Page 117 of If You Claim Me
He regards me with cool indifference. “Shouldn’t you know these things since you live in my mother’s house, and you’re married to my son?”
Dorothea gives me a disparaging look, like she agrees—fuck you very much, Dorothea—and disappears into the office, leaving me alone with Connor’s father. I ignore his question. Obviously Meems is fine and so is my husband. One of my friends would be standing here if the latter was an issue. The way my chest tightens at the thought is telling.
I clasp my hands then drop them to my sides. “How can I help you?”
His eyes move over me. “I doubt you have skills I would deem helpful, although my son seems to believe otherwise.”
The way that one sentence picks at deep, old wounds is startling. No wonder Connor can’t stand himself most of the time. To have one of the people who’s supposed to love you unconditionally constantly shred your self-esteem would be devastating.
Anna, one of the local unhoused women who often spends time here, lopes by with a coffee. Her family has been around to clean her up and take her to the thrift store recently, based on her attire.
Duncan’s lip curls as she waves hello, and he tucks his hand in his pants pocket, turning back to me. “How much of your programming here relies on outside funding, would you say?”
“I… A lot, I guess.” We have monthly meetings to discuss our funding, apply for new grants, write proposals to acquire donor money for the accessible programming. We rent out spaces to local community organizations to bring in extra money and allocate it for resources.
He nods and hums. “Through the foundation, our familydonates an exceptional amount of money to worthwhile organizations.”
“I can imagine you do.”
His smile turns cold. “I suppose until recently that’s all you could do, wasn’t it? Just imagine.”
I swallow past the horrible lump forming in my throat.
“Do you think you’re worthwhile?”
My stomach twists. “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”
His icy gaze holds mine. “Don’t you, though? You’re nothing but an opportunistic whore. Having the Grace name will never make you one of us. You’re nothing but a distraction for my son. He’ll get tired of you,Dred.”
Duncan smooths a hand over his tie, lip twitching with satisfaction. “Don’t get comfortable, sweetheart. Everything you have can disappear.” He snaps his fingers. “Just like that.” His smile is full of malice as he spins around and walks away.
I reach for the hair tie around my wrist, but there isn’t one.
Everything he’s accused me of is a fresh slice on an unhealed cut. This morning money appeared in my bank account and a big part of me ached over it, because the weekend I’d just spent with my husband had felt so real. I’d shared pieces of myself with him, invited him inside me. But the fragile fairy tale broke the moment that money hit my account. I can care about Connor, but it doesn’t change the fact that I signed a contract to be his wife.
My body is numb, my blood turned to ice in my veins. A young woman comes up to check out a book, and I woodenly go through the process, attempting polite and friendly when all I feel is devastation. Once she’s taken care of, I slip into the breakroom, hoping to have a minute to calm the hell down. But Dorothea is in there with several other staff, and the tone is somber.
“What’s going on?” A sinking feeling amplifies as I absorb the faces of my colleagues. They look as destroyed as I feel.
“We just lost our biggest donor.” Kenny runs a rough hand through his hair.
And in that moment, I’m certain it’s the work of the man who just walked out the door. That he’d spite Meems like this, just to hurt me, takes my breath away.
“We’ll have to cut so many programs if we can’t find a new one,” Odette says.
“Do we have anywhere else to pull from?” I already know we don’t. All that money for services rendered is likely accounted for. The fundraising gala will be more important than ever if we’ve just lost our primary funder.
“We’ll have to audit everything that isn’t necessary,” Dorothea informs us.
Anxiety grips my heart. “Will we have to cut programs that are already in session?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she admits. “We’ll have to run all the numbers, but anything that isn’t tied to schools or doesn’t have city funding will likely have to go.”
That’s basically everything under my umbrella. “I can start writing proposals. Maybe we’ll be able to bridge the programming.” The moms-and-tots programs, all the things I’ve set in place, are at risk—all because Connor’s father wants to cause me pain for wearing a name he doesn’t think I deserve.
But maybe he’s right. I didn’t earn the Grace name. I just happened to be the damsel in distress, looking for a way out of the hole that had been dug for me. I’m using Connor, and Connor is using me. It comes with a price, and this is it.
But it felt like something real this past weekend. It’s felt like something real for a while.
