Page 55 of Charm (Billionaire Buck Boys #7)

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Holden

Greer is a bundle of nerves, and I wish to fuck I could make that all go away for her. I don’t know what happened in her marriage, but something is tearing her apart.

I walked back into the main living area with a full glass of wine and a clear view of her profile. Her gaze was cast down to her lap. Her shoulders were bouncing slightly as though she were filled with nervous energy.

I’m sitting next to her now, waiting for her to say something. At least two minutes have passed since I sat down, so I bite the bullet and start the conversation. “How long were you and Aaron married?”

“Too long.” She half-laughs. “We got married after college. He filed for divorce seven years ago.”

Seven years ago.

They had a baby seven years ago, too.

I can’t help but wonder if they’re connected.

Since she doesn’t say another word, I ask a related question. “You mentioned your ex’s parents read Olive bedtime stories sometimes. I take it they live in the city?”

I want to know more about Aaron, so asking about his parents seems like a solid path to get me there.

“They live with us,” she says. “Martha and Bruce live with Olive and me.”

Surprised by that, I just nod.

“I have a townhouse on the Upper East Side. They have their own space on the top floor. It’s not a full apartment since there isn’t a kitchen, but they have a bedroom, a bathroom, of course, Martha’s craft room is up there, and there’s a nice little sitting area for them.”

I never had a close relationship with Finella’s folks. In fact, I haven’t heard a word from them since we divorced, but I like it that way. We had nothing in common other than their daughter, and I always wondered if her father could tell I wasn’t committed to the relationship as Finny was.

“They’ve helped me with Olive since she was born,” she says with emotion lacing her voice. “I lived in an apartment back then, and they stayed at a hotel close by until they found a rental in the same building.”

I lived in an apartment back then, not we.

I replay that in my mind once and then again.

“Where was Aaron?” I blurt out. “Did you separate before Olive was born?”

Her bottom lip trembles slightly as her gaze scans my face.

I instinctively reach for her hands to hold them in mine. “If you’re not ready to talk about this, Greer, I completely understand. We can stop for now. I don’t want to push…”

“Aaron left me the day Olive was born.” She lets out a sob. “He wasn’t ready for kids. He wanted no part of it, so he just walked out of the hospital and never looked back.”

What kind of piece of shit did she marry? Who the fuck waits until his wife gives birth to tell her he doesn’t want to be a father?

Jesus.

I gently run a hand over Greer’s hair as I hold her against me. She’s been crying for the past few minutes. I’ll hold her forever if that’s what she needs from me.

“I have to tell you something,” she whispers.

“You can tell me anything.”

She pulls back to look at my face. There’s a deep sense of sorrow in her eyes that I’d do anything to chase away. I don’t want her to feel pain. If I could carry that burden for her, I would.

She glides a hand over her mouth before swiping it across her cheeks. “I love Olive with my whole heart. She’s everything to me.”

“I know.” I catch the last tear streaming down her face with my thumb. “I can hear it in your voice when you talk about her. I can feel it, Greer.”

She nods silently, perching her hands together near her lips as if she’s in prayer. “I lost my best friend in the world seven years ago.”

Fuck. That year put this woman through the wringer.

“Christ.” I exhale audibly. “You’ve been through a lot, Greer. I wish I had known you then.”

A soft smile coasts over her lips before it disappears. “My friend’s name was Celia.”

“What was Celia like?” I ask because I’ve never felt anything but gratitude when someone asks me that question about my grandparents.

Talking about them helped me navigate my grief. It’s been years since her friend died, but mourning doesn’t follow a set timetable. It hangs over a person like a storm cloud, letting chaos loose when you least expect it.

“Beautiful,” she begins before taking a sharp breath. “Brilliant, kind, caring, and funny as fuck.”

I laugh. “She was special.”

She nods. “So special. Her aunt raised her. We met in grade school, but then she had to transfer to a school in Queens. My mom made sure we still got to see each other, though. She always made sure that we were a part of each other’s lives.”

“Your mom sounds amazing, Greer.”

“Oh, she is.” She grins. “She lives in Denver with my dad and my grandma, but they were ready to move back and help me raise Olive. They came for Cel’s memorial service, of course, and to meet Olive.”

“But, Aaron’s parents stepped up to help with their granddaughter?” I ask.

Her top teeth scrape her bottom lip slowly. “She truly is their granddaughter. They’ve never viewed Olive as anything but family, even though…”

“Even though what, Greer?”

I think I know the answer to that question, but I suspect she wants me to hear it direct from her.

She shakes her head slightly. “Olive isn’t Aaron’s daughter.”

Warring emotions crash over me like a tidal wave. I’m falling in love with her. I know it. I feel it. There’s no denying it, but she’s telling me that she was married to a man when she gave birth to another man’s baby.

That doesn’t automatically equal an affair. She could have gone the IVF route with donor sperm.

She squeezes my hand slightly, luring my attention back to her face.

Her eyes lock on mine. “Olive isn’t my daughter either. I mean, she is. Of course, she is, but I didn’t give birth to her. I adopted her.”

I’m confused, but don’t say a word because I hope she’ll fill in the blanks for me.

“Olive is Celia’s daughter,” she whispers. “Cels died the day Olive was born. It was before she had a chance to hold her for the first time.”