Page 137 of The Wrong Husband

The muscle in my father’s jaw softens. His stance shifts, shoulders easing a fraction. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Connor inclines his head, that unshakable confidence in him radiating like heat.

“James speaks highly of you,” my mother says, her voice gentle now. “Anyone James trusts… I trust.”

Of course, she does. James is her golden boy. The first of us they adopted. The one she’s leaned on through every family crisis. She’s always looked to him—his loyalty, his steadiness. And he’s always given it to her. Maybe, I’ve resented that closeness more than I ever admitted. That quiet bond she shares with my brothers, her sons, has always left me just outside the circle. Watching. Wanting.

She glances my way, and something in my eyes must give me away. She hastens to add, "Of course, even if James didn't know you, we wouldn't have been too worried. Phoenix has always had good head on her shoulders. I always knew she'd choose someone worthy of her."

For a moment, I'm struck speechless. Finally, I choke out, "Thanks, Mom."

OMG! Her words have scrambled my brain. I'm not sure how to process what she just said. It's the confirmation I've always wanted from her, and… I don't want to cry, but I can feel the tears building.

Connor’s lips brush my temple, jarring me from the spiral of old wounds.

“Mind if I steal my wife for a moment?” he asks.

His voice is low, intimate. Like he’s already mine in every way that counts.

And just like that, I can breathe again.

Without waiting for their agreement, he pulls me aside, out of earshot of my parents.

He studies my face, gaze sweeping over every inch like he’s trying to read beneath the surface.“You okay?” he asks, his voice low, tender.

I nod.

But the flicker of concern in his eyes says he doesn’t buy it.

“I didn’t know Arthur invited them,” he murmurs. “If I had, I’d have made sure he ran it past you first.”

“It’s okay,” I whisper. My throat’s too tight for more.

“It’s not.” His jaw tightens. That protective edge I’ve come to rely on flashes in his eyes. “Unfortunately, that’s Arthur. He’s obsessed with this idea of one big happy family. If I tell him not to?—”

“Don’t.” I lay a hand on his forearm, grounding him. “He’s a man staring down time. All he wants is to believe he’s brought his family together. Let him have that comfort. I don’t want to take it away from him.”

He holds my gaze, eyes narrowing slightly like he’s weighing whether to push the point. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” I say, firmer this time. “I needed to talk to my parents eventually. There was no point putting it off. I'm glad they're here. I've missed them.”

He lifts a hand to my cheek, his palm warm and steady. “You’re extraordinary, Phe. Strong. Resilient. The strongest woman I’ve ever known.”

The words hit deeply. I lean in and brush a kiss against his cheek, the roughness of his stubble a sudden comfort. He feels like my anchor in a world that keeps shifting under my feet.

“Thanks,” I murmur. Then, softer, “Would it be okay if I spoke to my mother alone?”

“Of course.”

He leans in and kisses me hard—firm, possessive, promising everything without a single word—then steps back.

His absence is immediate. Like a shadow being ripped away. I already miss the weight of his presence beside me. I almost call out to him but stop myself. I need to do this. Alone.

I’ve handled worse, haven’t I? Before him, I faced the dark on my own. I can do it again. I have to.

I square my shoulders and turn to my mother. “Mom, can we talk? Somewhere private.”

My mom nods right away. "I would love that."