I send back a simpleThank you.
My phone buzzes again.
Hang in there, sweetie. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out together.
If only they knew. How do you figure out being trapped in a marriage where you're nothing but a convenient political alliance? Where your husband can barely look at you because you're just a pale imitation of the woman he really wants?
I swipe away fresh tears, forcing myself to stand. I need to change my clothes to something a bit nicer, fix my makeup, and try to look like less of a mess before I face my friends.
I pull a cute summer dress from my bag as the door clicks open behind me. My spine stiffens, but I keep my attention on the task at hand—prepare to go see my friends. But it’s hard to ignore him. His presence fills the room.
"Hannah." His voice is rough, like he's been up all night. Maybe he has. I squeeze my eyes shut to rid the image of him thrusting in and out of Meghan flashing in my head.
“You don't have to explain. I understand the situation.” I hate him for making me feel so small, so unimportant. But I pull myself together, turning to him and lifting my chin, trying to show a bravado I don’t actually feel. “The alliance is made. You can leave now and do whatever you want. I’ll do the same.”
“Hannah—”
“Just leave, Ash.”
4
ASH
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I follow Hannah into the bedroom, my stomach twisting at the sight of her hastily wiping tears from her face. I hate myself for making her cry. She doesn’t deserve any of this. All she wanted was to make the best of a bad situation, but all I do is make it worse for her.
"Hannah, I?—"
"No need to explain." She turns away. "I get it. You have someone else."
What? "That's not?—"
"Meghan, right? Is that where you went last night?"
The sound of Meghan's name on Hannah's lips is like a sucker punch to the gut. Images flash through my mind. Flames, screams, ash falling like snow.
I can’t find my voice to say anything.
Hannah makes a face of disgust and then tugs off her shirt, revealing pale, smooth skin my fingers itch to touch again.
My pulse hammers as I try to look anywhere but at her. The carpet. The window. The dresser. But my eyes keep dragging back to her.
She slides her jeans off, and I’m wondering what the hell she’s doing until she slips on a dress that shows off her curves. She goes to her suitcase, and the sight of her bent over the bag sends another jolt through me. Last night floods back. Her on my lap, those soft sounds she made. The way she came apart as my fingers fucked her. How hot and wet and willing she’d been.
Fuck. This isn't what I came in here for.
She pulls out a pair of sandals and slips them on. I realize she’s dressing to go out.
A protective instinct kicks in, fast and fierce. "Where are you going?"
"Coffee with friends." Hannah doesn't meet my eyes as she gets her purse and rummages through it, presumably to make sure she has what she needs.
The casual way she says it, like she's not walking into a potential war zone, makes my blood run cold. "No."
She whirls around, green eyes flashing. "I wasn't asking permission."
"The Keans have eyes everywhere." I step closer, blocking her path to the door. "You think they don't know about our marriage? That they're not watching, waiting for an opportunity?"
