Free What's Yours Is Mine by Tess Stimson

isn’t you.”
    It’s not a competition. Only you ever thought it was
.
    I laugh shortly. “You sound like my mother.”
    â€œI know how hard this has been on you. You and Catherine were so close—”
    â€œ
Are
so close. We
are
so close.”
    She flushes. “Of course, I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.” She hesitates. “Look, Grace, is there something else? Something you’re not telling me? I don’t want to pry, but you haven’t seemed like yourself for weeks. If it’s about Tom, you know you can tell me. I won’t say a word to Blake—”
    â€œIt’s not Tom.” I bite my lip. “Well, not in the way you mean.”
    Claudia waits. She has an extraordinary way of making you feel like you have all the time in the world; that you are the only person in her life who matters at this moment.
    â€œI didn’t tell you,” I say. “I couldn’t—I wanted to, but I couldn’t. It was about me and Tom, and I was so sure I could fix it—and then I couldn’t, but you were pregnant … how could I tell you then, how could I ruin it all for you—”
    She wraps her arms around me, and finally it all spills out as I sob into her shoulder: the waiting; the tests; thehard, inescapable truth that I will never have a child of my own. After all these weeks of bottling it up, trying not to burden Tom with my grief when he is already dealing with his own, it’s such a relief to finally tell someone.
    â€œIf only you’d said something.” Claudia sighs, when I’ve finally finished and have reached the ragged, hiccupping stage. “I can’t bear to think that you went through this alone.”
    â€œI had Tom.”
    She hands me a box of tissues. “Yes. You had Tom. So, what will you do now? Adopt?”
    â€œNo. I’ll get a cat. Lots of cats. I’ll be the lady with the cats, I’ll smell of pee and die alone, with my cats. Children will cross the road when they see me coming.”
    â€œThey already do. Grace,” she says, quietly, to be sure I’m listening. “Grace, you know I’d have a baby for you if you asked. After the current tenant has vacated, of course,” she adds, glancing down at her belly. “I mean it. You know that, don’t you?”
    For a moment, I’m too moved to speak.
    I blow my nose noisily. “Forget it. They’d never let an old crone like you be a surrogate. You’ll be forty at Christmas. Your eggs are practically on walkers.”
    â€œI make beautiful babies,” Claudia says, mock-indignantly.
    â€œYes. You do.”
    She gives my hand a quick squeeze. “And you make a beautiful godmother.”
    I’m about to make a snappy reply, something wittyinvolving coaches and horses and fairy godmothers, but my attention is caught by a movement in the darkened hallway. My sister has her back to me. She’s standing on tiptoe, her short black skirt
—my
black skirt, I realize—riding up as she flings her arms around Tom’s neck.
    I have no idea what she’s so excited about, but knowing Susannah, it can only lead to trouble.

{  
CHAPTER SEVEN
  }

Susannah
    Grace is seriously pissed off at me. I can always tell. God knows why: these are all her bloody friends. You’d think she’d be pleased I’ve organized this party. If things were left to her, she’d have no social life at all.
    She gulps back her wine, glaring at me over the rim of her glass. I ignore her, and turn my baby blues on Blake instead.
    â€œI’m thinking of giving up tattooing anyway,” I say, treating him to an unrestricted view of my cleavage.
    He swallows. “Oh? What’ll you do instead?”
    â€œLap dancing,” I deadpan.
    I could pole dance around Blake’s cock, judging from the expression on his face. If I crook my little finger, he’ll come running, gorgeous