Married to a Billionaire Firefighter

Chapter 6

"Why are you looking into my husband?"

Richard cleared his throat. "Because you are my daughter and you married a man that I know nothing about. I need to make sure you are safe."

"And?"

"And he's a firefighter with a clean record." He closed the folder with the particular care of a man closing something he wished he'd never opened. "Nothing remarkable."

Charlotte held his gaze. "I hope you got what you were looking for."

She let that sit for exactly one second, then moved on.

"Olivia Carter is now the Deputy Director of Legal and Compliance." Charlotte rested her hands on the armrests and kept her eyes on her father. "This wasn't discussed in the board meeting this morning.”

Richard sat back. "It didn't need to be. I have the authority to make internal appointments."

"You have the authority," Charlotte agreed. "I'm asking about the judgment."

"Her credentials speak for themselves. Oxford. Columbia Law. She is more than qualified—"

"And she took your only daughter's fiance." Charlotte said it without heat, which was worse than if she'd said it with any. "You should add that to her CV. Impressive range really."

Richard's jaw tightened. His fingers tapped once against the desk before he sat back in his chair.

"Charlotte." He removed his glasses and set them beside the folder. “Some things cannot be forced. Feelings cannot be legislated. Would you rather have ended up in a loveless marriage?"

She looked at him for a long moment.

"You should have asked me that," she said quietly, "when you decided to bring Julian into my life in the first place." Her reply was sarcastic, maintaining a full gaze on her father.

“She took him and you handed her a senior position. I'm trying to understand what that is if it isn't an accolade."

"You shouldn't concern yourself with Olivia—"

"What I should concern myself with," Charlotte said, standing, "is convincing the board that my marriage is genuine. Isn't that what you were about to say?"

Her father said nothing.

"I know, Dad." She adjusted the dress. "I always know."

Her phone rang before she reached the door. She looked at the screen, it was the old mansion housekeeper.

She picked up. "Grace."

"Madam Charlotte." Grace's voice was low. "I think perhaps you should come home. Your mother, there are many people here, and she…

I think she needs you."

Charlotte was already walking.

~~~

The cars outside the mansion stretched half the block.

She counted six she recognized before the driver had even pulled to a stop. Her mother’s circle, the women who had been coming to this house since before Charlotte was born, the ones who arrived with food when something went wrong and stayed until they had thoroughly discussed everything that had gone wrong and several things adjacent to it.

She walked through the front door.

The sitting room was full. Someone had brought flowers. Someone else had brought a casserole. Margaret sat in the center of it all in a pale blue dress with her hands folded in her lap and the expression of a woman who had been comforting other people about her own situation for the past two hours and was running low on the resources required to continue doing so.

One of them was mid-sentence when Charlotte walked in. "... and my son, you remember David, he's a director at Hartwell now, I can absolutely make an introduction, Margaret, she doesn't have to stay with this—"

Charlotte stopped in the doorway.

"I'm not dead," she said. "And I am married."

She held up her left hand. The ring caught the light from the chandelier.

The room did what rooms did when the person being discussed walked in.

Margaret looked up, relieved, and underneath her face, the private amusement of a woman who had just watched her daughter clear a room without raising her voice.

~~~

She went upstairs, her room was exactly as she had left it.

The wardrobe doors stood open the way she always left them when she was getting dressed in a hurry. Every piece exactly where she'd put it.

The Valentino on the left, the Chanel beside it, the three Bottega coats in the middle section, the shoes on the rack below in the order she'd arranged them in the first life and arranged again in this one because some habits survived everything. The Birkins on the upper shelf. The smaller bags on the hooks.

She stood in front of it and did the arithmetic.

Carroll Gardens with one bedroom, and half a wardrobe. A man who owned, as far as she could determine, four shirts, two pairs of dark trousers, one jacket, and a firefighter's uniform.

This was not going to work.

She heard her mother's footsteps on the stairs before the door opened.

Margaret came in and sat on the edge of the bed the way she had been sitting on the edge of Charlotte's bed.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"And your husband?"

"At work."

Margaret looked at the wardrobe. Then at Charlotte. "You know," she said, you could always move to the other property. The one on Riverside. It's been empty since your uncle moved to London. Plenty of space. Proper wardrobe situation."

Charlotte almost smiled at the wardrobe situation. "I'll discuss it with him."

"Just a thought." Margaret stood, smoothed her dress. "I'd better go back down before Patricia convinces herself she's hosting."

At the door she turned. "Bring him to dinner. When you're ready." She paused. "I want to see his face properly."

She went back downstairs.

Charlotte sat on the edge of the bed in the quiet and looked at her wardrobe for a while longer.

~~~

Her phone rang at around six pm. It was Ethan. She picked up.

"I'm done. Can I pick you up at work?"

"I'm at the mansion. Can you come here?"

"Address?"

She told him.

He arrived twenty minutes later.

She went to the top of the stairs and looked down.

He was in the entryway with a fruit basket. He handed it to Grace with both hands.

Margaret was in the sitting room doorway.

Ethan turned and saw her and said, "Ms. Bennett." He inclined his head in respect.

Margaret looked at him the way she'd been looking at things her entire life, without showing the conclusion.

Charlotte came down the stairs before her mother could talk.

"Babe." She smiled at him, and the smile was easier than she expected it to be. "You're here."

"Darling." He replied smiling

Her mother said, "I'd like a few minutes with him."

"Not tonight, Mum." Charlotte was already moving, already taking Ethan's hand, already steering them toward the door with the practiced efficiency of a woman who had lived in this house for twenty-four years and knew exactly how long a few minutes with Margaret Bennett actually lasted. "We're leaving."

She stopped. Turned back. "Love you."

She went back and kissed her mother's cheek and held it one second longer than necessary, and Margaret's hand came up and pressed briefly against Charlotte's back the way it had when Charlotte was small and the world was large, and Charlotte straightened and didn't examine what was happening in her chest and walked back to Ethan.

They left.

Margaret stood in the doorway and watched them go, and filed what she saw, and said nothing.

~~~

They arrived at the apartment.

Ethan said he'd make dinner. Charlotte went to the bedroom, ran the bath, sat in it for fifteen minutes thinking about nothing in particular and everything at once. She changed into something simple, tied her hair back, and sat on the edge of the bed.

Two missed calls from Sloane.

She called back. Sloane answered before the second ring.

"Check the group." Her voice filled with some annoyance. "That b***h just posted something. Go look and call me back."

Charlotte opened the chat.

It took her a moment to understand what she was looking at.

The photograph was of a watch. Not just any watch — the Patek Philippe 5016. A minute repeater tourbillon, one of ten pieces ever made, a piece Charlotte had spent four months sourcing through a private dealer in Geneva because Julian had mentioned it before.

She had paid two point four million dollars for it. She had arranged delivery for today because today was supposed to be his wedding gift.

Olivia's wrist was in the photograph. The watch on it.

The caption read: “Feeling so loved. Thank you Charlotte, this is absolutely beautiful. You really didn't have to”

Their friends had started reacting to it. “So gracious, Charlotte.”

“You're such a class act.”

“This is what healing looks like.”

Charlotte stared at the screen.

Julian had received it. Of course he had, the delivery was scheduled for today, to his address, with her name on the card. And Julian had put it on Olivia's wrist. Or Olivia had taken it. Or they had done it together, decided together, looked at a two point four million dollar wedding gift and decided together that the most useful thing it could be was a public performance of Charlotte's forgiveness.

She was being made generous without her consent.

Sloane's message arrived below Olivia's post. Three words in capitals, followed by a string of emojis Charlotte did not have the bandwidth to interpret.

She put the phone face down on the bed.

From the kitchen, the sound of Ethan cooking. Something that smelled like garlic and something warm.

She picked the phone back up. Opened Olivia's post again.

Read the caption one more time.

“Thank you Charlotte.”

She set the phone down again, very carefully, and sat with it, because what she was about to do next had already made her smile.