Finally, he says, “Yes.”
It’s crazy how that one word breaks my heart. I hide it, of course. We’re having a nice meal. He’s shared more with me in this hour than he has since our wedding. But when dinner is over and I head upstairs to bed, I leave behind any expectations. He’ll do whatever he wants. And so will I.
In the bedroom, I change into a modest nightgown instead of anything revealing. What’s the point?
When I emerge from the bathroom, I’m shocked to see Ash is there, standing awkwardly by the bed in sweatpants and a T-shirt.
His blue eyes meet mine, and for once he doesn't immediately look away.
I tug the covers down on my side. "Goodnight, Ash." I slide under the sheets and roll over facing away from him.
The mattress shifts as he lies down beside me, and I hold my breath. He's staying? My heart leaps even as I remind myself that he doesn’t want anything to do with me.
When his breath evens out, I turn over to face him. His dark lashes rest on his cheeks. His usual hard edge has softened. He almost looks peaceful in sleep. I think I could love him if he letme. It’s a crazy thought. After all, he cheated on our wedding night. He’s been cruel and has admitted he doesn’t want a wife in any sense of the word. But when he’s not doing those things, there’s something compelling about him.
I recall his comment about risk. That love is a risk. What does that mean? Lucy and Jenna suggested that he keeps his guard up, wanting to keep people out. Is that because he feels letting them in is a risk?
So what does that mean about Meghan? I suppose if he loves her but had to marry me, that would put a damper on their relationship. If I were her, I wouldn’t like it. So did she leave him? Did she break his heart and he doesn’t want to love again?
I can see why love could be a risk. It would be painful to love and then lose it. But I can’t imagine how anyone can keep love away. Look at me. I’m with a man who doesn’t want me. Who has been a jerk to me. And yet, I feel something for him. Would I like to stop feeling it? Yes. But I don’t know how. There’s no controlling emotions.
I turn away from him as it occurs to me that I’m about to have a crash course in how risky it is to love. My life is now committed to a man who will no doubt break my heart.
10
ASH
Ilie rigidly on top of the sheets, fully clothed, while Hannah sleeps peacefully under them. The thin cotton barrier meant to keep us apart might as well be tissue paper. Her warmth radiates through, and I’d really like to wrap myself in it.
She shifts in her sleep, rolling closer. Her flowery scent envelops me, clouding my thoughts. I grip the edge of the mattress, fighting the urge to reach for her.
The quiet sound of her breathing fills the darkness. In. Out. Each exhale brushes against my arm, sending electricity through my veins. I squeeze my eyes shut, but that only amplifies her presence and my growing desire.
"Mmm," she murmurs in her sleep, and the small sound nearly breaks my resolve.
I need to get up, need to put distance between us. But moving might wake her, might make her question why I can't stay. And I'm tired of hurting her with my rejections.
The mattress dips as she turns again. Her hand lands on my chest, innocent in sleep. My heart pounds against her palm. The weight of it anchors me here, trapped between desire and guilt.
This was a mistake. I should have insisted on separate rooms, separate beds. I should have known my self-control would crack under the constant temptation of her.
Instead, I’m lying here in sweet torture, hyper-aware of every breath, every movement.
I waketo sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows. It takes me a minute to orient myself. Hannah’s scent reminds me of where I am. New home. New wife. New life. Oh, right. Now I’m shocked I got any sleep.
I look over to Hannah’s side of the bed, finding it empty. She’s pulled the sheet and blankets up over her pillow. If not for her scent on the pillow, I could almost believe Hannah was never here.
I roll out of bed and head to the bathroom. The door is open, but the room holds telltale signs that she showered. It’s warm and steam still clings to the mirror. Even so, the room looks untouched. No damp towels, no scattered makeup, not a single red hair caught in the drain.
Something about the clinical emptiness of the room feels wrong. Hannah's natural warmth and vibrancy shouldn't be contained, shouldn't be hidden away like this. The thought of her tiptoeing around, carefully minimizing her presence in our shared space like she’s erasing evidence of herself, should feel like victory. Space is what I wanted, what I demanded. She’s clearly taken my cool words about living separate lives to heart. So why does this make my heart ache?
I drag a hand down my face. What am I doing? I think of how excited she was about the house when we first saw it, how her whole face lit up imagining the possibilities. And now she’s trying to minimize herself like she’s an inconvenience to me.
Fuck. Even when I don’t want to be an asshole, I am one.
The guilt hits harder. She's bending over backward to accommodate my wishes. She deserves better than this half-life I'm forcing her to live. I just wish I could find the balance that would allow her to be happy and me not to be lured in by her.
I let the scalding water pound against my shoulders, trying to wash away the lingering effects of lying next to Hannah all night. I dress in a suit knowing I plan to visit her father today to find out why he’s all of a sudden dragging his feet on our deal.
