I freeze, calculating. If I move, he'll wake up. If I don't move, I'm actively spooning the man who's supposed to be my fake fiancé.
His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. Still asleep. I could extract myself, pretend this never happened. Slide back to my designated side and?—
"Morning." His voice rumbles through his chest, vibrating against my ear.
My entire body tenses. "I didn't— This wasn't?—"
"You talk in your sleep." Asher's fingers flex against my hip, not pulling me closer but not letting go either. "Did you know that?"
"I do not."
"You do." I feel more than see his smile. "About Christmas trees."
Heat floods my face. I shove against his chest, putting space between us. The morning air feels cold without his warmth.
"You could've moved me." I sit up, tugging my pajama top down where it had ridden up during the night.
Asher props himself on one elbow, watching me with those steel eyes. His hair's mussed, falling across his forehead in a way that makes him look younger. Less controlled.
"You looked comfortable."
"I was on your side."
"You were." He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Turns out boundaries are more like suggestions when you're unconscious."
My breath catches. His thumb traces my cheekbone, feather light. The touch shouldn't affect me this much. It's just skin on skin.
"Asher…"
"We should get ready." He withdraws his hand and sits up in one fluid motion. "You have yoga with my mother this morning."
A groan rattles my chest. There’s nothing I want to do less than sunrise yoga.
I watch him stand, watch muscles shift beneath tanned skin as he stretches. He catches me staring, and something flickers in his expression. Heat. Challenge.
"See something you like, sweetie pie?"
The nickname sounds different in his morning voice. Rougher. More intimate.
"No." My pulse hammers. "I hate that."
"Noted." He moves toward the bathroom, pausing at the doorway. "I'll find something you like."
Twenty minutes later, Asher leaves me at the pavilion with his mother and the rest of the women on this trip. He presses a chaste kiss to my forehead, all for the show of being my doting fiancée, and then he heads off to the gym.
Discomfort stirs inside me, but I don't think I'd feel better if Asher was here with me.
I'm wearing a teal-blue yoga set packed by Vivian, feeling uncomfortable with the exposed skin between the high-rise leggings and matching sports bra, but everyone else is in similar apparel.
The pavilion is already full. Women in expensive athleisure stretch on mats arranged in perfect rows. Celeste stands at the front, serene in white linen, her arms raised toward the rising sun.
Dove sits on a mat near the front, her blonde ponytail hanging down her back as she stretches her arms above her head.
Several other women I don't recognize scatter throughout. All of them look like they've been doing yoga since birth.
Heat crawls up my neck. I'm the outsider. The girl who doesn't belong.
A staff member appears at my elbow with a rolled mat and a kind smile. She gestures to an empty spot near the back.
