Marcus looked to me, asking silently if I wanted to do it or if he should. But I didn’t want him to speak for me. I didn’t want him to defend me to his mother.
I would defend myself.
So I took a shaky step forward, lifted my chin, and did just that.
“I know I’m the last person you want to be standing here. After what my mother has done to you—what she’s doing to you—I won’t ask for your kindness or forgiveness. But I want you to know two very important things. I am not aligned with my mother, and I’m in love with your son.”
Something in Marcus sparked, some shift in the air that tugged me in his direction without moving an inch.
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes shone, her gnarled hand covering her lips.
“It wasn’t until meeting Marcus that I believed I had a future that my mother didn’t dictate. And it wasn’t until seeing you all stand up for each other, support and love each other, that I understood what family truly was. I’ve done what I can to protect you, to help you from inside Bower, because I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t. I can’t stand by and let her destroy you out of spite, not if I can help you fight.” I swallowed, my gaze flicking to the ground and my heart thundering. “I only want you to know my intentions, and I understand if it’s too much to accept—”
The creak of her chair called my attention as she hauled herself up on failing joints. Her face was bent, tears rolling down her cheeks, but I couldn’t tell if she was distraught or elated. As she approached, I braced myself for a slap, a furious rejection, or the dressing-down of my life. Maybe all three and in that order. And terrified, I waited through a dozen racing heartbeats to learn my fate.
Because what Rosemary Bennet might say would hurt far worse than anything my mother could.
She stopped before me, her chest hitching. The room was otherwise breathless.
“Oh, you silly girl,” she said with a quavering voice. “However could I turn away anyone who loves my son?”
“Even a Bower?” I asked as she took my hands.
“Well, maybe Marcus will do something about changing that name to something a little more palatable.”
The room exhaled, the murmurings of laughter and relief floating around in a chorus of respite. But I stood in a small space with Mrs. Bennet, her hands soft and warm and twisted around mine.
“I believe you,” she said. “And I forgive you, though you’ve done nothing to require my absolution. Thank you for your help, whatever it might be. Thank you for defending me in that room to your mother. I knew then that you were separate from them, different. And I believe Marcus would only bring you here if he loved you too.”
I glanced at him over my shoulder, finding him watching me with such intensity, a flush of warmth passed through me.
Mrs. Bennet drew my attention again with a laugh. “You must have been terrified. Shame on you all for marching her in here like a lamb to slaughter. Julius,” she called, and I didn’t know who she was speaking to until Jett perked up. “I believe we could all use wine, if you’d be a dear.”
“Whiskey for me,” Luke noted.
One of Jett’s brows rose. “Any other orders?”
“Just bring the bottle,” Marcus said.
“Oh, stop pouting,” Laney teased. “I’ll help you.”
“And when we’ve all had a drink”—Mrs. Bennet leaned toward me with a clever smile—“you can tell me all about how in the world this happened.”
She still had my hands, and she used the preface to turn me toward Marcus, setting my hands in his when he extended them.
“I think I need to sit down,” she said with that smile still on her lips, appraising us with a mixture of surprise, pride, and amusement.
Kash and Luke offered a smirk before turning to follow her back to the table, leaving Marcus and me where we were.
And though we weren’t alone, it was just us.
The look he laid upon me was one of possession. Heavy with the arresting weight of command and surrender.
“You love me,” he said. It was a statement of fact. A transparent truth.
“I do,” I whispered.
His hand cupped my jaw, those blazing eyes searching my face. “Good, because I’ve loved you always. And it’d be a terrible shame if I were the only one.”
There was no time for a breath before he kissed me.
And if I’d had one, he would have stolen it.
22
Enough
MAISIE
The next day, I floated into work like a balloon.
Marcus and I had dinner with his family last night, and it was the rowdiest, funniest, loveliest meal I thought I’d ever enjoyed. And not just for the company or wit or their unexpected acceptance, but because of the sense of family that bonded them together, one they had unwittingly extended to me.
It was just the way they were, I gathered. It was impossible to be in their company and not feel a part of them.
The moment Marcus and I could get away, we’d said our goodbyes and hurried to his house where we spent the hours we had in each other’s arms, whispering words of love and future.
Love. He loved me. And the world was full of possibility.
That love was armor against the world, against my mother, and I was instantly invincible. I could do anything. Even walk out on my mother and my duty without looking back. There was far too much happiness in front of me to bother with what was behind me.
I fantasized about leaving that final battle with the Bennets—mediation—to lay the full truth on her. To expose my betrayal. It was a fuse I’d been waiting to light for what felt like forever, striking match after metaphorical match in anticipation of burning the whole thing down.
I turned my mind back to the business proposal in front of me but found it almost impossible to concentrate. My thoughts were a million miles away, stuck on Marcus and all the things that were to come. Hoping to focus myself, I’d already reorganized my desk drawers and cleaned up the top. I’d wiped down my keyboard and buffed my screen until there wasn’t a speck on it. The books on my small bookshelf had been haphazardly shoved in place when I claimed this office for my own, so I’d taken a minute to straighten them up and organize them by topic. With that, I was out of things to do.
In here, at least. A host of things could be addressed out of my office, like catching up with my staff, monitoring progress, heading to accounting to address the little inconsistencies I’d found. Jess had seemed just as surprised as I was when I showed her last week, but we’d chalked it up to a clerical error. What I’d discovered was too inconsistent—a little bit here, a miscalculation there—and I’d been meaning to go down to accounting for weeks. But between finalizing the proposal for the new center to present to city council and my preoccupation with shadowing in the advertising department, it’d been pushed down the priority list over and over again.
I couldn’t pretend it didn’t all feel pointless. In a few weeks, I would be gone, and though I hoped my mother wouldn’t punish the charity division, I knew better.
But I cheered at the thought of getting up and moving around. As if doing something would give me control, even though it wouldn’t. Nearly everything was up in the air, and I was no juggler.