"Holy—" I catch myself. "This is gorgeous."
Asher tips the woman, exchanging a few words in what I think might be Indonesian. She bows again before disappearing down the hallway.
"I'm glad you like it." He moves to the dresser, undoing his watch and toeing off his shoes.
I continue my perusal of the room, taking in all the sights. And then my eyes scan back to the bed, and a realization hits me.
"There's only one bed." The words tumble out before I can stop them, my voice pitching higher than intended.
Asher glances over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "Very observant."
Heat creeps up my neck. "I just thought... I mean, we could've gotten separate rooms?—"
"We're supposed to be in love." He crosses to the windows, rolling up his shirtsleeves with methodical precision. "Separate rooms would raise questions."
Right. Of course. I'm still getting used to thinking like someone who's supposed to be convincing the world we're in love.
I set my bag down on the chair, buying myself time to process.
"Grace."
My head snaps up. Asher watches me with that unreadable expression he wears when he's analyzing something.
"My family has eyes everywhere. The staff reports back to my mother. If we sleep separately, she'll know something's off."
My pulse hammers against my throat. "So we're supposed to just...share?"
"Unless you'd prefer I sleep on the floor." He tilts his head.
I press my lips together. He's right. This is part of the arrangement. The performance.
"Fine." I grab my toiletry bag with too much force. "But you stay on your side."
"There are sides now?"
"Yes. Your side." I gesture to the left. "My side." I point right.
That amused look returns, the one that makes my stomach flip. "Understood. I'll respect your boundaries, Grace."
The way he saysboundariesmakes them sound flimsy. Temporary.
I flee to the bathroom before he can say anything else.
The shower helps. Hot water raining down over tense shoulders, washing away the day. I scrub my face clean of makeup and trade my travel clothes for the matching pajama set Vivian packed for me. The shorts are too tiny, paired with a button-down top. At home, I'd go for baggy sweats with an even baggier t-shirt.
You're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.
When I emerge, Asher's already in bed.
Shirtless. Reading something on his phone like this is completely normal.
"You sleep without a shirt." It's not a question. More an observation my brain makes without permission.
"Problem?" He doesn't look up.
Yes."No."
I slide under the covers on my side, putting as much distance between us as possible. The bed's big enough that we don't have to touch. That should be comforting.
