”

He glared at her.

“It was irresponsible.” It was adorable how he didn’t recognize that his absolute outrage at her carelessness when it came to the prenup, only made her trust him more. “When you find an attorney, you can have them look over the prenup again and I’d be happy to agree to any amendments they might recommend.”

“Okay.”

He eyed her suspiciously, as if dubious about her easy acquiescence.

“I mean it, Fern,” he said.

“So do I,” she replied brightly. He looked befuddled and she wished she didn’t find his confusion so cute.

“Right,” he muttered, still eyeing her with a great deal of skepticism and wariness. “On Monday I’ll have my assistant send you a list of attorneys. We’ll take it from there.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded.

“Well.” She dropped her feet to the floor, preparing to get up. “I think I’ll leave you to your evening and⁠—”

“Why?”

The curt question flummoxed her and she stared at him in complete confusion.

“Uhm… I assumed you wanted your privacy.”

“As I said before, Fern, you live here too. You don’t have to ghost out of a room every time I enter it. It’s fucking unsettling. I’m not some kind of monster who’ll rage out at the mere sight of you.”

“I never assumed you were.” She lifted her feet back onto the sofa and sat there for a moment, rigid as a board, not sure what to do or say next. How did one pass the time with one’s reluctant husband, anyway?

She pursed her lips as she considered the question.

“What’s going on in that complicated mind of yours this time?” he asked, his voice mild.

“Just wondering how we’re going to fill the awkward silence,” she replied honestly and his lips quirked, while humor danced in those beautiful eyes.

“Why does it have to be awkward? Or silent, for that matter.”

She diverted her gaze to her e-reader, absently rubbing a thumb over the screen, as she worked on eliminating the faintest of smudges.

She lifted her shoulders uncomfortably.

“Honestly?”

He nodded.

“You may recall that you said—not too long ago, mind you—that you don’t want to be my friend, confidante, or crutch, which kind of limits any attempts at conversation with you. And if I dare ask you anything about your life or family, you’ll likely consider it prying, which leaves us with nothing to talk about. Which means we’ll be sitting in silence. And how can that silence be anything but awkward after everything else that has happened between then and now?”

She snuck a peek at him, only to find him watching her with an arrested expression on his face. One long thumb stroking the darker patch of stubble that his razor couldn’t quite reach in the shallow indentation below the swell of his lower lip.

“Tell me about your friend,” he invited unexpectedly and her eyes flew to his in confusion. She wasn’t sure what had prompted this invitation.

“What?”

“The one you mentioned earlier. Margaret?”

“Margot.”

“Are you still in contact with her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She opened her mouth, ready to reply, then pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“I meant no, I’m not doing this. You don’t want to be my confidante, remember? So I won’t be confiding in you today, only to be shut down when I attempt to talk to you again tomorrow or the day after. You’re feeling generous now because I helped with your headache. Things will be different when you remember that you can barely tolerate me.”

Fern pushed to her feet and wrapped the light throw around her shoulders. She set her e-reader aside and carried her empty glass to the sink to give it a quick rinse, before retrieving her device and facing him again.

He was watching her with hooded eyes, looking wary and a little frustrated.

“Have a good night, Cade.”

“Fern, stay. We don’t have to talk, we can watch a movie.”

She hesitated again and he leaned forward, that intent look still on his face as he watched her closely.

“What kind of movies do you enjoy?”

Her gaze darted to the large screen television which was in a second, smaller, recessed entertainment room, complete with a fireplace and a high-end multimedia set up.

“I’m tired.” She shook her head stubbornly, refusing to be tempted. She hadn’t really watched many movies, it had been discouraged by the school. One of their many draconian rules. And whenever she’d found herself back with the Abernathys, she’d been too busy avoiding her stepsiblings and hanging out with the staff to spend much time watching television.

Honestly, she’d been tempted to see what was available to watch on Cade’s state of the art massive television, but had been daunted by the sheer size and scope of the system. She hadn’t the faintest clue how any of it worked.

She was shocked by a flash of what looked remarkably like disappointment in his gray eyes before he shuttered his gaze and nodded.

“I understand,” he told her. “If you change your mind, I’ll be here for a while. I probably won’t be able to get to sleep for a good couple of hours now thanks to the nap I just had.”

“Good night, Cade,” she said decisively and his throat worked as he swallowed and he nodded.

“Sleep well, Fern.”

Cade stayed up for hours, watching random bullshit, hoping that Fern would join him eventually. Once the clock struck midnight, and it became clear that she would not be venturing out of her room again, he switched off the television. He sat in the dark silence for a few moments trying to sort through his emotions. Disappointment being the pre-eminent feeling. Followed by irrational bitterness and resentment that she’d deprived him of her company.

None of that made sense. Not when her arguments for not staying were absolutely correct. Cade didn’t like having his own words flung back at him, but all of his earlier points remained valid.

Only Cade wasn’t feeling particularly sensible right now. Despite his conviction that they should maintain a healthy emotional distance between them, he’d found himself wanting to spend time with her. Talk to her. Learn more about her.

And it wasn’t just the outstanding sex that had muddled his feelings about this.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, and then ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the long strands in frustration. It was oily, thanks to the stuff she’d used on him earlier. The smell of eucalyptus and lavender still clung to his skin and he groaned… because it no longer brought his grandparents to mind. No, now all he could think of were those soft, soothing hands firmly kneading his skin.

Earlier her touch had been mildly arousing but mostly it had relaxed him and had eased away his pounding headache. Now his cock hardened at the memory of her hands on his body. He imagined her firm grip on his shaft, her palm slick with that mildly tingling oil and he groaned at the mere thought of it.

He shouldn’t have fucked her. Because now all he could think of was the taste of her mouth, her skin, her pussy. The silky feel of her skin, her soft hands on his body, the hot, tight clench of that sweet pussy. The sounds she made when he fed his cock into her hungry mouth, her moans when she’d sucked him, her helpless cries when she’d come undone around his shaft.

It was a distraction he didn’t want. Knowledge that should’ve remained a mystery.

He’d fucked up. Badly. And now he was left with this gnawing ache… a driving need that he knew exactly how to satisfy but also knew he should ignore for both of their sakes.

It was the only way to retain any control over this impossible situation.

Fern nervously picked at the fabric of her mint green Ralph Lauren day dress, with a fitted thin strapped top and a knee length lace trimmed skirt.

Cade reached over and covered her restless hand, giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze. Fern jumped in reaction to his touch. It was the first time he’d voluntarily touched her since she’d given him that head massage two weeks ago.

“You okay?” he asked beneath his breath and she slanted him a queasy little smile before nodding.

“I think so. I mean, I worry I’ll throw up all over Mike Holmes, or something equally humiliating,” she confessed wryly, before adding, “but I have hope that if it comes to that, I’ll be able to just swallow it back down.”

Her words surprised a bark of laughter from him, and it jerked her gaze up to his face in wonder. She couldn’t recall ever making him laugh before.

“If it’s any consolation, I feel pretty much the same. This isn’t exactly in my wheelhouse, you know?”

“But you handled those other interviews so well,” she reminded him, thinking back to their Zoom interviews with journalists from WSJ and Bloomberg. There’d been others as well, smaller financial publications as well as daily newspapers in the UK, US, and South Africa. They’d even done a voice only interview live on one of the more well-known international news media channels.

“So did you,” he said in answer to her comment and her brow furrowed.

“That wasn’t in front of live studio audience,” she pointed out.

“Exactly.” He nodded as if he’d proven a point.

“You’re nervous about the audience?” she asked in surprise. He always seemed so self-assured, like nothing could faze him. She’d had him pegged as a confident public speaker.

“I’m not a celebrity, Fern, this doesn’t come easily to me. Nobody will know who the hell we are. And nobody will care. We’re going to bore the audience to tears, while they wait for whomever the big-ticket mystery guest is.”

The Mike Holmes Show was famous for its frank, cozy chats with world famous celebrities. Pop divas, socialites, movie stars. Like Cade, Fern had serious misgivings about doing this. Although until this very moment, she hadn’t realized that Cade shared those misgivings.

And that only made her more nervous.

“You’re not instilling me with a great deal of confidence here, Cade.”

He gave her a wry little smile, before shaking his head.

“Sorry. But we’re in this together. Remember?” he prompted with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Surrounded by anacondas and great white sharks,” she agreed with a solemn nod and he gave her hand another reassuring squeeze.

They’d muddled along together well enough over the last couple of weeks, it had been mostly a whirlwind of interviews, with little space to ruminate or fret over their living situation or what the future held. The interviews had, indeed, instilled a sense of camaraderie with him in Fern. A belief that they truly were ‘in this together’.

It hadn’t really changed much between them, but it had made her feel like part of a team. Even with this final—she hoped—hoop they had to jump through, knowing that he harbored the same doubts about this particular interview as she did, she felt less fearful and more able to face the horrible hour to come.

They’d been ushered into the Green Room—after being slathered with make-up—where a young, harassed looking production assistant had pointed them to the snacks, offered them drinks, and had run through what to expect. He’d fired a plethora of distracted information at them, his eyes trained on his tablet, asking irate do we have an ETA on their arrival type questions into his headset. After a few more hurried instructions he had left Fern and Cade alone in this massive, lavishly outfitted room with life-sized posters of previous megastar guests on the walls.

“Maybe we could just leave? I feel like a clown. That guy really caked on the make-up,” Fern said, getting up to pace the length of the room, wringing her hands and worrying at her upper lip with her teeth.

“You look beautiful,” Cade reassured. He’d remained seated on the burgundy leather couch, watching her movements the way a lazy cat would an agitated mouse. He was wearing all black, his shirt unbuttoned at the neck, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’d had his hair cut just after their arrival in London the day before. And whenever Fern looked at him, her palms itched to stroke that sleek, military short pelt of black hair.

She found him utterly diverting. So beautiful it physically hurt to look at him. She could only glance at him for a few seconds at a time, afraid that if she allowed herself to stare for too long, she’d simply never look away again. She longed to curl up in his lap, unbutton his shirt and snuggle up against his warm, hard chest. She ached to feel his arms around her again, she’d never felt more secure than when he’d held her.

And she hated her weakness for wanting all of that.

To distract herself, she summoned up the guts to inspect her reflection in one of the many full-length mirrors dotted around the room. Fern hated to admit it, but—even though it felt like the make-up had been pancaked on—she looked nice. The make-up artist had added a slight rosy flush to her pale cheeks and soft blush pink color to her lips. While he’d used more products than she’d been able to keep up with, it didn’t look like she was wearing much make-up at all. He’d given her a very light smokey eye, enhanced by the black of her lashes, and a dewy fresh complexion with minimal, flattering pink tones everywhere else. The soft, pretty green of the deceptively simple A-line dress with fitted long sleeves and a high collar, that she was wearing deepened the color of her eyes and complemented her skin tone.

Cade couldn’t stop staring at her. She was his opposite in every way. Light to his darkness, slender and fragile compared to his bulk, air to his earth, water to his fire. And despite the fact that only a few of those things could coexist harmoniously, he was drawn like a moth to her moonlight. Ironic, really, since he’d once thought of Fern as the moth. Now all he saw was a beautiful butterfly with translucent wings, too fragile to fly solo, but too lovely to cage.

He knew that her morning sickness had mostly disappeared over the last couple of weeks and with its departure, her skin had started to glow with health. Strictly rationed—by him, despite her protestations—daily exposure to the sun, had added the faintest undertone of honey to her complexion, enhancing that beautiful healthy glow. He found it extremely hard to look away from her these days and even harder to keep his hands to himself.

She started pacing again, chewing her lip, wringing her hands, muttering to herself. He didn’t like seeing her like this. He’d read that stress—which could wreak havoc on even the healthiest of immune systems—could play a role in pregnancy complications and he hated that he’d been unable to protect her from the anxiety of the last couple of weeks.

He sat up, dropping his forearms to his thighs with his hands dangling between his knees.

“Hey,” he called, and despite the quietness of his tone, the word seemed to penetrate her spiraling panic and she stopped dead to look at him. “Come and sit down.”

He patted the sofa beside him and she stared at the empty spot for a moment, a concerned frown marring her smooth brow.

“Come on, Fern, you need to calm down, or you’ll be a bundle of nerves by the time we go on.”

Her shoulders and head dropped and she trudged over to him, her disconsolation evident in her body language.

She settled down beside him and he reached for the rucksack he’d brought along. She’d eyed the bag curiously when they’d left the townhouse in Knightsbridge but hadn’t asked about it.

“You haven’t eaten much today, you should have a snack,” he muttered, digging through the bag, before triumphantly producing an energy bar.

“They have snacks,” she said, indicating toward the laden tables.

“Uh huh, I told them about your peanut allergy but I don’t trust them not to have forgotten, so I’d feel better if you had one of these instead.”

She stared at the granola bar in his hand for the longest time, as if not entirely sure what to make of it.

“It’s mixed berry and yoghurt,” she said, and he frowned down at the snack, not sure why she’d felt the need to point that out.

“Yes.”

“My favorite,” she said, her voice soft, hesitant.

Aah.

“Yes, Fern… I know.”

“How do you know that?”

“We live together,” he reminded her.

“It’s very thoughtful of you, but I’m sure Mike Holmes’s people know better than to forget something as major as an allergy. Besides, I can read labels, you know?”

“Not chancing it,” he maintained, inserting some steel into his tone, while continuing to hold the bar out toward her.

She pressed her lips together before reaching for it.

“Thank you.” She silently unwrapped her snack and took a bite, before saying, “It’s a miracle I lived this long without you there to monitor my sun intake and run peanut interference for me.”

The words, mildly spoken, were teeming with sarcasm and Cade fought back a grin at the little kitten scratch.

“I promised to protect you,” he reminded her. “It’s a full benefits package.”

She kept her eyes on the bar and picked a berry out of the granola with her nails to pop into her mouth, before muttering, “Not quite full benefits.”

He gaped down at her downcast head in shock, not certain he’d heard her correctly, but seeing her cheeks pinken beneath the artificial flush the make-up artist had already put there, confirmed what he’d heard.

He coughed awkwardly into his fist and was about to respond with something ill-advised, when a fuss at the door distracted them from their conversation.

It was the young production assistant, followed by several other people. The assistant—Tim—was talking a mile a minute, his voice filled with a reverence that had been markedly absent when he’d spoken with Cade and Fern.

And when the small crowd parted, to reveal the couple who were just entering the room, Cade could see why.

Well at least the audience were going to be richly rewarded after having to endure his and Fern’s boring segment.

Cade’s eyes dropped to his wife’s face, wanting to gauge her reaction to the new arrivals and he found her staring with wide eyes, face filled with the same reverence he could hear in Tim’s voice.

He had to admit, he didn’t enjoy seeing Fern in such awe of another man, even one as good-looking and undeniably charismatic as Trystan Abbott. The man was one of the biggest movie stars in the world right now, so her reaction was entirely justified, but yeah, he’d rather she not stare at the guy with such stars in her eyes.

He told himself it was because they were supposed to be pretending to be head over heels for each other here, but deep down inside he recognized that it was something a lot more basic and visceral than that. He was feeling territorial, and wanted to shove her behind him, pound his chest and growl mine at any and all who dare think otherwise.

It did help that the other man hadn’t even noticed them yet, he was too occupied with his own new wife, a solicitous arm around her waist, as he escorted her into the room.

Tim led them to the couch opposite Cade and Fern’s, still talking—well gushing really—a mile a minute. The guy seemed to have forgotten about Cade and Fern’s very existence because—after he’d gone through his spiel, gushed about how much he’d loved Abbott’s last movie, and secured a promise for a selfie with the star afterward—he left without sparing the Hawthornes a glance.

Abbott’s entourage had also disappeared—barring one massive sandy-haired guy who stood just inside the door, facing the room with hands impassively folded in front of him—which left the two couples staring at each other in curious silence for a quick beat.

“Tim must be new,” Abbott said, turning on the charm with effortless ease, as he leveled that instantly recognizable smile at them. “Usually, they introduce the guests to each other.”

“You’ve been on this show before?”

Both Trystan Abbott and his wife’s eyes reflected mild surprise at Fern’s question and Cade gave her a swift startled look, as he tried to see if she was being disingenuous or not. Even Cade, who didn’t follow the celebrity scene at all, had heard about how Abbott had stormed off Mike Holmes’s set a year ago. Which had been followed by that instantly viral interview where he’d publicly groveled for his now-wife’s forgiveness. But disingenuity wasn’t Fern’s style and all he saw in her eyes was genuine curiosity.

Abbott must’ve seen the same because he smiled gently and nodded.

“He’s been on Mike Holmes’s show a few times,” the small, pretty woman next to the actor informed with a warm smile. “I’m Iris by the way, and this is my husband Trystan. And the big, hot guy at the door is our muscle man, Chance.”

Fern threw an uncertain glance at the huge man and caught him rolling his eyes at the irreverent introduction before schooling his handsome features into impassivity again.

“Oh, gosh, I know who you are,” Fern said, her cheeks going bright red. “I love your book. I must have read it five times. Oh… and I know of you too, of course.” This last bit was tacked on awkwardly and directed at the world’s biggest movie star. “But I don’t really watch a lot of movies, I’m afraid.”

Cade hid his grin at her words when he realized that the awe he’d seen in Fern’s eyes had been for Iris and not Trystan Abbot. Which was pretty much the most Fern reaction to the situation ever.

“I’m Fern Hawthorne. This is my husband, Cade.”

Cade exchanged nods with the other couple.

“Good to meet you,” he said, dropping a nonchalant arm around Fern’s narrow shoulders. She was still clutching the partially eaten granola bar in one hand and he leaned toward her and nuzzled her hair aside with his nose to whisper his next words directly into her ear. “Finish your snack, Fern.”

She shot him an irritated look, before pointedly setting the bar on the arm of the couch. Cade bit back a grin at the defiant gesture, but left it at that.

Tim’s head popped around the door.

“Mr. and Mrs. uh…” He consulted his tablet. “Hawthorne, five minutes before we take you backstage to get mic’ed.”

He disappeared again, and Fern moaned before dropping her face in her hands.

“Oh, I think I’m going to be sick,” she murmured.

Cade’s arm tightened around her shoulders.

“Take a couple of deep breaths, okay?” he whispered urgently, but she kept her hands over her face.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she cried.