“No,” he said, the gold flecks in his orbs shimmering under the kitchen lights. “You did so much more. You stood up for yourself, and I couldn’t be prouder.”
He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against his solid strength and to the place I wanted to be. Van had become that to me. He’d become my place of restoration, whether here in this big house, in the cabin, or in the wilderness. Within his presence, I felt at peace.
And yet there was a lingering question.
I looked up. “Van, who is Madison?”
The muscles of his torso tightened as his head tilted to the side. “Why are you asking?”
“Skylar said something. I don’t want to believe him.” I shook my head, still keeping my arms wrapped around Van. “After all, I have all the reason in the world not to believe him. I believe you. Why is your company called Sherman and Madison?”
He inhaled. “Once you go through all the information, you’ll learn that Madison was a friend and I chose to honor that friendship.”
“Just a friend?”
Inhaling, he shook his head.
“I’m not asking as the writer,” I said. “I’m asking as your fiancée. Who is Madison?” I said a silent prayer that Skylar had lied. After all, it couldn’t be true. The pieces didn’t fit.
Van’s voice was deadpan as he answered, shattering our snow globe, “My wife.”
* * *