We all stand, and I give them each a hug and then head out. As my driver takes me to the house, I replay my time with my friends, letting their unwavering support fill me with strength. Maybe I can't change the circumstances of my marriage, but I can shape what it becomes. Ash might see me as part of an arrangement now, but I'll show him there's so much more to me.
I straighten in my seat, mind racing with possibilities. I won't hide my painting or my opinions about the houses we're viewing. He'll learn that I have thoughts and dreams of my own. That I can challenge him, surprise him, maybe even make him laugh.
The feeling of fire ignites in my chest. It’s determination, the fuel that got me through years of strict parents and societal expectations. Only this time, I'm not fighting against something. I'm fighting for something. For someone.
For us.
I'll show him that I can be more than just a pretty young wife. I won’t be a doormat. I’ll be strong. I’ll be confident. And yes, I’ll even try to be sexy. I'll prove that I'm someone worth letting in.
6
ASH
Icheck my watch again, scanning the quiet street. My security team reports Hannah's location every few minutes, but it doesn't ease the tension in my shoulders. This whole situation is a mess.
I’ve never considered myself a good man, but neither would I think I could be the shittiest asshole in the world. But clearly, I am. All I had to do was be cordial to Hannah at the wedding. I should have slept in the same bed—yes, maybe even fucked her—and all would be fine. She’d be happy. I’d have fulfilled my husbandly duties. And once we bought a house, she’d do whatever she wanted and I could complete the mission my brothers started ten years ago.
But no. I had to be a jerk at the wedding. An asshole last night. And an insensitive fuck this morning at having Hannah hear that I couldn’t manage being married. As if I have a choice at this point.
I wouldn’t blame her if she ran away. I would if I were married to me. She won’t run, though. That I feel fairly confident about. She knows her duty. She plans to fulfill it. I have to dobetter at making this marriage less of a shitshow for her. It’s the least I can do.
The realtor shifts her weight beside me, probably wondering why we're standing out here instead of touring the spacious colonial behind us. But I won't start without Hannah.
My fingers brush against my lips, the memory of last night still lingering. The way she felt under my hands, so soft and responsive. I shake my head, trying to clear the image. This marriage is strictly business. Yes, I need to be nicer to her, but I can’t become a true husband.
A black SUV rounds the corner, then pulls through the gate and parks in the drive. Hannah steps out, her red hair catching in the sunlight. She looks confident, and yet, I’m reminded of how young she is. My guilt deepens.
"I'm so sorry we're late." She flashes a bright smile at the realtor, completely ignoring me. "Traffic was terrible."
We follow the realtor inside, and she launches into her pitch about crown molding and original hardwood floors. I barely hear her. I'm too focused on maintaining a professional distance from Hannah, trying not to be distracted by the sway of her hips as she walks through the house.
My phone buzzes, another update from security. They've spotted an unfamiliar vehicle circling the block. Could be nothing, but in my world, it’s always better to be safe than sorry. Not considering everything as a threat could get us killed. Like Meghan.
"Everything okay?" Hannah's voice cuts through my thoughts. She's standing in the entryway to the living area, one eyebrow raised.
"Fine." I move past her into the room, my arm brushing against hers. The contact sends electricity through my body, and I curse internally. This attraction needs to stop before I go mad.
Hannah trails behind the realtor, nodding at appropriate moments, but I sense that her mind is elsewhere. The house is perfect, four bedrooms, a study, plenty of space. But the tension radiating from my new wife fills every room.
We reach the main bedroom suite, and the realtor excitedly points out the his-and-hers walk-in closets. Hannah's fingers trace along the doorframe of one.
"Will we need separate rooms?" Her voice is quiet but sharp. Before I can respond, she turns to face me. "Because I won't be made a fool of, Ash. If you're going to sneak out to see other women, I'd rather know now. We can keep separate bedrooms and maintain appearances, but I won't be the naive wife who pretends not to notice her husband's… activities."
The accusation hits hard. Is that what she thinks? That I left last night to be with someone else? I recall her saying something similar this morning. Annoyance and anger flare inside me. I don’t owe her any explanation about Meghan. And she needs to keep our personal business quiet in front of the realtor.
I glance toward the door to a deck of the main bedroom where the realtor is opening the door for us. If she heard Hannah, she’s not giving any indication.
"Be sure to check this out. It’s a lovely place for morning coffee. I'll give you two a moment to discuss the layout and meet you downstairs." She smiles as she leaves us alone.
"Hannah—” I start to chastise her.
"No. I agreed to this marriage. I'm trying to make it work. But I won't be disrespected or treated like I'm stupid." Her green eyes flash with determination, and something inside me twists. This fierce young woman deserves better than what I'm giving her.
"This isn't the place for this discussion." I keep my voice low, stepping closer to Hannah. The scent of her perfume hits me and I step back again. “Maybe you still have ideas of fairy tales, butlet me remind you that this marriage is on paper only.” So much for not being a dick.
She stands her ground, chin lifted, those green eyes blazing. Despite myself, I admire her spirit.
“Gee, how could I have forgotten? It’s not like you don’t give me constant reminders that you don’t want me. You don’t even like me.” The fire in her catches me off guard.
