He was getting ready for bed.His bed. This was his room. I raised an eyebrow, making sure he noticed.
“Is this where you expect me to sleep?”
He looked up at me as he placed the watch down on the table. “Unless you’d rather take the floor.”
I gave him a withering look. “I’m not sleeping there.”
“What’s the problem?” he asked. “There’s room for both of us. Unless you’re afraid of a little ... proximity.”
I rolled my eyes. “Please. I’ve handled far scarier things than sharing a bed with you.”
That was a lie. Max was the scariest thing I’d ever known.
“Then what’s stopping you?”
“I need time to adjust. I want my own room.”
“Adjust? To what? I’m not some monster under the bed.”
“Depends on the day,” I shot back, crossing my arms. “Besides, I like my space.”
“Space,” he mused. “I think you’ve had enough of that, yeah?”
“From you? No.”
He smiled. “You’re funny.”
I frowned. “No, I’m serious.”
“Are you?” he asked.
“Yes,” I admitted. “If forgiveness is what you’re looking for, showing me to my own room is your first step.”
For a moment, he looked at me like he couldn’t quite decide whether to laugh or snap. He hated this idea—hated every word I’d just said—and I could feel it.
But instead of pushing back, he kept his voice steady as he said, “Okay.”
He grabbed my bags and led me to the east wing. This bedroom looked nearly identical but less lived-in. It was perfect. I needed space untouched by Max, the man who seemed offended by my response, but what did he expect? I didn’t share my bed with enemies. We’d messed with each other so much, and there was still so much to talk about, to fix. This wouldn’t heal overnight.
“Here you go,” he said flatly. “Your own space.”
I stood in the doorway.
He was waiting for something—some acknowledgment, maybe even gratitude—but I couldn’t bring myself to offer it. This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? Distance. Boundaries. A chance to think without him invading every corner of my mind.
“This is perfect,” I finally said. “Thank you.”
“We’ll talk about this in the morning.”
“Right. Tomorrow is Monday,” I reminded him. “Breakfast ... Can’t wait.”
He narrowed his eyes, catching my tone but choosing not to take the bait. He wanted to prove himself, and I was going to let him—just not without making him work for it. If he was serious about this, about us, he’d have to learn I didn’t forgive easily. I hoped for both of us I could learn to let go of a grudge. But if I couldn’t ... well, this would all be for nothing.
“Have a good night,” he said as he headed for the door, closing it behind him.
I could still smell him, his cologne, this time without the cigarettes. That wasn’t a good thing. All it did was make it easier for me to make the mistake of kissing him. I knew exactly where a kiss would lead, and I couldn’t break my own rule.
CHAPTER 27
