I leave the office a little early, since I’m done with the day’s tasks, and head straight home. Huxley gave me a copy of the prenup after I moved, and I shoved it in a drawer in my vanity and never looked at it again.
I read the document with more care this time, my emotions calmer than when I signed it. The agreement says I am not getting a penny of Huxley’s money, now or ever, which is fine. It’s his money, and I didn’t do anything to help him build his fortune.
But there is a small subsection that says the baby’s custody will belong solely to Huxley. Madison’s words slide into my heart like hot blades.She was right.
How could I have missed this?Even if I was upset?
The possibility that Huxley would want to keep the baby didn’t really cross my mind. He was furious when I told him about the pregnancy, and my experience with Nelson taught me that men don’t want babies they have no emotional investmentin. Karie is an important life partner from a proper family that could help Nelson, so the children he had with her mattered. But Mom was just a meaningless fling, and I was an inconvenience he wished had never existed.
But since then, Huxley’s attitude has changed. He said that he cares about the baby and me, and he will be present for the life we’ve created. And his actions have backed that up. He brought home that outlandishly lavish stroller and ordered bespoke onesies. It wouldn’t surprise me if hand-stitched baby booties arrived from Italy in the next few months.
I firmly believe what I told Madison. Men like Huxley don’t spend money and time on people who don’t matter. Our baby and Iareon his list of priorities. I honestly don’t think he’s going to divorce me or do anything to hurt me or our child.
But did he feel that even when he had his lawyer draft the prenup? Probably not. He just wanted to take a baby he didn’t want to torment me.
I slowly rub my throbbing temples. I shouldn’t hold that against him, unless I see evidence that he still plans to do it. But I do hold him accountable for making me feel a chilling uncertainty about my future after he acted like he would like me to consider one with him in it, especially because it’s his damned assistant who keeps trying to sow doubt.
He can’t claim ignorance, because I already told him about Madison’s problematic attitude and conduct. What will it take for him to see what a snake she is and how unfair he’s being by indulging her? Frustration mounts as I fume, so I try some breathing exercises. Stress isn’t good for the baby.
When Huxley asked me to keep my distance from Adam after the latter crossed the line, I did. My husband ought to show me the same courtesy.
I shove the prenup back into the drawer. He isn’t a stupid man. Nor a hypocrite. But when it comes to Madison, he has agiant blind spot, whether out of habit or just the convenience of having a competent assistant.
Maybe I should give him a taste of the kind of disrespect I’ve been subjected to. After all, people gain better clarity when they’re the one suffering.
Chapter Forty-Three
Huxley
Something’s wrong with my wife.
She’s been tense since the lunch at Sebastian Jewelry. I thought maybe it was due to my only getting her the emeralds—she might’ve wanted some diamonds, too—but that doesn’t seem to be it. I told Jared to let my wife grab whatever she wanted before leaving.
I arrange for a spa and facial for her before we head to the art auction. Perhaps that will cheer her up. Then I recall how she asked me to start showering in the evening and surreptitiously sniff myself. I only smell the soap from the shower I took earlier. Have I started to smell, somehow? That’s…weird. Nobody’s ever complained.
“Why are you sniffing yourself?” Emmett asks.
“Just to see if I smell like anything,” I say, puffing a cigar to decompress before the art auction.
Sebastian, Emmett, Grant, Nicholas and I are on a large patio, complete with tables and chairs, at the spa where our wives are getting dolled up. We’re ready in our tuxedos, but of course the women are taking longer, running late as usual. The place operates in its own time zone because nothing ever ends on time. But Lucie and Molly love it, so here we all are. The things we do for our women.
At least the spa provides free liquor to waiting men.
“It’s the cigar,” Emmett says, sounding extra superior and all-knowing. “It probably makes her want to puke. Women are sensitive when they’re pregnant.”
“I don’t smoke cigars at work.”
“What?” Nicholas says.
“Grace has been asking me to shower every evening,” I explain. “I think she’s upset about something, but not sure what.”
“You could just ask,” Grant says.
I scowl. “I don’t have to ask. She said she doesn’t like the way I smell after work.” She’s also shown an exceptional interest in the kind of projects I’m managing, especially with Madison. If she’d shown any hint of being bored or tired with her employment at the foundation, I might think she wanted to work at 4D.
“If you’d bought her some extra jewelry on top of those emeralds, she wouldn’t have noticed your old-man smell,” Sebastian says.
“Right. Because that’s what all women want,” I say sarcastically.
