Chapter 37
GRACE
The summery linen dress hits just above my knees, the pale-blue fabric floating around my legs as I smooth my hands down the sides. It's beautiful. Expensive, perfectly tailored, but wearing it makes me feel like a version of myself that's not real.
My fingers move to the pearl collar at my neck, tracing over the shiny beads. That feels real. The knowledge that it symbolizes Asher's ownership over me. It's strange how that feels real, but our marriage and these showy events all feel like a performance.
The party sprawls across the back lawn, white tents billowing in the ocean breeze. Champagne flutes catch sunlight, casting prisms across linen-draped tables. Women in pastel dresses drift between clusters of men in light blazers, their laughter carrying on the salty air.
Everything screams money, a world I'll never truly belong to.
Asher's been off since he left his father's office earlier this afternoon. His jaw's tighter, shoulders more rigid. Whatever conversation he had with Leonard clearly bothered him, but he won't admit it.
That's something else I'm coming to realize. Asher wants all of me, but he's still only giving pieces of himself.
"Asher." A silver-haired man in a navy blazer approaches, hand extended to my husband. "Good to see you."
"Robert." Asher shakes firmly, his other hand settling on my lower back, pulling me close. "You remember my wife, Grace."
Robert's eyes flick to me, polite but assessing. "Of course. Lovely to see you again, Mrs. Caine."
The name still sounds foreign. I smile anyway. "You too."
They launch into a discussion about quarterly projections, something about emerging markets. I stand there, nodding at appropriate moments, feeling decorative and useless.
More board members cycle through. Asher introduces me each time, his touch never leaving my body—palm at my spine, fingers at my waist, thumb tracing circles on my hip.
"Excuse me," I butt in during a quiet moment, "I'm going to head to the ladies’ room."
Asher studies my face, gray eyes searching. Then his hand cups my jaw, tilting my chin up. The kiss is chaste, just a press of lips, but something in it makes my pulse skip.
"Come right back, Sugar." It feels possessive, and I nod before scurrying away to find the bathroom.
When I finally find it, it's enormous, with marble floors and a large vanity. Far larger than any powder room I've ever seen. I step inside, closing the door softly behind me and leaning against it.
I study my reflection in the gold-edged mirror and drag in a few deep breaths.
Voices drift from the hallway. Female. They're getting closer, voices louder when I start to make out the words.
"—absolutely ridiculous that she's here."
The voices pause right outside the bathroom door. I hold my breath, pressing myself against the wall.
"Asher Caine married that?" The second voice drips with disdain.
My stomach twists.
"She's obviously a gold digger." The first voice continues. "Did you see her ring? It's a huge diamond, and I heard that his jeweler had to make it last minute."
The other woman gasps. "The wedding was planned so quickly. I wonder if she's pregnant and that's why they're rushing."
"Maybe, but I still think gold digger. She probably saw her meal ticket and latched on."
"Or maybe it's a baby trap."
Cruel laughter sounds in the hallway, and my chest aches.
"Even that won't last. He'll get bored. Trade her in for someone with actual class, actual breeding. Someone who belongs in his world."
"Poor thing probably thinks this is real. That he actually loves her."
More laughter as their footsteps fade down the hallway.
I stare at my reflection, their words circling like vultures.
Gold digger. Doesn't belong here. He'll get bored.
Heat pricks behind my eyes. My throat burns.
They're right. About all of it.
I am only here for the money. I don't belong in this world of summer houses and designer everything. Asher did settle for me because I was convenient, willing to play a part.
Their words cut me deeply. I can hear Kacey’s voice in my head, asking why I even care about their opinions. And maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe I should walk right out there, with my head held high and no shame. That’s what she would do. But I’m not like Kacey. I want so desperately to belong.
Those women saw through me in seconds. How long until everyone else does? Until Asher's family, the board members, his father—until they all look at me and see exactly what I am?
A fraud.
Tears slide down my cheeks before I can stop them. I press my palms against my eyes, but they keep coming.
Not good enough. Never good enough.
The voice in my head sounds like Richard’s. He used to tell me how amazing I was. The voice of a generation. Insane talent. And then he ripped the rug out from under me. It was all a lie. My writing was never good. I was never going to be published.
And now, I can’t shake the thought of what happens when this is all over? When Asher leaves me at the end of the year… All of my writing is so connected to him, inspired by our days together. Will I have any inspiration when I don’t have him?
Or will I be right back to where I started? Agentless with an unfinished manuscript.
The walls press closer. My lungs squeeze tight, refusing to pull in air.
Breathe. Just breathe.
But I can't.
My chest heaves, shallow gasps that don't reach deep enough. The marble bathroom blurs, edges softening as black spots dance across my vision.
I grip the edge of the sink, knuckles bone-white, but it doesn't ground me. Nothing does.
Gold digger. Fraud. Not good enough.
The words loop, louder and louder, drowning out rational thought.
My throat closes. I claw at the collar, fingers fumbling with the clasp, but it won't budge. The pearls dig into my skin, suffocating me.
Can't breathe. Can't—
Heat floods my face. Sweat beads along my hairline, trailing down my spine. The room spins, tilting sideways.
I slide to the floor, back against the cool tile wall. My vision tunnels, shrinking to a pinpoint.
You don't belong here. He'll leave. Everyone leaves.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears, erratic and violent. Each breath comes shorter than the last.
Breathe.
I can't.
Breathe.
I'm drowning on dry land.
A soft knock makes me jump.
"Grace?" Asher's voice calls out, muffled through the door. "You still in there?"
I swipe at my face frantically. "Just a minute," I say, trying to hide my emotion.
"Open the door."
Not a question. A command.
My hands shake as I turn the lock. My breathing is still ragged, and I know my face is still blotchy and coated with tears. The door swings open, and Asher fills the frame, those steel eyes scanning my face immediately.
His expression shifts. "What happened?" Stepping into the room quickly, he closes the door and locks it behind us.
"Nothing." I force myself to sound calmer. "I'm fine."
That has his eyebrows pinching. "You're crying."
"No, I just—" I turn away, but his hand catches my chin, gentle but firm, turning me back.
"Don't lie to me, Sugar. What happened?"
His genuine concern cracks something open. The words spill out before I can stop them.
"I don't know." I gasp in a breath. "I just— I can't seem to do anything right, and I'm going to fail." More tears fall down my cheeks as I try to speak clearly. "These women were talking about me in the hallway, saying I’m a gold digger and that I shouldn’t be with you. And he was right; I’m a terrible writer.
What happens when all this is ov— I just can't handle this.
I can't—" I hiccup, cutting off my verbal onslaught.
Of everything I just said, Asher latches onto one piece of it.
"Who was right?"