Page 113 of If You Claim Me
“Jealousy, probably? Once I called one of the nannies Mom by accident. She was gone the next day.” I was five. My mother had been in the other room and overheard. She slapped the nanny. I’ll never forget my mother’s rage, the nanny’s shock, or how angry I was at myself for ruining something good.
“I’m so sorry.” Mildred slides her arms under my back and squeezes me.
I wrap my arms around her and squeeze back. “I’m guessing you didn’t get many hugs, either.”
“No.” She rests her cheek on my chest so I can’t see her eyes, but I hear the sadness. “My parents were too high to pay attention to me most of the time. And when they did… Usually it was better if they just ignored me or forgot I was there.”
Rage, violent and consuming, hits me in a rush. If they weren’t already gone, I would hunt them down and find a way to make them pay.
She kisses the bottom of my chin, probably sensing my sudden tension. “I survived all the bad things, Connor.”
“You shouldn’t have had to endure them in the first place.”
“Neither should you, but here we are. Bad parents are bad parents. It doesn’t matter if they’re poor drug addicts or rich assholes. They do damage, and we either survive and thrive to spite them, or we repeat history.” She shifts, pulling herself higher. “I’m going to kiss you now, and we’re going to stop talking about things that hurt us and instead we’ll focus on the things that make us feel good, okay?”
“Yes, darling.”
“You’re terrible at this game.” Mildred is all smiles as she kicks my ass for the tenth time at Mastermind.
“Or maybe I’m letting you win so I can see your face light up with evil glee,” I offer.
“Or maybe you’re just really bad at it,” she quips.
“It is a possibility,” I agree. “I haven’t had nearly the same opportunities as Flip to hone my board game skills.”
“Practice makes perfect.”
“As evidenced by your winning streak.”
Mildred uncrosses her legs with a groan.
I frown. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m great. Just not used to sex with a hockey player.” She stretches her legs and wiggles her toes on another groan.
“Why don’t I run you a bath, and you can have a soak?” I suggest.
“What will you do?”
“I’ll sit with you.” As if there’s anything else I’d rather do.
She perks up. “In the bath?”
“I barely fit in there on my own, and we both know if I get in with you, there would be no relaxing, and we’d only add to your soreness.”
She gives me sweet-menace eyes. “What if I want to add to the soreness?”
I kiss her forehead. “Bath first. Then we’ll see if you’re ready to play with me again.”
“This is my honeymoon! Shouldn’t I get to decide if I’m ready to play with you or not?” she calls after me.
I poke my head back into the living room. “It’s my honeymoon, too.”
I leave her pouting and start the bath, adding strawberry-vanilla bubbles. I grab her book from the nightstand and move one of the occasional chairs next to the tub before I return to the living room.
“I can walk.” Her voice is laced with amusement as I scoop her up.
“You should save your energy.” I nuzzle into her neck. “In case I decide you’re in good enough condition to play later.”
