Page 127 of If You Claim Me

We’re both keeping plenty from each other. Whatever this was supposed to be has shifted in an irreversible way. I have feelings that don’t align with the contract, and owning those while I’m already on edge seems like a bad plan.

He’s silent for the rest of the drive, either stewing or brooding.

“I’ll be out with the twins in a few minutes,” I tell him when he stops at the curb in front of the café.

“I’ll come with you.”

“Everly is a fifteen-year-old girl who bled through her jeans and locked herself in a bathroom. You’re a high-profile pro hockey player and very interesting, especially since you’ve married a commoner. She’s crampy and bitchy and emotional and doesn’t need the extra attention.”

His nostrils flare.

I lean in and kiss his cheek. “Please tone your broody down a few notches. These two have been through a lot, and they needgentleness. You’re welcome to reengage the furrow once we’re home.”

“I don’t like that you’re keeping me in the dark.”

“I don’t think you’ll like being in the light any better, but I’ll explain once this situation is dealt with and we’re on the way home.” I leave him in the car and enter the coffee shop.

Victor is standing by the bathroom, talking to a store manager. His expression shifts to relief the moment he sees me. “Dred, thank you so much for coming.”

“Of course.”

“Are you their guardian?” The manager gives me a doubtful look.

“Is that relevant?”

“That young woman has been in there for forty-five minutes!” He points to the bathroom door. “She’s not even supposed to be here! She routinely comes in and orders a black coffee and a day-old scone and refills her coffee cup three times.” He says it like it’s a criminal offense.

“Refills on coffee are free,” Victor says quietly. “It says so right on the sign above the drip coffee. And she didn’t come in here for coffee, she just came in to use the bathroom.”

“The bathroom is for paying customers! And she takes advantage of the policy.”

“Then maybe you should change your policy,” I say coldly. “And do you really think a teenage girl would lock herself in a gross public bathroom for forty-five minutes if she didn’t have a good reason?”

The bell above the door tinkles. I glance over my shoulder. Every single head turns as my husband enters. I try to see him as others do, and not as the man I’ve started sharing a bed and a life with.

He’s the picture of elegance, even in jeans. Dark peacoat, polished shoes, perfectly styled hair, and an air of arrogance that makes people take notice. He moves toward me, Victor, and the unhappy manager.

“I asked you to stay in the car,” I remind him.

“I never agreed to your order, Mrs. Grace.” He kisses my temple.

The manager’s eyes bug out. “Oh my God, you’re Connor Grace.”

“It seems that way.” He gives the manager a patient smile. “I believe we have a teenager in need locked in a bathroom. My wife is here to assist, and I’m happy to hand out some Terror swag for the minor inconvenience having me here might pose.”

Connor pulls a stack of hockey cards out of his breast pocket and a felt-tipped pen, leaving me open to deal with Everly. Three minutes later, she’s dressed in a pair of ridiculously oversized joggers, I’m holding a bag of ruined jeans—she was not being overdramatic—and Connor signs his last trading card.

We troop out to his car, and Everly and Victor pile in the back.

“Where to now?” Connor asks jovially, his dark attitude tucked safely away for now.

I twist in the passenger seat. “Can either of you explain why we’re here and not Cordelia?” She’s the group home’s main point of contact for me.

Everly slouches in the seat and crosses her arms. “The manager banned me from the coffee shop, but it was the only place open with a bathroom, and obviously I needed one so I took my chances.”

Victor and I exchange a look.

“Is that the only reason?” I press.