Chapter 12
Tuesday afternoon after the final bell, Charlie rushed into the dimly-lit auditorium, prepared to set up the book fair. Ethan had been at his office all day, but Liz had offered to take Wells home with her. After his dad was done with work, he’d collect his son and they’d go home to the dinner Charlie had left in the refrigerator.
Today’s arrangement was pretty much like what she now considered the “good old days,” when Ethan and Charlie functioned on a professional basis and there was no relationship beyond that.
No engagement.
No spilling of her secret.
No chance that she’d be booted out of what felt so much like home.
While her boss said he wanted to go through with the marriage, the continued flow of fury just beneath his surface was impossible to miss.
How could she blame him for it?
She didn’t, of course, and so soldiered on like any good butler would, performing her chores and thinking ahead to how to make the household run as smoothly as possible. Not like as a wife or a stand-in mom would do, but as an employee.
It was only the morning before that they’d had it out in her bungalow, but it felt like a much longer stretch of time.
Sara and Emmaline had made contact, and she’d reassured them through a couple of short texts. She didn’t have it in her for a longer explanation of how things stood and what her future truly held.
Because she didn’t know. If she could stay, if she should stay. What did she have to offer the Archer men? Could they make a family? Could she truly be Ethan’s wife under these circumstances?
The auditorium’s metal door closed behind her with an ominous, echoing clang. She looked about, assessing. On one side of the linoleum-tiled room the long lunch tables had been brought down from their place on the wall. A stage dominated another, curtains pulled to the side to reveal a set of risers set up for some choral event, she presumed. That left a second long side free for the book fair, and in the middle of the room were the dozens and dozens of boxes that had been delivered by the publishing company.
The pile appeared daunting, but she referred to her notes as she moved forward. There was no time for dismay. If she was quick about it, maybe she’d be done by midnight.
A metallic clatter let her know that someone else had entered the cavernous room. She glanced over to recognize the second-grade teacher, her step spryer than Charlie could imagine. Teaching seven- and eight-year-olds had to be tiring.
Still, Charlie’s stomach quivered with apprehension. Had something gone wrong in the classroom today involving Wells? But perhaps she was here for some other purpose. In one corner of the room stood a metal stand holding bolts of primary-colored butcher paper. Maybe she was getting materials for a new art project or a bulletin board.
“Ms. Emerson?” Ms. Ramsey called out, squinting in the murky light.
“Right here,” Charlie said, lifting her hand.
The other woman moved to a bank of switches and flipped several, brightening up the room.
“Thank you,” Charlie said, crossing toward the teacher. “You were looking for me?”
“Yes.”
Concern for the seven-year-old in her life crept up from her toes. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for the mom business, if a chat with a teacher made her stomach jitter like this. “I-is there anything wrong?”
Ms. Ramsey bestowed on her a professional smile that did nothing to ease her nerves. “We had an incident during circle time today that I thought you should know about.”
Heart sinking, Charlie tried to keep on her brave face. “Oh?”
“We had a new student start in our room today. So I asked each child to tell the boy a little something about themselves.”
“Oh.” Though she never could decide if there was real harm in the way Wells described his situation, it could make other kids uncomfortable—even worried—when he so baldly announced the death of a parent. “I’m sorry, I…”
She didn’t know what to say. Promise they’d get the boy into counseling? She knew Wells had gone through that before, and it wasn’t her place to speak up on medical matters.
“Wells announced he was getting a new mother,” Ms. Ramsey said, suddenly beaming. “I hear best wishes are in order?”
Charlie blinked. “He said that during circle time? To the entire class?”
“He sure did. And he absolutely appeared delighted.”
She felt a grin break over her face. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” Then the other woman pulled a drawing from one of the big patch pockets on her I-teach-elementary-school denim skirt. “Later, he drew this picture during free time that I thought you might like.”
Taking in in her hand, Charlie stared down at it. Wells was no Rembrandt or even Picasso, but she could clearly pick out the principals in the crayon drawing. His dad, with long, pipe-style legs and a scribble of dark hair. Charlie, in a blue dress and a longer scribble of brown hair. Wells, with his injured arm in the plastic splint.
“I think that might be his mother,” Ms. Ramsey said, pointing to a face hovering in the sky above the trio, her hair a halo-like mass of yellow. “Watching over all of you?”
Charlie’s throat closed. She couldn’t look up, afraid the teacher would see her on the verge of becoming a sloppy mess of tears. Butlers didn’t put on shows like that.
Luckily, the teacher didn’t seem to expect any further conversation. She patted Charlie’s shoulder and then exited the room with a final smile. For her part, Charlie drew in a calming breath and stored the drawing carefully away in her tote bag.
Maybe the mother-figure aspect was going to be okay.
Mentally rolling up her sleeves, she tackled the boxes. The contents of some were obvious, stacks of books, separated by suggested grades, and then boxes of school-related trinkets—bookmarks, erasers, and pencils. She put those aside and then stared at the longer sections of cardboard that somehow were to be folded into the book fair’s special shelving.
The sheets of instructions started to tremble in her hand. She was a can-do type of person. An optimist most of the time. But the truth was, she could barely work a jigsaw puzzle. She often struggled with selecting the right size container for leftovers.
Putting together this shelving had the look of both an engineering and physics problem.
Telling herself not to panic, she hurried to her bag, fishing for one of her notebooks. Surely she had someone in there she could call to help her out. A professor at Caltech. Some mechanical engineer who worked for Tesla.
But her contact list mainly ran more to personal services like in-home hair-styling, party catering, and rug cleaning. The closest thing she could find was the name of a reliable heat and cooling repair person.
That wasn’t a tremor of fear that ran down her spine. But God, it would be beyond humiliating for her to be found in the midst of stacks of cardboard tomorrow morning with nothing to show for them. The first volunteers—which included Piper Taylor, who when she’d finally signed up had chosen the earliest hour, so she wouldn’t miss Harry and Mary’s Hell Wednesdays at mid-morning—would spread news of her incompetence far and wide.
Wells would be ashamed of his new mother.
Charlie put her hand over her eyes. Maybe the butler could cry on occasion.
Just then, the door handles rattled. Her head whipped toward the sound. The school janitor? Perhaps he or she could be persuaded to build the shelves while Charlie took over the cleaning of floors.
Then a throng trooped in. She stared, recognizing Liz and her kids and several other parents of second graders and their progeny. At the rear came Wells and Ethan, the man’s arms full of stacked pizza boxes. Even from here, the scent of pizza sauce and cheese made her mouth water.
“What’s this?” she asked her friend Liz, because looking too long at Ethan caused her to feel all kinds of uncomfortable things.
“We figured you could use some help on the set-up, since we heard the group you had slotted couldn’t make it.”
“The date change made it impossible for them.”
“So Ethan and I called a few people, offered a bribe of pizza, and here we are!”
The sting of tears in Charlie’s eyes was wholly unacceptable, especially now that she’d been rescued. “You did this for me?”
“We did this for you,” Ethan confirmed, coming up beside her. He surveyed the scattered cardboard and the sweaty instructions in her hand. “And it looks like it’s a good thing we did.”
“Why?” she whispered, more to herself than to him.
“It’s what family does for each other,” he said. “Pitches in to support the one in need.”
She’d never known this kind of family, this kind of support.
Her chest hurt with a sweet, sweet ache, but now was not the time to examine the sentiment. She set it away for later, when she could truly appreciate it.
Ignoring her wobbly emotional landscape, she straightened her spine and relied on one of her real strengths—delegation. Soon she’d discovered which of the parents wasn’t intimidated by scary schematics, which included Ethan, naturally. That group got the shelving assembled quickly, then they retired to the pizza while the next group, who had gorged first, worked on getting the books and other items in the proper order.
It wasn’t even dark when they made it home.
Wells went through his evening rituals, lickety-split. She tucked him in and wished him good night first, then slipped past his father as he arrived to do the same. Downstairs in the kitchen, she went through her tote bag, double-checking on her volunteer lists and the book fair protocol for the next day. Her hand found the drawing Wells had done and, sneaking a quick peek upstairs, she drew it out to examine it, her fingertip tracing each figure.
She saved Michelle’s for last.
Then she heard footsteps on the stairs and her heart pounding, shoved the drawing back inside. Ethan appeared, looking relaxed and delicious in a pair of worn jeans and a T-shirt that showed the silhouette of a rhino and read “Save the Chubby Unicorns.” Wells had found it hysterical, and she’d helped him buy it for his dad for Father’s Day.
“I’m just on my way to my bungalow,” she said, feeling awkward and grubby. There was a pizza stain on the toe of her sneakers.
“Have a drink with me on the deck first,” he said, crossing to the beverage cooler.
He poured her a glass of wine and selected a beer for himself. Then she followed him outside where the stars were flung across the sky, peeking through the gauzy scarf of the Milky Way. As they stood side-by-side at the rail, the quiet between them wasn’t too uncomfortable, she pretended, because the waves were shushing them to silence at regular intervals.
Finally, she couldn’t stand it. “I…thank you so much for coming to the rescue with the book fair setup.”
“No problem. Liz gave me a little talking-to. I see better how important this event is to you.”
“To the school. It provides scholarships for field trips and allows other enrichment activities to occur.”
“To the school,” he concurred. Then he took a long sip from his beer, swallowed. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here this morning.”
“You thought I might sneak away in the night?” she asked, glancing over.
He shrugged.
“I wouldn’t do that. We have an agreement.”
“We do.” He sighed. “Hell, Charlie.”
She sighed too. “How are we going to do this if you can’t forgive me?”
Because maybe she could be a good mom to Wells, and maybe the three of them could put together a credible—no, amazing—family, but unless she could be the wife Ethan wanted, then they’d all lose.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But maybe you need to forgive yourself too.”
“For what?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.
“For your life not being quite as ordered as you would like.”
And on that, he strolled back inside, leaving her with more than the book fair to fret about.
Ethan closed the book he’d been reading to Wells and set it on the bedside table. Though the boy’s eyes were shut, he merely stretched out his legs and let the relative peace of the moment roll over him. He’d had the disquieting dream again last night, the one where he was hit by a car crossing the street, his last anguished thoughts of leaving his son alone in the world.
“Serafina says I draw like a two-year-old,” Wells suddenly said without opening his eyes.
“Oh, yeah?” Ethan straightened in the chair. Who made that little snot an art critic, he wondered. Though truth to tell, Wells was most likely not going to find a career as an illustrator or landscape painter, judging by the body of work gracing the refrigerator downstairs. “How did that make you feel?”
His son made a noise that was an equivalent of a shrug. “She shouldn’t put other people down to make herself feel good. The people in our family don’t do that.”
It made Ethan smile. He knew exactly where that helpful little slogan came from. Who it came from. Charlie.
Charlie.
What was the best way forward with her? He had no idea how to forge together again what her truth-telling had shattered. They’d been building something, and now it was damaged. Irrevocably destroyed?
Why was this so fucking hard? It had seemed almost scheduled, the way she’d moved in to his household, then moved on to become his fiancée. Simple. Uncomplicated.
“I want to hear a story about Mom,” Wells said in a drowsy voice. “Tell me again how you met.”
He had a cleaned-up version. How they’d gone to one movie they both happened to dislike and then ducked into another together.
“I slid right into love with her,” he told his son. “Easy as eating ice cream.”
Easier. Their relationship had been rancor-free, unblemished by big arguments and unencumbered by past baggage. Their struggles with fertility and even the battle against cancer had only seemed to polish their love to a brighter sheen. In the timeline of his life, it would always be a glowing pearl.
Because it had a clear beginning, middle, and end? Did that make it easier to see the relationship as pure and the both of them in it flawless?
Maybe. Maybe.
Now asleep, Wells rolled from his side to his back, and in the dim glow from the light in the hall Ethan studied his boy’s features. He’d been doing that a lot the last couple of days, looking for Charlie. To his chagrin, he’d easily seen signs. The curve of his son’s cheek, the shape of his brows. The bright blue shade of his eyes. How had he failed to detect the resemblance?
Though it didn’t matter what his son looked like, Ethan thought, love for the boy filling his chest. Before Wells came into his life, he’d wanted children because Michelle had longed to be a mother. He’d been okay with it.
Then the bundle of what was Wells had been placed into his arms. He’d felt the slight weight, the surprising warmth, and thought…Uh, now what?
It hadn’t been an instant connection. But between late night feedings and sweating his way through the perils of diapering, he’d become attached to the baby, surprised and often delighted by his smiles and quirks—the hints of the person he was growing to be. As Wells learned to talk and walk and assert his own personality in the world, Ethan had discovered a limitless spring of fatherly devotion inside himself.
Michelle had come to it sooner, he knew that, but there came a day when he realized he’d do anything, give anything, sacrifice everything for Wells.
He thought of Charlie again, who’d been the one to make a true sacrifice—when she’d gifted another family with her son. Knowing how deep his love was for the boy, couldn’t he understand a biological mother’s urge to want to assess for herself her child’s well-being?
Ethan scrubbed his face with his hands. How could he even wish she’d never interviewed for a job with him or regret that he’d hired her on the spot?
He couldn’t. He didn’t. Because, God, he cared so much for her.
Maybe it was going to be a messier kind of love, but it was love all the same.
Wondering still how to repair what was broken between them, he wandered back to his own suite. He stood by the windows in the dark, looking out at the silver surface of the water and the moon’s watery reflection.
The overhead lights in the room suddenly flipped on. He spun around.
“Oh.” Charlie clutched a stack of towels to her chest. “I thought you were still getting Wells settled for the night.” She made to turn back.
“Don’t go,” he said, drinking her in.
Over the last couple of days, she’d been mostly absent from the house when he was around, citing her Book Fair duties. Her hair was down, a shining, silken mass sliding over her bare shoulders. She wore a little pair of shorts that revealed miles of long, tanned legs.
“Did you want something?” she enquired in butler tones.
He almost laughed because she was pretending not to notice the humming sexual awareness that had started making itself known the instant their eyes met. This, at least, remained simple.
But two could play the game she’d started.
“I’m interested to know how the book fair is going. Will the Archer name be mud, or are the totals looking good?”
He didn’t give one shit about Book Fair, and he’d write a check for any amount necessary at the end of its run to make sure her collection of funds exceeded the previous year’s.
“We’ve been open for three days and have three days more next week, but I’m hopeful.” A little smile curled the corners of her mouth. “The principal stopped by and suggested I volunteer to chair the Parents’ Gala next year. It’s the second biggest job after the Halloween Carnival.”
“You’re saving that for fourth grade?” he said, teasing, but not.
She probably already had notebooks devoted to each event.
“I’m trying not to get ahead of myself.”
He could see inside her head—how she wondered if she’d be around next year. If they’d really commit to being a couple, a family.
“I’m not changing my mind,” he assured her.
She nodded without any true conviction. “I’ll just put these away,” she said, glancing down at the towels.
He followed her in the direction of the bathroom. There, she stacked them in the linen cupboard and took another minute to tidy a stack of tumbled washcloths. He leaned a shoulder on the jamb and watched the graceful movements of her slender hands.
“Are you going to invite your mother to our wedding?”
She gave a little twitch, then shot him a quick glance. “No.”
If there’s going to be a wedding, hovered in the air between them.
“I’m not changing my mind,” he said again.
“She was the one who insisted I give up my baby,” Charlie said, not looking at him. “She told me a child would only get in my way. But not her way, because if I decided to keep it, she wouldn’t support the child or me in any way—financially or emotionally.”
“It doesn’t sound like she ever supported you emotionally anyway,” he muttered, trying to tamp down his spurt of anger on Charlie’s behalf.
“You’re right.”
He hesitated, feeling like he was making his way through broken glass. “I’m sorry if you felt…coerced into giving up your child. If it wasn’t your wish—”
“No, no. Then and now, I believe it was the right thing to do. I’m just trying to explain why I don’t want her presence in our lives. In Wells’ life.”
Ethan crossed to her now, turning her away from the towels and in to his body. “You deserved so much better.”
She remained still in his loose embrace.
“Can we make this truly work?” she asked, then looked up at him.
Their eyes met, held. That hum of awareness became a cacophony of sexual urgency. Ethan felt himself go hard, and he knew it would be easy to let their bodies take over. To communicate through kisses and fucking, and forge something in that manner.
But it wouldn’t repair what was essentially broken. He felt betrayed by…
Shit. What?
That she hadn’t trusted him with the truth…
Sooner?
From the beginning?
But she’d had no way of knowing how he’d have handled the news. Hell, he himself didn’t know what he would have done if she’d told him at that interview—well, yeah he did.
He’d have refused her the job then immediately contacted his lawyer.
“Then we would have all missed out,” he murmured, and ignoring her puzzled expression, obeyed the call and bent his head to kiss her.
Charlie, sweet Charlie, went stiff for a moment, then yielded her mouth to him, opening her lips so he could taste her deeply. She arched her back, and he slid one hand down her spine and into the back of those tiny shorts, under her panties.
He gripped one firm cheek to hitch her closer, pressing his hard cock into her belly.
She moaned, then sucked on his tongue. Heat shot through Ethan, mixing with testosterone and lust to create a cocktail that dizzied his head and hardened every muscle even more.
His yanked his hand free of her shorts to tug at the hem of her shirt, yanking it over her head. She slid her hands under his T-shirt to explore his chest, so he removed it himself, grunting as she toyed with his hard nipples.
She licked one, then used her tongue to trace a wet line to the other. Ethan gritted his teeth, his hands shaking as he unfastened her bra and flung it to the ground too.
“Wells is asleep?” she asked, kissing her way down toward his waistband.
Shit. The door. And to prove he was a father to his marrow, he wasn’t going to forget to lock it again.
“Just a second, sweetheart.”
He made for it, eating up the floor, to take care of business. Then he turned, jolting so that his shoulder blades hit the wood. Charlie had been right on his heels.
Now completely naked.
His balls went so tight they ached, and he could feel his cock pulsing, its length uncomfortable against the fly of his jeans. His hand moved to adjust it, but she got there first.
“Let me do that for you,” she said, then sank to her knees.
Oh, hell. His head fell back at the sound of his zipper being drawn down, then he quickly righted it again, not wanting to miss a single second of her pleasuring him like this.
And it was pleasure, a deep stab of the sweet stuff as she pulled his dick free from his boxers. The air felt cool against his heated skin, but then she licked him, a wet line from root to tip, and it was as if he was on fire, his flesh, his blood, his bones.
She used her tongue like an instrument of delicate torture, drawing lacey patterns over his shaft. Her gaze came up to his as she took the ruddy head into her mouth, letting it sit on her tongue like a piece of fruit. Her hand jacked the shaft with tantalizingly gentle strokes, and he groaned, clenching his fists to keep himself from moving.
Gaze still on him, she began to suck again, just the head, with a soft suction that would drive him mad. His fingers flexed, curled, flexed, and a sheen of sweat coated his skin. He couldn’t come with this tender level of play, it only made him more desperate for harder, rougher, tighter.
“Charlotte,” he groaned.
His hand found its way to the back of her head, and even cursing himself for it, it didn’t stop him from putting a little pressure there, urging her to take more of him.
She instantly obeyed, and he tangled his fingers in the strands of her hair, so he wouldn’t direct again. But then she reached up and put her hand over his, as if asking for his guidance. Her blue eyes implored him, and what man could resist a naked female, on her knees, her gaze lifted to him? Gritting his teeth, he exerted pressure again, encouraging her. The hand around his cock retreated to curl around the root, and then she was taking him in, going with the rhythm he commanded.
“Suck harder,” he said, his voice gruff, and she did that too, a flush spreading between her lovely breasts and her nipples hard little berries that he couldn’t wait to taste. Bite.
And still her gaze was on him, the trust in her blue eyes blowing his mind as surely as her mouth was blowing his cock.
Trust. The word penetrated through the haze of lust swirling in his head. Now he finally knew how to go forward with Charlie. What to do to make this relationship work beyond the kitchen and the bedroom.
He tugged on the hair tangled in his fingers, pulling her off his shaft. He emerged from between her lips with a pop, his shaft coated in wetness. His balls shifted at the sight, drawing closer to his body, and they ached, swollen with arousal.
She made a little noise of displeasure, which he kissed off her lips as he drew her to her feet, then stepped out of his clothes. They were still kissing as he moved her to the bed, at the last second giving her a little push so she fell onto her back. He came down upon her immediately, taking his weight on his elbows and framing her face with his hands.
“Beautiful Charlotte,” he said. “My Charlotte.”
“Ethan…”
“Shh,” he said. “Open your thighs, baby. Let me in.”
His tip brushed her clit, slid down to find her tender entrance. Her eyes closed as he began to press in.
“Charlotte,” he whispered. As he gave her his body, he gave her his truth. His heart.
The way forward was to give her exactly what he wanted from her.
“Charlotte Emerson, I love you.”