Claire Dane never thought that a day would come when she would welcome Apollo Ashford into her house. Not just him, but his mother too. As she watched her grandmother offer them iced tea, a small part of her wanted to say, ’I hope you choke,’ to Apollo.
He had not done anything to her. But being near him just had a way of tickling her in all the wrong places. And not in a good way.
They were not two tigers on the same mountain but more like two angry bulls in the same pen. Her eyes flicked to Apollo. He sat across from her, legs crossed like he owned her house.
"I bet his shirt alone costs more than everything in my living room," she muttered.
"What did you say dear?" Her grandmother asked, settling next to her.
Claire shook her head, turning her eyes to his mother, Mrs. Ashford. She was perched delicately on the edge of the couch cushion, as though afraid the furniture might bite.
The sight made Claire roll her eyes. "I don’t have ticks," she said. The words were directed at Mrs. Ashford, but her eyes glared at Apollo instead. Somehow, he looked both innocent and smug--he always did.
"Won’t you introduce yourselves?" Wilder asked Mrs. Ashford.
The woman smiled brightly, showing her even pearly white teeth. "Right. Apologies for the sudden visit without calling ahead. I am Paisley Ashford and this is my son." Her eyes traveled to Claire. "And you are Claire Dane, the brilliant young woman who slept with my son without protection."
Claire had just taken a sip of iced tea, and she almost choked on it. Her eyes widened in wonder. Had Apollo’s mother always been this.... direct?
With an amused smile, Wilder said enthusiastically, "And I am that brilliant young woman’s grandmother. I did not sleep with your son. But if I had, I would not have used protection either."
Claire gasped.
Tea came spurting out of Apollo’s mouth.
Mrs. Ashford clutched her pearls, looking positively scandalized.
"Grandma!" Claire exclaimed. "You...you can’t say that!"
Wilder shrugged. "I thought we were introducing ourselves and sharing. Was I wrong?"
"Yes!" Everyone nearly shouted.
Wilder’s lips curved into a sly smile. There was no apology on her face, only a promise of more trouble.
Apollo put down the cup and decided to cut to the chase. "I am the father of the baby Claire is carrying," he declared, puffing his chest like a rooster announcing dawn.
Claire shot up so fast the chair screeched against the floor. "No. It is one thing to joke about this in public and another to keep up the farce in private. Is this funny to you?" Her fists were clenched, ready to swing.
Wilder grabbed Claire’s arm and yanked her back down. "Sit, girl! You don’t waste your punches on a peacock. Save them for real fights--like when the butcher on 33rd street tries to cheat you on pork belly."
"Pork belly!" Mrs. Ashford gasped. But she quickly gathered her wits and cleared her throat. Her eyes darted around the room. She wasn’t judging, not exactly, but her discomfort could be felt. Raised in wealth from the day she was born, Claire’s old coffee table and the chipped teacups Wilder had chosen to use were like a throwback in history. Like relics from an archaeological dig.
Wilder leaned forward, squinting at Apollo. "You can’t just go around making such claims. Are you sure boy? Are you one thousand percent sure that you’re the father? Don’t go around claiming babies like you’re collecting stamps."
Apollo smirked, pulling out his phone. "I have evidence to prove that we err.... tangled. The timeline matches perfectly." He tapped the screen and presented the footage from the hotel hallway. There was Claire, unmistakably, slipping into his room.
Claire’s jaw dropped. It really did look like her! She racked her mind for grainy memories of what had happened that night, but they remained vague. "That could be anyone." She finally claimed, after failing to find a defense.
As much as she wished for Andrew not to be the biological father of her child, Apollo was not a candidate she would pick voluntarily.
They all turned and looked at her with raised brows and surprise.
"Claire dear, this is not footage of Big foot at midnight in a forest. The footage is so clear that I can see your pores!" Wilder snorted and laughed.
"Evidence," Apollo repeated, smug as a cat with cream.
Claire shot him an angry glare. "This only proves that I accidentally stumbled into your room. It doesn’t show what happened after. For all we know, I was there to murder you."
Everyone looked at her again, their jaws dropping open. Did she really have to go this far to deny the truth?
Mrs. Ashford finally spoke, her voice soft but firm. "Whether you are willing to admit this or not, the facts hold firm. If this is my grandchild, our family intends to be involved in everything. We are hoping for a marriage--"
"I would rather eat shit." Claire blurted, eyes narrowed.
The room froze. Wilder opened her mouth and closed it. For once, she had no idea what to say. Mrs. Ashford blinked like she had just heard a foreign language.
Apollo burst out laughing. "You would rather eat shit?" he repeated, grinning. "That’s your grand plan?"
Yes!" Claire snapped. "Better than letting you and your silk-pajama family dictate my life from now on."
Wilder cleared her throat. "Language, my girl! At least say cow dung--it’s more nutritious. If you don’t believe me, ask the soil."
Apollo leaned forward, his voice dripping with mockery. "For someone who has spent her life judging and hating me because of my family’s wealth, don’t you think you are a hypocrite? You tried your best to elevate your ex-family to levels of wealth similar to mine. Or--as close as you could get to where my family is. If you hate money that much, why not make peace with poverty?"
Claire’s face turned red.
Mrs. Ashford pinched Apollo’s waist, twisting ruthlessly. "Shut up! shut up!" She whispered furiously.