Page 150 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim

But inside, I feel the ground shifting beneath us. Theshadows haven’t stopped moving. The Feds are circling, the senator is playing a long game, and Moretti’s words echo in my skull.

This moment of peace?

It won’t last.

And I don’t know if we’ll survive what’s coming.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Isla

The Montrose café where I’m meeting my sister seems to pulse with its own rhythm—espresso machines hissing, jazz notes slinking through the air, fairy lights twinkling over scuffed wooden tables. It’s a bohemian haven, alive with the scent of roasted beans and the chatter of artists and dreamers.

Margaux’s choice of location surprises me. The last time we met up for coffee, she’d rejected my suggestion of a quaint place near my small apartment in favor of meeting at the Sterling Uptown French patisserie where she’d run into people she knew.

Things have changed.

My linen sundress in a light, creamy color is perfect for Houston’s July wilting heat and humidity. But with my heels and designer bag, I look too polished for this funky, wonderful chaos.

Part of me achingly longs for the life I left behind.

With a resolved sigh, I shove away the thought. My past is gone forever.

I catch sight of Margaux at a corner table, basking in a patch of sunlight.

Smiling, she calls my name over the music and beckons me over.

In return, I wave, making my pink diamond ring catch the light, its oval cut sparkling like a tiny star.

When she stands to greet me, I barely recognize her. She’s wearing a gauzy sundress with green and blue layers that shift like water. An anklet glints on one foot, and she has on flat, comfortable sandals.

She’s serene, like a painting, and not the one that hangs in the Tanglewood foyer of our family home. In those, we were both cold and posed. But this woman in front of me couldn’t be more different.

I make my way across the distance, my heels clicking softly, my dress hugging me. I’d applied a minimal amount of makeup, but my lips are very deliberately painted the same soft rose Brennan kissed off last night.

My collar—delicate and hidden—rests beneath my neckline, a secret I can feel more than see.

Since Dorian claimed me in front of the world, I feel controlled. Marked.

Margaux pulls me into a brief hug—warm, uncertain, trembling with all the things we haven’t said. When we pull apart, we both sit, facing each other like we’re relearning who we are.

“You look…”

“Like someone who married a billionaire instead of bolting into the sunset?” I try for lightness, but it falls flat.

She gives a faint smile. “I was going to say expensive. But yeah, that too.”

The barista stops by and highlights their specialties.

Though I don’t usually like much sugar, I’m craving it, maybe to soothe the turmoil inside me.

I order a mocha—whole milk with dark chocolate and an extra shot of rich espresso.

“Whipped cream?”

Thanks to my men, I get more than enough exercise. And after last night, I can afford a few extra calories today. “Yes. Please.”

“Chocolate drizzle?”