Page 116 of Ruthless Claim

Clearly, this woman is solidly middle class. Finn is standing next to her with his backpack still on, studying the television. I notice that his coat has a small tear at the left elbow that’s been stitched back with dark blue thread that doesn’t match the fabric.

Someone cared enough to fix it but didn’t have the right thread or didn’t care about the thread.

Claire and Finn must not come from much if so much care was taken to fix the coat.

His sneakers are so muddy I genuinely wonder if he walked here through a field. I wince at the mud tracking through my house.

Claire notices my expression. “Should I…?” she gestures to Finn’s shoes.

The polite thing to do is to tell her no, absolutely not. But I nod. “That would be best.”

Claire flushes and pulls Finn to her, whispering something in his ear.

Finn’s brown eyes cut to mine quickly before he nods and toes off his shoes, carrying them over to the front door.

“Sit down,” I tell Claire, and I go to the kitchen.

I fill the kettle with steady hands and I get two mugs. I find the teabags. I stand at the counter waiting for the water to boil, staring at nothing.

All I can think about his face every time I asked him what was going on.

It’s handled. You don’t need to worry.

He knew.

I’m protecting you.

He knew the whole time and he looked at me and he⁠—

The kettle clicks off.

I pour the water and carry the mugs through to the living room. I sit down in my chair and I set one mug in front of Claire.

I keep mine, letting the steam waft up to my face and I look at her across the coffee table.

Finn has sat down next to his mother on the sofa, his backpack still on his shoulders. He looks at me, then at the room, then at his hands.

My gaze is steady on Claire.

“Tell me everything,” I say firmly.

13

VALENTINA

Claire starts talking and I listen.

Or I try to listen. Mostly I’m studying Finn.

He’s settled on the sofa cushion next to his mother with his backpack now in his lap, and he’s been usually quiet since he sat down. I haven’t been around many children, but I thought they usually can’t shut up.

He looks around the room again before he pulls at a loose thread on the strap of his backpack, his feet kicking as they dangle off the floor. He’s a fidgety kid, but he does it quietly, like he’s learned to contain the fidgeting to things that don’t make noise. He leans over and murmurs something to Claire.

She glances at him. “In a minute, baby.”

He leans back. “Mum. Can I have the tablet?”

Claire sighs. “Finn⁠—”