Page 129 of The Fiancée Farce
“No, and that’s hardly your fault.” Gemma flourished the check, praying Tansy would just take it already. “I would say that a Van Dalen always pays their debts, but that’s clearly bullshit. But this Van Dalen does, so.”
Maybe this was what Mom had meant when she’d told Gemma to make the name Van Dalen mean something new, something she could be proud of.
Tansy’s eyes flitted between the check and Gemma, confusion plastered across her face. “This is more than we even agreed on.”
“It’s less than you deserve, but it’s all I have to give.”
Tansy lifted her hand, resting her fingertips in the hollow at the base of her throat. “I can’t take this.”
Desperation clawed at her. She shook the check at Tansy. “I need you to take it.”
She couldn’t leave until Tansy took it and she needed to leave as much as she wanted to stay.
“It’s not right,” Tansy stressed.
Now was not the time for Tansy’s sense of—ofcompunctionto get the better of her. Not when Gemma was barely holding it together, hanging by a rapidly fraying thread. “I don’t give a damn if it’s right or not. I want you to have it.”
“But I didn’t—”
“Please just take it,” Gemma begged. She closed her eyes and sucked in a gasping breath. “I need you to take it. This is the only thing I can give you, the only thing I can do to make this whole thing even moderately right. So please,pleasejust take it, Tansy.”
When Tansy didn’t take the check, didn’t pluck it from her fingers the way Gemma desperately needed her to, she cracked her eyes open. Tansy was staring at her, blue eyes rimmed with red, looking on the verge of tears.
Gemma just couldn’t get it right. No matter how hard she tried to do the right thing, the best thing, even when it killed her, she just couldn’t get it right. She always,alwayscame up just a little short. Close, but no cigar.
“But I don’t want your money,” Tansy whispered. “I just want you.”
A pang of some undefined emotion struck her in the chest, snatching the breath from her lungs.
Tansy had no idea what she was asking for.
Money was what they had agreed on. Money, Gemma could give. Money could make Tansy’s dreams come true.
“This is what we agreed on. This is what I promised you.” Her throat ached like she’d swallowed glass. “It’s the only promise I made you that I can keep. So please, just take the damn check, Tansy.”
Tansy finally,finallyreached out and plucked the check from Gemma’s fingers. Her eyes pierced Gemma. “That’s it, then? You’re just going to give me this and—and go?” Her lower lip wobbled. “Am I ever even going to see you again?”
It hurt to breathe, like the ragged fragments of her heart were piercing her lungs with every breath. “It would be for the best if you didn’t. The Van Dalens . . . we’re toxic, Tansy. If you know what’s good for you, you should stay far, far away from all of us.”
Air rasped from between Tansy’s lips, the sound verging on a sob.
Gemma hadn’t thought it was possible to hate herself this much, but apparently her self-loathing knew no bounds.
Tansy gave a jerky nod, lashes fluttering a mile a minute. “If that’s what you want.”
It wasn’t what she wanted, not even close. But what she wanted didn’t matter. It never had.
“The money’s yours to do with whatever you’d like, obviously, but I thought you could use the extra for the renovation. Or you could—you could travel. Go somewhere nice. New York, maybe.”
Like they’d talked about. Like they’d planned.
“Sure,” Tansy whispered.
Gemma stumbled back a step, knees weak. “Take care, Tansy.”
She turned, reaching for the door.
“Wait!”
