Page 74 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
“I’m over twenty-one.”
“No trust fund?”
I scoff. “For a woman who doesn’t do what her parents want her to?” My grandparents might have left it to me, but my parents have control over it until I’m thirty.
“You do seem to have a mind of your own.”
Is there grudging respect in his tone? Or am I making things up? Not that it matters. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished, and frankly I don’t give a damn if no one else thinks so.
“You’ll be breaking your lease.”
I clamp my mouth shut. Arguing won’t get me anywhere. And he doesn’t have to know that I have no intention of doing as he says. I need the escape hatch, so I’m keeping my apartment, no matter what I have to do to make that happen. “You’re pretty dictatorial, Mr. Vale.”
“I most certainly am when it comes to my wife, Mrs. Vale.”
Brennan exits first and helps me from the car.
The elderly couple from 1A are heading out for their Sunday morning walk to the bakery, and they stop to stare.
I drive a thirteen-year-old car with plenty of dings in it. And it looks right at home in the complex’s parking lot.
I wave to them, but I can’t force even the tiniest of smiles.
Everyone here knows me for who I am, not who my parents are. And this display of wealth is embarrassing.
I’ve been so caught up in my own head that I hadn’t noticed that Dorian is standing next to me. Surprising me, he acknowledges the couple. “Morning, folks.”
His words seem to jolt them into action, and they continue on their way.
I close my eyes for a moment. For the hundredth time, I wonder how the hell this can possibly be happening.
The men follow me toward the building, and the heel of one of my sandals catches in a crack in the asphalt of the parking lot. Before I can sprawl face first on the ground, Brennan catches me and holds me until I’m steady.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Christ,” Dorian bites out.
“I’ll be more careful.” Since I’m usually in sneakers, nothing like this has ever happened before. And of course it does while my husband is already being critical of where I live.
I gently extract myself from Brennan’s grip and continue to the metal steps with their chipped paint that’s curling at the edges.
Since I’ve almost fallen once, I grip the handrail. The same as always, it wobbles under my touch.
“Damn it, Isla. This isn’t safe.”
Ignoring Dorian, I start climbing to 2B. Behind me, his polished dress shoes tap a steady rhythm. Brennan’s heavier footfall is right behind.
They don’t belong here, any more than I belong in their world.
In front of my apartment with the faded red door, I fish my keys from my purse.
After I jiggle the finicky lock a couple of times, the door finally swings open into my narrow living room.
Inside, I’m greeted by the familiar, comforting scents of old paper and coffee grounds. The place is humble and worn, but it’s mine.
“Make sure Cally doesn’t get past you,” I warn them.
“The cat?” Brennan asks, closing the door and turning the lock.
