Chapter 10: Public Claim
The city spread out beneath them like a spilled jewelry box, a thousand points of light shimmering through the haze. David watched Dede’s eyes, the way they reflected the skyline as she took in the rooftop restaurant—the linen tablecloths, the silent, efficient waiters, the other couples speaking in the low, moneyed hum of those who belonged.
“David,” she breathed, her hand finding his across the table. Her fingers were cool, her nails a perfect, shell-pink against his skin. “This place is impossible to get into. How did you…?”
He gave her hand a slight squeeze, a possessive gesture he didn’t bother to soften. “I called in a favor from my editor. He knows the owner.”
“A favor for little ol’ me?” She smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips as she unfolded the heavy linen napkin into her lap. The candlelight danced in the auburn highlights of her curls. She looked like she belonged here, amidst the crystal and quiet clink of silver. She looked like she belonged with him.
Under the table, his large hand settled on her thigh, just above the knee. The silk of her dress was slippery, expensive. He felt the firm muscle beneath, the toned leg of the yoga instructor. He let his hand rest there, a blatant claim in the shadows. “For us,” he corrected, his voice low.
The waiter appeared, a phantom in a black vest, and poured the champagne. The bubbles spiraled up in the slender flutes. Dede lifted hers, her eyes locked on his over the rim.
“To new chapters,” David said, clinking his glass gently against hers.
“To finally being seen,” she replied, and took a delicate sip, her gaze never wavering.
Throughout the appetizers—seared scallops on a bed of something frothy and green—she leaned in, her voice a confidential murmur. She talked about her classes, a funny story about a elderly woman who refused to do downward dog, her laughter like wind chimes. David listened, nodding, his thumb tracing slow circles on her thigh. He enjoyed the way other men glanced at their table, at her, then at him with a flicker of assessment and envy. He enjoyed it more than he should.
When the main courses arrived, he finally let his other hand slide into the inner pocket of his jacket. He placed the small, heavy envelope on the table between the salt cellar and the flickering candle.
Dede’s fork paused midway to her mouth. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
She wiped her mouth meticulously, a small performance of anticipation, before picking up the envelope. She slid out the contents. Her eyes scanned the top page, the formal legalese. Her breath hitched, just a little.“David. These are…”
“The final papers,” he said, watching her face closely. “My lawyer sent them today. I signed them this afternoon. Once she signs, it’s over. Truly over.”
The divorce. The long, corrosive unraveling of his twenty-year marriage. The proof of his wife’s betrayal, now just a matter of bureaucratic finality. A weight he’d carried for months felt like it shifted, not disappearing, but settling into a new, more manageable shape.
Dede’s expression softened into something radiant, triumphant. She reached across and took his hand, lacing her fingers with his.“Oh, darling. I’m so happy for you. For us.” She brought his knuckles to her lips and kissed them. “This is huge.”
“It is.” He turned his hand to capture hers. “It means I’m not looking back anymore.”
She leaned in even closer, the candlelight carving the lovely line of her neck. The scent of her perfume, something lush and tropical, mixed with the aroma of truffle oil and seared steak. “This is the first time you’ve taken me somewhere public,” she whispered, her voice a velvet scrape. “Somewhere like this. Does this mean I’m officially your girlfriend, darling?” Her free hand found his wrist, her manicured nail tracing slow, promising circles on his pulse point.
He held her gaze, the possessive heat in his gut flaring. “What do you think it means?”
“I think,” she said, leaning back just enough to take another sip of champagne, a playful glint in her eye, “it means you’re finally ready to show me off.”
He didn’t answer. He just let his hand on her thigh slide a little higher, the silk bunching under his palm. Her smile deepened.She knew. The rest of the meal passed in a blur of exquisite flavors and subtle, building tension. His phone buzzed once in his pocket—a text. He ignored it. The only thing that mattered was the woman across from him, the signed papers, and the clear, unburdened path they were now on.
Across town, in the harsh fluorescent glow of a 24-hour convenience store, Ace was counting out change. The coins were warm from his pocket. Two dollars and eighty-seven cents.
“That’s not enough for the milk and the bread, kid,” the tired clerk said, not unkindly, nodding at the gallon of generic whole milk and the loaf of wheat bread on the counter.
Ace’s jaw tightened. He’d emptied the Mason jar he kept for emergencies. The check from his mechanic job wasn’t due for three days. He looked from the milk to the bread. Mia needed the milk for her cereal. Sam would need sandwiches for lunch tomorrow.
“Just the milk, then,” he said, his voice gruff.
He pushed the coins across the counter and took the heavy plastic jug. The bread sat there, a taunting symbol of his failure. He shouldered out of the automatic doors, the bell jangling behind him.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He fumbled for it, juggling the milk. It was his mother.
“Did you get it?” Her voice was thin, stretched tight.
“Got the milk. Not the bread. I’m short.”
A silence, filled with the sound of her breathing, and behind her, the distant, metallic blast of the television. “It’s fine. Thank you, sweetheart. Is it… is it bad out there?”
He looked up at the dark sky, smeared with orange light pollution. “It’s okay. I’ll be there in ten.”
“He’s not here. He’s… out.”
“Good.” Ace ended the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket. He climbed into the Mustang, the milk jug rolling on the passenger seat. He sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, the split skin on his knuckles stretching.
His mind, as it did a hundred times a day, slid to Lexi. The feel of her hand on his cheek in her dark foyer a week ago.Fix your hand. He’d wrapped it properly. The cuts were healing. The memory of what he’d done was not.
He’d seen her once at school, from a distance. She was walking with Bree, her books clutched to her chest, her head down. Rylee had been with them, and when he saw Ace, his best friend’s face had closed off, a wall of quiet disapproval. Ace hadn’t approached. He’d turned and walked the other way. The obsession was a live wire in his chest, buzzing with a constant, painful current. He wanted to hear her voice. He wanted to know if the bruise on her neck had faded. He wanted to crawl into the silence of her room and just exist there, forgiven.
He wasn’t good for her. He knew it in his bones. He was a broke, angry kid with a broken family, living in a dead woman’s house, buying groceries with coins. She was all soft light and sketchbooks and a father who took her to rooftop restaurants. But he couldn’t stay away. The text thread on his phone, the one with her name, was a minefield of drafted and deleted messages. Are you okay?I’m miss you.
Can I see you?
He never sent any of them.
He started the car and pulled out of the lot, heading toward his mother’s apartment, toward the two people he could still try to protect.
“So, he just showed up?At your house? After midnight?” Bree’s voice was a muffled squeak through a mouthful of popcorn. She was sprawled on Lexi’s bed, painting her toenails a violent shade of purple.
“Yeah.” Lexi was at her desk, idly turning a charcoal pencil in her fingers. Her sketchbook was open to a fresh page. It was still blank.
“And your dad just… let him in?”
“Not exactly.” Lexi smiled a little, remembering the standoff in the foyer. “I let him in.”
Bree blew on her toes. “Girl.The drama. The tension. It’s like a movie. A really messed-up, sexy movie.” She screwed the cap back on the polish. “And you haven’t talked to him since?”
Lexi shook her head. “What is there to say?He apologized. I… I said what I needed to say.”
“And what about the wanting-to-jump-his-bones part?” Bree asked, blunt as always. “Because let’s be real, Lex. The guy is a walking sin. A troubled, complicated, supremely hot sin.”
Lexi felt a flush creep up her neck. She’d replayed that part of the confession in her head more than any other. I wanted… I really wanted to. It was the truth, and it confused her more than the fear. Her desire felt like a separate creature living inside her, one she didn’t fully know how to feed or control.
“It’s not that simple,” Lexi murmured.
“Nothing ever is with the broken-hearted artist types,” Bree sighed, dramatically flopping back onto the pillows. “Just ask Rylee. He’s still all mopey about the whole thing. Thinks he failed as a friend by inviting Ace to the party.”
“He didn’t.”
“I know! Tell him that.” Bree’s phone chimed. She glanced at it and a goofy, private smile spread across her face. She tapped out a quick reply. “Speaking of… he wants to know if we want to catch a movie tomorrow. A group thing.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Maybe a double date thing?”
Lexi’s stomach did a small, nervous flip. “I don’t know, Bree.”
“Come on. It’s just a movie. Dark room.No talking required. You don’t even have to sit next to him. We can form a Bree-Lexi buffer zone.” Bree sat up, her expression turning serious. “Look, you can’t live in this weird limbo. Either you’re done with him, which, given the way you stare into space dreaming about his jawline, I doubt. Or you… see what happens. In public. With chaperones.”
Lexi looked back at the blank page. She thought of his eyes that night, hollow with self-loathing. She thought of his hands, capable of such violence, so gentle when he’d finally, haltingly, brushed a tear from her cheek.
“Okay,” she said, the word soft but definite.“Okay. A movie.”
Back at the restaurant, dessert had been ordered—a chocolate sphere that collapsed into a decadent mess at the touch of a warm spoon. David’s phone buzzed again, persistent. With a soft sigh of irritation, he pulled it out.
It was a text from Lexi.
Hey. Going to a movie with Bree and Rylee tomorrow night. Back by 11.
He stared at it. It was normal. It was what a daughter was supposed to do. Yet after the silent tension of the past week, it felt like an overture. A small, fragile bridge.
“Everything alright?” Dede asked, scooping a bite of chocolate and caramel.
“Lexi,” he said, typing a quick Okay. Have fun.Love you. “Just checking in.”
“She’s a good kid,” Dede said, her tone light and approving. “A little quiet, but sweet. She’ll adjust.” She said it as if Lexi were a houseplant that needed the right orientation to the sun.
David put the phone away, face down. He focused on Dede, on the pleasing curve of her smile, the way the candlelight caught the gold chain around her neck. This was his life now. Ordered.Beautiful. Under his control.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, his voice dropping. The possessiveness was back, sharper now, edged with the promise of what would come next.
Dede’s eyes gleamed. She nodded, finishing the last of her wine.
In the elevator going down, he pushed her against the mirrored wall, kissing her deeply, tasting of chocolate and expensive wine. Her arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer. “I want you,” she murmured against his mouth.
“You have me,” he growled back, his hands on her hips.
Later, in the dark of her lavender-scented bedroom, as he moved over her, his large hands pinning hers to the mattress, she arched into him with a gasp. The city lights from her window painted stripes across their tangled bodies. He was lost in the sensation, in the powerful rush of claiming and being claimed. The finality of the signed papers, the public acknowledgment, the perfect, yielding body beneath his—it all fused into a single, triumphant point.
Afterward, as he lay breathing heavily beside her, Dede slipped silently from the bed. She padded naked into the en-suite bathroom, closing the door with a soft click.
She didn’t turn on the light. She stood in the moonlight filtering through the small window, holding the small, plastic stick she’d retrieved from its hiding place behind her vanity. Her heart was a frantic drum against her ribs.
She’d been careful. Counting days. Orchestrating moments. She’d flushed the birth control pills weeks ago, replacing them with vitamins in the foil packet.
She took a deep breath and looked down.
In the soft blue glow of the digital display, a single word stared back at her.PREGNANT.
A slow, victorious smile spread across her face in the darkness. She closed her eyes, letting the reality settle into her bones. She placed a hand on her flat, toned stomach.
Then, silently, she opened the bathroom door and returned to the bed. She curled her body around David’s sleeping form, draping an arm over his chest, fitting herself against the hard planes of his back. He stirred slightly, a contented sound rumbling in his throat.
“I love you, David,” she whispered into the darkness, the words a secret vow.
He, half-asleep, captured her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “Mmm. Love you, too.”
Outside, the city hummed, oblivious. In a modest house, a girl stared at a blank page, thinking of a boy with bruised knuckles. In a small, messy apartment, a boy left a gallon of milk on the counter and hugged his little sister goodnight. And in a lavender-scented room, a woman smiled, already calculating the next nine months.