"You're right, it's not my fault. Just like it's not my fault that I'm not her."
His face pales. "What?"
“I didn’t want this either, remember?” I poke his chest. “I could be in college. I could be hanging out with my friends, maybe falling in love for the first time. Instead, I’m here trying to make the best of this stupid marriage… a marriage that doesn’t give me anything. At least you get my dad’s support. I get nothing. NOTHING!”
Okay, maybe I’m going too far, but I can’t seem to stop. “But at least I try. You can’t even be civil to me. I’m glad you don’t want to touch me. I’m glad we won’t have kids.” That’s not really true, but I want to hurt him as he hurts me. Petty, but true.
I sniff. “You know what? Do what you want. Isn’t that what you told me on our wedding day? I could do whatever I want? Now I am. I’m going to check in with the chef and have the nicemeal I arranged for him to make for the first night inmyhome.” I give him a shove and turn away.
“Hannah.” His hand takes my arm.
I yank it away. “Don’t touch me.”
He holds his hands up in surrender. “You’re right?—”
“I know I’m right. You might be my husband. You might have power over me, but I don’t need you to tell me what I think or feel.”
“I don’t want to tell you how to think or feel. I don’t want to boss you around. And I definitely don’t want to hurt you, but…” He holds up a hand to keep me from pointing out that all he does is hurt me. “I know I do. I’m an asshole. I don’t want to be, but you…” He trails off.
“I what? I bring it out of you? I ask for it, is that it?”
“Fucking hell, Hannah. I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry. It’s me. I’m the problem. I know it. You’re a sweet, smart, beautiful woman who deserves better than me and this marriage.”
“You got that right.” I feel my anger dipping.
“I’ll try to do better. I swear.”
I suck in a deep breath. “Fine.”
“Okay.” We stand, staring at each other for a long moment.
“If you want to join me for dinner later, you can,” I say. “But for now, I’m going to my art room.”
“I’ll be there.”
I head upstairs and into the large, bright room. It’s empty, but it’s my space away from Ash. I imagine I’ll be spending a lot of time in here, and not just because I’ll be painting.
Two hours later,the scents of garlic and herbs fill our kitchen and dining room. Antonio, our cook, was charged with supplying the kitchen, and he fared better than I did at furnishing our home. He’s used his supplies and ingredients to preparecourse after mouthwatering course. And now, we’re having a wonderfully rich chocolate torte for dessert.
Ash still has his walls, but at least he’s been civil. I pour more wine into Ash's glass, noting how his posture has softened with each glass.
“Antonio outdid himself,” I say, taking another bite of the chocolate confection.
“I can’t argue with that. You made a good choice.” Ash appears to be making up for his earlier assholishness by praising me. Perhaps he’s being patronizing, but I’ll take it.
Maybe it's the wine making me bold, or maybe I'm just tired of walking on eggshells. Either way, I'm determined to use this moment when his guard isn’t on high alert to learn more about him.
"You and your brothers seem close," I venture carefully.
His lips quirk up slightly. "We've been through hell together. Had to be."
“Jenna and Lucy are nice too.”
He nods. “They seem good for Blaise and Flint.” He shakes his head. “Never thought I'd see the day Flint settled down. He was always the wild one. Then Lucy came along and changed everything."
"And Blaise?"
"That was even more surprising. He went into that home planning to ruin her.”
