Chapter 5 - The Gold Coast Penthouse
The penthouse on East Lake Shore Drive was wider than Ryan’s entire apartment building.
When the private elevator doors opened directly into the foyer, Sophie gasped, letting go of Ryan’s hand to stare at the soaring white walls, the marble floors, and the massive glass terrace overlooking the gray, icy expanse of Lake Michigan.
"Daddy," Sophie whispered, clutching her stuffed rabbit. "Is this a hotel?"
"No, sweetie," Clare said, stepping out behind them, carrying a small leather bag. "This is where we're going to live for a while."
A middle-aged woman in a crisp navy dress walked out of the kitchen area, offering a polite bow. "Welcome home, Ms. Ashford. I have prepared the master suite for you and Mr. Carter, and the east guest room has been staged for little Miss Sophie."
"Thank you, Mrs. Gable," Clare said. "This is Ryan, my husband, and his daughter, Sophie."
Mrs. Gable smiled warmly at Sophie. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sophie. I made fresh strawberry scones in the kitchen if you'd like one."
Sophie looked up at Ryan for permission. When he nodded, she scampered off behind Mrs. Gable, her sneakers squeaking softly on the polished marble.
Left alone in the grand foyer, Ryan looked at Clare. He was wearing a dark blue suit Clare’s personal tailor had fitted him for the previous evening. He looked broad-shouldered, sharp, and entirely out of place against the minimalist luxury of the apartment.
"Where are my things?" Ryan asked.
"Your clothes and Sophie’s belongings were moved in this morning while you were at the hospital with your mother," Clare said, removing her coat and hanging it in the closet. "How is Margaret doing?"
"The surgery was successful," Ryan said, his voice carrying genuine relief. "Dr. Chen said the valve took perfectly. She's resting in the step-down unit."
"Good," Clare said, nodding. "I'm glad."
She walked toward the master bedroom, gesturing for him to follow.
The master suite was larger than Ryan’s entire former apartment. A king-sized bed covered in ivory silk sat against a accent wall of dark walnut wood. A fire crackled softly in a gas fireplace near a glass balcony door.
"There is only one bed," Ryan observed neutrally, stopping near the doorway.
Clare turned around, her cheeks flushing slightly. "We have staff, Ryan. Mrs. Gable, the cleaning team, my personal security team. If we sleep in separate bedrooms, the staff will talk. In my world, staff gossip spreads to executive assistants, and executive assistants talk to reporters."
Ryan looked at the massive bed. "I sleep on the right side."
Clare blinked, surprised by his easy acceptance. "All right. I sleep on the left."
She walked over to her dressing table, sitting down and pulling off her diamond earrings. In the mirror's reflection, she watched Ryan walk over to the glass terrace doors, looking out at the city below.
"You're remarkably calm for a man who just moved into a stranger's house," Clare noted, setting her earrings in a crystal dish.
"I spent three years in the Navy as an electrician's mate, Clare," Ryan said, turning back to face her. "I've slept on steel bunks in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with eighty other men snoring in the same room. A silk mattress in a penthouse isn't going to make me lose sleep."
Clare looked at him, taking in his relaxed posture, his clear blue eyes, and the quiet, steady strength he radiated. Most men in her social circle spent their energy trying to prove how powerful they were. Ryan had nothing to prove to anyone.
"The public announcement is tomorrow morning," Clare said, her business tone returning like a protective shield. "We are holding a press conference in the lobby of the Ashford Sterling Tower at ten AM."
"What do I need to say?"
"Nothing," Clare said. "I will read a prepared statement. You just stand beside me, hold my hand, and look like a devoted husband."
Ryan walked over to the dressing table, leaning down until his face was level with hers in the mirror.
"I don't do fake smiles, Clare," he said softly. "If I stand beside you tomorrow, I'm not doing it for your board of directors. I'm doing it to protect our child."
May you like
Clare’s breath hitched in her throat as his scent—fresh soap, cedarwood, and cold winter air—filled her senses. For a second, the cold, calculating CEO vanished, replaced by the vulnerable woman who had cried on the edge of a bed three months ago.
"Thank you, Ryan," she whispered.
