She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. It’s written all over her face. I’m a bastard, a terrible husband.
I really hope she hates me. It’s clear I don’t have control when I’m around her. It will be easier to keep my hands off her if she avoids me. Better she hate me than end up like Meghan, another casualty of my cursed existence.
I turn away from Hannah's wounded expression, from the temptation she represents. This marriage is business. Nothing more. And I won't dishonor Meghan's memory by pretending otherwise.
Unable to manage my warring emotions, I grab my shoes and jacket and head to the door. She still says nothing when I open it and walk out.
“Sorry,” I murmur as I poke the button for the elevator. I’m sorry for it all. I’m sorry for not saving Meghan. For betraying her memory with feelings for Hannah. To Hannah for not being a man who can give her what she wants and deserves, and for being a dick about it.
As I take the elevator down, it’s not Meghan who’s filling my mind. It’s Hannah and her green eyes filled with the hurt I put there. It’s a reminder of why I shouldn’t have been the one to marry her. Of why I should stay away. I only cause pain and misery in my wake.
3
HANNAH
Istare at the door Ash just left through in disbelief. The sensation of Ash's touch lingers on my skin. My fingers trace my swollen lips where his kisses burned just moments ago.
I glance at the couch, wondering if I dreamed it. The blanket from the couch lies crumpled on the floor where it fell during our… encounter. Heat floods my cheeks at the memory of straddling him, of his hands exploring my body through the thin silk of my negligee. I’m aware of arousal and sex but had never experienced them until now. It was glorious until it wasn’t. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, he morphed, becoming cruel. It was like he was angry at what happened, but he’s the one who initiated it.
He rushed out like he couldn’t stand to be near me. And now I'm alone in this massive hotel suite, wearing next to nothing, wondering if my husband of less than twenty-four hours has abandoned me.
My eyes burn. I blink hard, refusing to cry. This isn't how it's supposed to go. The way he touched me, the sounds he made, that couldn’t have been fake. I might be young, but I'mnot stupid. His body responded to mine. His kisses held real passion.
So why did he run?
I sink onto the couch, pulling the fallen blanket around my shoulders. It smells like him, a mix of cologne and something uniquely Ash. I curl deeper into the blanket, inhaling Ash's scent one more time before tossing it aside. I’m not going to be some silly woman pining for a man who clearly doesn’t like her. Two can play his game. I can leave as well.
I return to the bedroom to retrieve my phone from the bedside table. It’s nearly four in the morning, too late… or too early… to call anyone or go anywhere.
The daughter in me wants to call my parents and have them rescue me, but Ash is right. I’m just a means to an end for my dad and Ash’s family. What I want has never been a factor.
I didn’t want this marriage. Admittedly, when I got my first glimpse of Ash at the altar, my heart actually skipped. Dark hair, piercing blue eyes, shoulders that filled out his suit in ways that made my mouth go dry. I actually started believing this arranged marriage might work. That maybe fate had handed me a win, saving my family and landing me a hot husband who seemed decent enough.
But now? The way he ran out of here…
As it has turned out, this isn't the fairy tale wedding night I secretly hoped for. Maybe a doddering old man would have been better, after all.
I return the phone to my bedside table and head to the bathroom. I splash water on my face and then look at myself in the mirror. My mascara is slightly smudged, lips still swollen from his kisses, hair a mess from his fingers running through it. I look exactly like what I am, a naive girl who thought she could play at being sexy and sophisticated.
He probably thinks I'm pathetic, some stupid teenager trying to act grown up. He’s probably used to women who know what they’re doing sexually and was repulsed by my inexperience.
The worst part is how good it felt before he ran. How right it seemed when he touched me, when he made me feel things I'd never experienced before. But clearly, it meant nothing to him, just another mistake to add to whatever regrets he's already carrying.
I return to the room and sink onto the edge of the bed, too drained to even cry, yet feeling completely broken. I mean nothing to any of them. Not my parents. Not Ash. I wanted to go to college, make my own choices in life. Instead, I’m a commodity, a piece of collateral in a business deal.
My fingers brush my lips again, remembering how his kiss felt desperate. For those few minutes, he was all fire and need and something else I couldn't name. I replay the moment, trying to make sense of it all. The way he touched me, like he was fighting himself. The hunger in his kiss. The evidence of his desire pressed against me.
But then something changed. One moment, he was devouring me like a starving man, and the next he looked… haunted. Like he'd seen a ghost.
I flop back in the bed feeling lost and alone and confused. Sleep feels impossible, but exhaustion eventually wins out. I drift off to the memory of his hands on my body, his mouth on my neck, and the desperate way he whispered my name before everything went wrong.
Voices filterthrough the bedroom door, pulling me from sleep. Male voices. Deep, serious tones discussing something serious. My eyes snap open, instantly alert.
I roll over, finding Ash's side of the bed still pristine and untouched. Of course it is. If he came back, he probably slept on the couch.
The sound of voices suggests he did come back, unless the voices are my bodyguards’.
Sliding out of bed, I shed the silk negligee that failed so spectacularly at its intended purpose last night. I paw through my suitcase, deciding on jeans and a T-shirt. There’s no need to impress anyone.
