Rafe blinks. “Access to what?”
My father answers, voice clipped. “To opportunity. To wealth. To security.”
Rafe laughs again, sharper this time. “You think I married Ollie for his money?”
My mother tilts her head, cool and condescending. “Don’t pretend it isn’t a factor.”
My stomach twists violently. “That’s enough,” I say, stepping forward instinctively. I don’t release Rafe’s hand. I tighten my grip. “You don’t get to reduce him to some kind of con artist.”
My father’s gaze flicks to our joined hands, then back to my face. “You’re being naïve.”
“No,” I snap, “you’re being cruel.”
My mother sighs, as if I’m exhausting her. “Oliver, you are young, successful, and very visible. You have no idea how many people would gladly attach themselves to you for personal gain.”
Rafe’s voice is calm when he responds, but there’s an edge to it now. “If I wanted money, I wouldn’t have married a professional athlete.”
That makes my father scoff. “Oh?”
Rafe turns fully toward him. “Your son plays basketball for a living. I make music. Do you have any idea what the guys and I earn in a year?”
My mother waves him off. “Irrelevant.”
“No,” Lindy cuts in sharply, “it’s not.” She steps forward, placing herself firmly beside me, eyes blazing now with something dangerously close to fury. “You accused him of using Ollie without even knowing who he is.”
“That does not change the optics,” my mother snaps.
“What optics?” Lindy demands. “The ones you’re inventing because you don’t like the truth?”
My father rubs his temple like he’s developing a headache. “Enough. This isn’t about his…. I have no idea what he does for a living, but I can only imagine it’s nothing savory.” He eyeballs Rafe’s tattoos, his gaze lingering on his visible piercing.
Lindy’s laugh is harsh and cold. She turns to them, shoulders squared. “You clearly don’t know who he is, so let me help you. This is Rafe Ortiz—lead singer of Steel Saints.”
Silence slams into the room.
My mother’s eyes widen just slightly. My father’s posture stiffens, something like recognition flickering across his face as his mind scrambles to catch up.
“That band?” he says slowly.
“Yes,” Lindy replies, “thatband. You know, the one it’s impossible not to have heard of, even for the two of you.”
Rafe doesn’t smile. He doesn’t gloat. He simply stands there, steady, letting the truth settle where it may.
“I’ve already made enough money that I could quit tomorrow and never work again,” he says evenly.
My mother recovers quickly. Too quickly. “That doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” I say. “You accused him of marrying me for money.”
My father exhales sharply. “You expect us to believe this is about love?”
“Yes,” I say. “Because it is.”
My mother laughs softly, shaking her head. “Love doesn’t protect reputations.”
“There it is,” Lindy mutters.
“This family has a name,” my father continues. “A business. A public image.”
