It's not.
Asher sets his phone on the nightstand, plunging the room into darkness, save for moonlight filtering through gauze curtains.
"Goodnight, Grace."
"Night."
I close my eyes. Try to steady my breathing. Hyper-aware of every sound—the rustle of sheets when he shifts, his steady inhales, the thundering of my own pulse.
This is fine. Just sleeping. People sleep next to other people all the time without it meaning anything.
Except I can feel the heat of him even across the divide. Can smell cedar and salt on the pillow. Can't stop thinking about the way his hands feel on my body or the way his lips tasted when he kissed me.
"Grace?"
My eyes fly open. "Yeah?"
"Relax. I can hear you thinking from here."
"I'm not?—"
"Your breathing's uneven. You're tense." A pause. "I'm not going to touch you."
Something deflates in my chest. Relief, probably. Definitely not disappointment.
"I know that."
"Tell me something, Grace." He shifts, and suddenly, he's closer. Not touching, but near enough that I feel the shift in the air. "What are you really afraid of?"
"I'm not afraid."
"Liar," he murmurs.
It shouldn't sting. But it does.
"I'm not afraid of anything," I whisper. But even I know it's not true.
I'm afraid of everything. Of what happens if this arrangement fails. Of getting too comfortable living in Asher's life of luxury. Of what my parents will say about our sham wedding. Of never being able to write again. Of being an absolute failure.
And I'm most afraid that this will be my only relationship and I'll spend the rest of my life alone.
"Whatever you say," he whispers back.
Silence stretches between us, heavy and charged.
And when I finally fall asleep, I dream that I'm running, chasing something that I can never reach.
19
GRACE
Warm sunlight filters through gauze curtains. I surface slowly, awareness creeping in. The mattress beneath me is impossibly soft. The air smells of frangipani and something distinctly masculine.
My eyes snap open.
I'm curled against Asher's side, my cheek pressed to bare skin, one leg thrown over his. His arm wraps around my waist, fingers splayed over my hip bone. Our bodies fit together like puzzle pieces.
Oh God.
