Page 153 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim

Happy.

That’s not the first time that word has occurred to me. And after last night, I don’t know that I am.

There are parts of my life that are wonderful, like when I’m alone with my men, dining, making love—if that’s what it can be called—enjoying a drink together on the patio at the end of the day.

And I will never forget that Dorian married me without knowing who I was. Clearly it didn’t matter who his bride was. If it did, he would have exposed my lie while we were standing in front of the minister.

Instead, Dorian went through with the wedding. I was nothing more than a means to an end. The potential senatorial candidate wanted the respect that came along withbeing married to Houston royalty. No matter how destitute.

Which brings my mind full circle back to my father and the conversation that was interrupted by the arrival of the barista. “You mentioned something about the reason you left.”

“There’s something you need to know.” Margaux quickly glances around us, then pulls out an envelope and places it between us. Instantly cold dread streaks through my stomach.

She angles her chair and comes in a little closer. “The night of the rehearsal dinner, I found photos in Dad’s study.”

The jazz fades, and a buzzing in my head replaces it. “If this is about the escort ring?—”

“How do you know about it?”

I wave off the question. “It’s complicated.”

“Well, it’s more than that.”

More?My mouth dries.

“He’s in a lot of the pictures with the women.”

I’m suddenly woozy, fighting nausea.

Everett’s words from the gala hammer the inside of my head. “Davenport’s mess needs cleaning up. The escort ring’s unraveling.”

“Everything about our lives was a lie, and…”

I barely hear her.

Instead, I think of Dad’s slick smile, late-night visitors he received, the way he sold his daughters to Dorian as if we were livestock.

“Some of the women are so young, I wonder if they’ve graduated college.”

Dear God. No.

She slides the envelope closer.

Part of me doesn’t want to know. But I have to.

With shaking hands, I break the seal.

The first image makes me gasp.

Then there’s another and another.

After seeing the women, I have no doubt my father is involved in something not just illegal but horrifically grotesque.

“I grabbed them,” Margaux whispers. “For leverage. For safety. I couldn’t stay knowing that.”

Suddenly afraid that someone might see what we’re looking at, I shove the photos back into place. “What are you going to do?

“I don’t know.” She brushes her hair back from her face. “For now, I guess, keep it quiet. I’m not sure Mom couldn’t survive the shame.”