"I can't imagine you as a troublemaker.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "No?"
"You seem so… controlled now."
"Had to grow up fast." His tone flattens, and I know he must be thinking of the fire that took his family. I don’t know all the details, but I can do math. Ten years ago, he had to have been around my age. Maybe a little older. Perhaps nineteen or twenty.
“I must seem like such a child to you.” No wonder he doesn’t see me as anything more than a tool.
“Not a child, no.” For a moment, I think I see heat in his eyes. The same heat I saw right before he touched me. But it vanishes. “Do I seem old?”
“Actually, I was really worried I was being married off to an old man.”
He arches a brow. “No one told you my age? I’m not even thirty yet.”
“Thirty is ancient,” I joke. “Thank God you’re not thirty.”
His lips twitch up in what’s close to a smile. “Thank God.”
I’m a quick study, and through dinner, I learn that he can be a decent conversationalist as long as I don’t ask him about his past.
When dinner is finished, our driver takes us back to the hotel. During the drive, my mind circles back to moments of connection during dinner. The way his eyes softened when I talked about art, how he actually smiled once or twice. It makes me wonder if I could build something deeper with him in time.
But now we're back to silence, and I'm drowning in it. Whatever is going on with Ash, he’s set the boundaries of our relationship. Friendly companionship. Carrying out my friends’ suggestions on seducing my husband would be an exercise in humility.
Still, my body thrums with unfulfilled desire. The way he touched me at the house, looked at me for those brief moments, it felt like he truly wanted me.
I twist my wedding ring around my finger, considering whether I’m brave enough to risk rejection again. I could wear that silk negligee to bed, or maybe "accidentally" drop my towel after a shower. But the thought makes my cheeks burn. I shouldn’t have to manipulate my husband to make him want me. And I definitely don’t want to see that look of guilt and regret on his face again.
No, seduction isn't the answer. Not when Meghan stands between us.
But I can't keep living like this, either, tiptoeing around each other, pretending we're not attracted to each other. I mean, he wouldn’t have touched me the way he did last night and today at the house if he wasn’t attracted to me, right? So there has to be a middle ground between throwing myself at him and accepting this cold distance.
Maybe I should just talk to him, be honest about what I want, not just physically, but emotionally. Tell him I want to try making this work.
The thought terrifies me almost as much as the idea of seducing him. But at least it feels real. Authentic. Like something the person I want to be would do, rather than just playing at being sexy because my friends suggested it.
The elevator ride to our floor stretches into eternity. My shoulder brushes against Ash's arm, and the contact sends a yearning through me. A yearning to finish what we started earlier.
I catch his reflection in the mirrored walls, his jaw tight, eyes fixed straight ahead.
When we reach our suite, I pause at the bedroom doorway. "Thank you for dinner. And the house and tutor."
His eyes meet mine, something vulnerable flickering in their depths. For a heartbeat, I think he might reach for me, might pull me close like he did at the house. Instead, he offers a small, uncertain smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Goodnight, Hannah."
“Goodnight.” I shut the door to the bedroom, and I'm alone again.
I change into my nightgown. It’s pretty, sexy even, but I don’t wear it for Ash.
In bed, I stare up at the ceiling. Is this what my life will be now? Stolen moments of connection followed by walls of silence?
My parents' marriage was arranged too, but they grew to love each other in their own way. I've seen the way my father looks at my mother when she laughs, how she touches his shoulder when she passes him at breakfast. There’s a genuine affection there.
Sure, my father has had a mistress or two over the years, but my mother was always number-one in the hierarchy. My father didn’t love the other woman.
But Ash, his heart belongs to Meghan. I can't compete with her. It’s rotten of Phoenix not to allow Ash to be with her. Not just because it’s unfair to me, but to Ash as well. Why would he make Ash be with me when he’s in love with another woman? Especially since Flint and Blaise were apparently allowed to marry for love. Whatever the reason, the die is cast. Ash and I are married.
