“You had the space you needed here.” He widened his arms to encompass the massive house he now lived in alone.
“I never asked for this,” she replied. He wished she would’ve yelled. Her maintaining her composure made him wonder if she cared about him at all.
“There are arrangements to be made,” he growled, hating the loss of control, the feeling of spinning out of it. “Decisions about our daughter.”
“Yes.” She flipped to the back of the notebook, tore out a sheet of paper and handed it to him. “They’ve been made. Consider this a proposal. We can define the particulars later.”
Penelope the Planner had an answer for everything. He folded his arms rather than take the sheet of paper.
“Why are you doing this really?” he asked.
“Because.” She sighed. “As much as you claim to know what you want—” she tucked the paper back into her notebook “—you deserve better than an arranged marriage with a child as the prize.”
Her smile was sad when she finished with, “And so do I.”
Stepping close to him, she placed her hand on his chest, went up on her toes and placed a brief kiss on the corner of his mouth. Too brief. When he moved to hold her, she backed away.
“We’ll be okay,” she promised. Her eyes went to the baby’s room. “Keep the furniture. You’ll need it for when she visits.”
Pen walked downstairs, calling out to the movers, “We’re done here, guys. I’ll follow in my car.”
Zach’s screen door shut with a bang behind her as car and truck engines turned over and pulled out of the driveway. He lowered to the top step upstairs, elbows on his knees and listened to the quiet of the house.
There was defeat in the silence.
Zachary Ferguson didn’t do defeat.
He stood, in that instant deciding he’d do whatever it took to win Penelope back. To make her understand what she was walking away from. To make crystal clear that the best path for their future was a future with him in it.
He had a few billion in the bank.
Surely he could come up with something.