Page 147 of Hate You More

“For you, maybe. I, myself, am the living, breathing embodiment of matrimonial bliss.” I stretch out, full of self-satisfaction. “Can’t think why we didn’t get hitched earlier.”

“Unfortunate for Clara.” His tone turns flat and his eyes sharp. “This marriage only serves to prove how she needs to be protected from herself. From her impulses.”

I give a condescending waggle of my finger. “That’s not gonna wash, Ed. Not with me.”

“It was a rather abrupt union.”

“When you know, you know.” I lace my fingers together over my waist. “And maybe this romance has been years in the making.”

“Clara has a tendency to mistake attention for true feeling,” he says, ignoring me.

“We’re . . . talking about your attention here, right?” Pretty sure he’s not deaf. So it must be selective hearing as he ignores me again. “Either way, I’m happy to report she doesn’t have daddy issues.”

I see a tiny chink in his bland armor as his gaze narrows. But his answer, when it comes, is fucking flavorless.

“I meant from men like you. Men who benefit from her instability.”

Dude, you’re barking up the wrong tree. “Given I won’t benefit from Clara financially, that I have way more money than her, I’m not sure what point you’re trying to make. You know what?” I sit straight again. “I think I get it now. You’re just full of shit.” And I’m bored with playing things his way.

“And you’re uncouth. Common.”

I give a considering pull of my teeth. “Or maybe I just say things as I see them, Ed. Or should I call you Dad?” The outer corners of his eyes tighten. He should give in. Go the full hog and just fucking scowl. “Call off the dogs. You have no power over her. Not anymore.”

He gives an airy wave like he’s some indolent aristocrat in a period movie.

“You know what I wonder? If this freelance consulting Clara supposedly undertook, the shit that has her on the radar of the IRS. I wonder if the CEO of that company is a member of this club.” I glance behind me. “Shouldn’t be too hard to find out, right?”

He gives an amused breath. “Half of the Upper East Side are members here. Our fathers and our fathers’ fathers were members. It is an institution, but that’s not something I would expect you to understand.”

“Ouch.” I press my hand to my heart, then lean forward like a striking snake. “I don’t give a fuck about you or your decrepit friends and their uppity ways. I am, however, fascinated by how this claim came about. And I hear the IRS doesn’t take kindly to being manipulated.”

“You appear to have a rather active imagination.”

“We can always go straight to the source—ask the bureaucrats what they think.”

“I don’t take kindly to idle threats,” he murmurs.

“How about actual ones? It would be better for all concerned if you just left Clara alone. No more accusations. No more drama. No revisiting the ways you’ve abused your power and let your daughter down. All of us could just . . . move the fuck on.”

“And what if my wishes for Clara are more important.”

“More important than your reputation?” I shake my head. “We both know that’s untrue. Appearance is everything to you.” Same old shit as before.

“You know nothing about me.”

“I know that it must fucking kill you that you’ve failed to prevent Clara from making a success of her life.”

“She was serving beer,” he spits. “Waiting tables.”

Because of you, I want to say. But fuck it, he doesn’t deserve to hear her future plans.

“Oh, Eddie, such a snob.” I give my head a slow shake. “What happened to respecting good, honest hard work?”

“There is no merit in that kind of menial . . .”

“Give it up,” I say wearily. “No one is gonna believe Clara can’t manage her own life, no matter what you say.” I don’t think I truly got it until now. Fuck, he’s as bad as my old man. “How can you do it?” I don’t mean to ask but I can’t help myself. “Your own flesh and blood. How can you enjoy making her suffer?”

“I don’t have to explain my reasons to anyone, let alone you.”