Page 64 of If You Claim Me

“I’m tired of those, too.”

“I know, but I need you to be healthy so you can see me get married.” The sooner the better. I need to talk to Mildred about the timeline.

“Dred is so good for you.” She smiles. “Where is she?”

“In the house. We finished dinner a while ago.”She was sweet, and I was my asshole self.“You want me to read to you tonight?”

“Maybe just a page or two. Don’t skip any of the good parts.”

At least her sense of humor is still intact. “I won’t, Meems.” I grab the book from the nightstand and sit on the edge of her bed. She settles back against her pillows with a sigh.

I only manage to read one page before she’s asleep again. I replace the bookmark and rub my cheek, the one Mildred’s lips were pressed against briefly when she called me out on my own self-loathing. “I don’t know how to talk to Mildred when you’re not around,” I admit. “I need you to stay so I can get better at it.”

I kiss her cheek and turn off the light. On the way back, I stop in the staff quarters and ask Cedrick to check on Meems before he goes home for the night. I walk down to my office to tackle a few emails, including a request for an update on Mildred’s apartment.

The back rent has been handled, so she’s no longer at risk of being evicted. But I want to solve the problem indefinitely, and the best way to do that is to make her the owner rather than the renter of the apartment. However, the new owner is resistant to selling the unit. From a financial standpoint, I understand. It’s a high-end building, and the rentals generate more income over time. But everyone has a price. It’s just a matter of figuring out what it is.

It’s closing in on ten by the time I leave the office. I pause outside Mildred’s bedroom door. Her light is still on. I should apologize for making dinner uncomfortable.

I knock, but don’t get a response. Seems to be a trend tonight.

I try again, but still nothing, so I resort to texting. No buzz comes from the other side of the door, though. She’s probably in the library.

I walk down the hall, take the first right, and step inside the library through the other entrance. The lights are dim, so it takes several seconds for my eyes to adjust. She’s curled up on the couch in the glass dome, a blanket covering her legs, pillow behind her head, and a book lying open on her chest. Her glasses are askew. I carefully remove the book, tucking the bookmark in before I close it and set it on the side table, then I remove her glasses, wiping away the fingerprints before I gently fold the arms. Those I slip into the breast pocket of my polo.

I don’t wake her. Not yet. I want this moment, where I’m not the person tying her to a life she doesn’t want but is willing to accept so she can keep the things and people she values most. What would it feel like to be loved like that by her?

That will never happen.

“Mildred?” I stroke her cheek.

She doesn’t shy away from the touch. Instead she turns toward my fingers, as if the contact is welcome. Maybe we’re similar in that respect. Most of the time I feel starved for contact. I fear it and crave it. That kiss during our engagement photos plays on an endless loop. The warmth of her lips, the softness of her body against mine.

“I kissed you back.”

“Dred.” I understand the nickname to be ironic now, because the only thing I dread these days is her deciding to leave. It doesn’t sound right coming out of my mouth.

Her eyes flutter open. She feels for her glasses.

“I have them right here.”

She stretches like a cat and hums. “I fell asleep.”

“You did. In the library.”

“I do almost every night,” she murmurs and rolls on her side, toward me, pressing her cheek into her pillow. “I like being surrounded by stories.”

“Your bed is probably more comfortable.”

“It is.”

I brush a tendril of hair away from her face. I shouldn’t, but she’s unguarded, not quite awake enough to tell me to fuck off and keep my hands to myself.

She raises a hand, curving it around mine. Holding on to it. Her eyes are closed again, but the hint of a smile plays on her lips.

“Then why not read in your bed?”

“It’s too easy to get used to nice things,” she says.