Page 52 of If You Claim Me
“Wow. That couldn’t have been easy.” I imagine what it would be like, raised in a home where he never wanted for anything. Where staff took care of basic needs and every meal was prepared, served, and cleaned up for him. How jarring must it have been to go from a world where everyone took care of everything to suddenly having to do it all himself?
“I had a lot to prove, to them and myself. The first year was eye-opening.”
“What about Meems? Did she help?”
“She tried, but I wanted to do it on my own.”
“So they don’t agree with your chosen profession, and they don’t want you to marry me.”
“They don’t know you.”
“No, but I’m like hockey, beneath your social standing,” I point out. “Yet they’re putting all this effort into a wedding they also don’t agree with? Why? It doesn’t make sense.”
His hands tighten on the wheel. “This wedding is a way for my father to put me in my place.”
That they’re willing to spend all this money after they cut him off seems contradictory. “I still don’t get it.”
“It’s a power move. My father wants a flashy wedding that will be featured by local news outlets, because he loves the attention. And he wants the world to know that his son, and the sole male heir to carry on the Grace name, continues to be adisappointment because I’m marrying someone outside of his world.”
“Wow, that’s…”
“Psychopathic?”
“Calculated. What about your mother? Where does she fit into this?”
“She married up when she took the Grace name. My father pulls her strings, so she’ll do whatever he asks of her.”
“She sounds like a prisoner.”
“She chose to marry him, and she stands by that decision.” He grips the steering wheel. “They’re putting us on display with the hope that I’ll do something to embarrass myself or ruin what’s left of my career,” he explains flatly. “They want me to be out of options, so I have no choice but to join the family business. They think they’re doing what’s best for me.”
I want him to be joking, but it’s clear he isn’t. “That’s awful.”
“Everything is about money and business with my father, and my mother is his pawn, unfortunately.”
“Well, screw them.” I want to say we can skip the big wedding and just elope, but this isn’t for us. It’s for Lucy.
A hint of a smile appears. “I’m glad to see I chose wisely with you.”
He pulls up to the valet of the Grace Hotel. It’s the most expensive place to stay in the city.
“Please wait. I’ll come around and get you,” Connor instructs as the attendant opens his door.
He steps out of the car, rising to his full, imposing height, and transforms from Connor Grace the hockey player and my fiancé, to the son of Duncan Grace, billionaire. His thick biceps flex under his perfectly tailored black suit with wine piping, and I take a moment to admire this enigma of a man, villain not only to the hockey world, but his family as well.
He rounds the hood and gives the other attendant permission to open my door. I slip my fingers into his waiting palm, and warmth shoots up my arm.
He moves in close as I rise, the fingers of his free hand skimming the length of my arm. To anyone watching, it looks intimate—and feels it too. He dips until his lips are at my ear. “The media are waiting for us in the hotel lobby. I assume they’re here for the photo op, courtesy of my mother. We’ll pause for a few seconds so they can get their shots, but don’t answer any questions, okay?”
“Right. Okay.” I nervously smooth my hands over my hips and wish I had my hair tie rather than this bangle that rubs against my already irritated skin.
“Just smile and don’t look directly into the cameras.”
“Got it.” I reflexively smooth his lapel, even though he looks perfect.
“You’re engaged to a Grace. It doesn’t matter that I’m considered the worst of them. The name is armor lined with cashmere. Remember that when the media start slinging their arrows.”
“How do you deal with this all the time?”
