He'd checked into me.
Well, I didn't have to ask where Donovan had gotten his stalking genes. I gritted my teeth and nodded as I inhaled slowly, reminding myself it wasn't cool to punch out a seventy-year-old man. If I even could—he seemed to be in pretty good shape for his age.
The shittiest part of it all? That he thought his son’s happiness was only worth that much. I'd been around their kind of money long enough to know how fast a million dollars ran out. I’d felt Donovan's love long enough to know it ran deeper than money could buy.
I laughed now. It was all I could do if I wasn't going to beat him up. "I think by definition, exorbitant means there isn't an amount you could name."
Raymond studied me carefully. I could see he was forming the next bid, wondering if two million would do it. Or three. Even despite what I'd said.
Whatever he saw in my face eventually brought him to the conclusion that I was telling the truth. "I wondered as much,” he said.
It felt powerful. Like I had check.
I wanted checkmate. "And even if there were an amount, you would be hard-pressed to convince your son to let me go."
Raymond nodded knowingly. "That's not surprising. Donovan likes to marry for love. Susan and I—we get along, don't get me wrong. But we both understood the reason the practice of marriage was invented. It's a social arrangement. It shouldn't be based on emotion or tied to sentimentality. It's meant to protect her assets and mine, and those of our heirs. You can understand why I would therefore be concerned about you. You would be the mother of our grandchildren. While I would prefer a more suitable wife for him, we certainly cannot dictate whom he spends his life with. It didn't hurt to try."
"Wait—that's it?" I was reeling, disoriented like a fish pulled fresh from water. I couldn't keep up my own reactions to his revelations. First, that he and his wife had a loveless relationship—which I could've guessed—but for him to admit it was something else entirely. Then, to hear his outdated stance on marriage, and finally to arrive at the conclusion: ‘oh well’ he’d tried?
And Donovan and I weren't even engaged!
"I'll certainly recommend that Donovan choose otherwise if he asks. But he won't. A decade ago, I'd have told him there is nothing wrong with having a marriage for propriety and a mistress on the side. Prince Charles did it. Now even he is married to his mistress." He might as well have said, ‘what is the world coming to?’ The subtext was evident.
"Yeah, no. I could not stand to be a mistress." This was the oddest conversation to be having with my boyfriend's father. "And Donovan wouldn't stand for that either," I added with certainty. "And we are not –” engaged.
I stood up and rubbed my sweaty palms along my leggings. I didn't want to talk about this anymore with him. After this weekend, I actually could begin to see a future with Donovan. Long reaching winters, and summers, and chess games, and children.
But those were conversations to have with him. Not his father. Not because it was best for the future of the family name.
"You're welcome to leave anytime," Raymond said, rising to his feet. "I've said my piece."
And I'd said mine. I nodded, unwilling to say thank you for whatever this had been.
As I turned to go, my eye was caught by a series of plaques on the wall by the door. They were honorary plaques that had been given over several years to an organization I recognized—A Brighter Day. I stepped closer to examine one.
“This is from the president," I said in awe.
Raymond came up behind me. ”Ah, yes. We are very proud of what we've done with A Brighter Day. Donovan has been very involved since high school.”
"You must be. What kind of organization is it exactly?" I was only interested because Donovan's name had been attached to it. And obviously the organization was a big fucking deal. Plus, the man really needed to brag more, assert his authority.
"It's a series of foundations," Raymond explained. "They address a variety of different issues, each one tailored to a specific need. There is one that helps children prone to asthma that live or go to school in areas near freeways, which studies have shown can increase asthma attacks. Another provides free education to coal miners who are searching for another line of work."
So Raymond wasn't completely terrible after all. No one ever really was, I was learning.
"Another provides scholarships to kids with exceptional IQs, particularly those who have graduated early, and are seeking help to bridge the gap to Ivy League schools since those universities don't generally provide full rides. Another—"
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. "That one," I interrupted. "What's the name of the scholarship foundation?"
I already knew the answer. I could already see this move. It was a move I should've seen so long ago.
”The MADAR Foundation.”
Chapter 19
The words were still throbbing in my ears, still pulsing in my veins, still vibrating in my body when a different voice piped in from behind me.
"I can explain."
I shifted to see Donovan at the door, panic clearly written all over his expression.
"Sabrina. Come with me, I'll tell you everything." His hand reached out, beckoning, his voice pleading. His eyes pierced through me, but I couldn't see him the way I had previously. He seemed blank to me, or my eyes were too glazed. If there had been a piece of art there, I’d no longer see it.
Raymond clapped his hands suddenly. ”That's why I know your name!” he exclaimed. “You were one of the scholarship girls. I'm not very good with names, especially out of context, but I should have put that together sooner.”
Me too, Raymond. I should have put it together sooner, too.
Though now he wasn't so sure. He squinted, trying to recall. "That was you, wasn't it? What happened? You dropped out of school."
"Let's talk about this on—"
I put my finger up to hush Donovan. He’d had his chance to talk. He’d had weeks, months, years to tell me the truth.
I turned instead to Raymond. "My father had a heart attack. And I missed the end of the semester to go home to watch him die." My throat was tight as the rage from all those years ago returned like bile. "My scholarship was pulled because I missed finals, and when I appealed…"
I turned my focus on the younger Kincaid; there was venom in my stare. Just like before when my past had been reformed in my mind when Donovan had shown where he had been the puppet master behind the scenes, it was being re-created again now. The anger and hostility I had felt for a decade had been toward some vague corporate charitable foundation. Now there was a face to hate.
But which one?
I spun back toward Raymond. "Who decided?” I was desperate for the answer. Desperate for the answer to be different than the one I knew it was. "Who decided to deny my appeal? Did you even read over my case or was the decision all in Donovan's hands?" My elbows were tight at my sides, my hands in fists, and I was shaking. Shaking from rage that made my breathing shudder.
Raymond lifted one brow and turned his stare toward his son, understanding lighting his gaze. "You already tried to give her up," he said pointing a finger in Donovan's direction. "That's why you didn't want her back at Harvard." It was clear he was just putting pieces together himself.