As we leave, I glance back and see Dar still standing, perfectly motionless, watching us go. Our eyes meet across the distance, and I tense. There's something in her gaze, something achingly familiar that I can't quite place. It tugs at the edges of my memory like a half-remembered dream.
But I blink, and whatever it was is gone, and reality crashes back as Trigger’s hand finds the small of my back. "I hope you're not tired."
My stomach tightens. The interrogation isn't over. It's just changing locations because I'm not retreating to my room, butours.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TRIGGER
"Start talking," I demand the second the door to our room closes behind us.
"Dinner was unexpected. I didn't realize I'd be doing so much talking." She moves toward the bathroom.
I step in front of her, blocking her path. "I don't want to talk about dinner." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "I want to know what you meant when you said you're only good enough to be my temporary wife, but not good enough to be my...my what? My real wife?”
Her expression hardens, and she sidesteps me, putting the bed between us like a barricade. "Seriously, this is what you want to talk about right now?" She slips off her heels, kicking them under the bed with more force than necessary. "Not the fact that Dar is Daruka, a woman? Or that her son, Rohan, was watching me intently all night and not even being discreet about it?"
I rake a hand through my hair, pacing toward the window before wheeling back to face her. "I couldn't care less that Dar is a woman. It doesn't change anything. She's smart and clearly respected by her staff." I take a step closer, watching her retreattoward the armchair in the corner. "I don't know what to make of her son, but I don't care about him right now." Another step. "Right now, the only thing I care about is standing in front of me, deflecting." I plant my hands on the footboard of the bed, leaning forward. "So, I'll ask you again. What did you mean, Asha?"
She won't look at me. Instead, her fingers work at the clasp of her bracelet. "It's been a long day, and now here we are, officially stuck in one room together—again. A term that is strictly outlined in our agreement." The bracelet falls into her palm, and she sets it down with a soft click. "I just want to go to bed."
"Not happening." I straighten, my voice dropping to something dangerous and raw. "I'm not going to keep playing this game with you." I move around the bed. "I don't think you hate me as much as you'd like to, so what is this if it's not a game?"
"You're the one playing games, Trigger. Not me." She finally turns to face me, and the look in her eyes stops me cold. It's a mixture of sadness and something else, something that looks a lot like fear.Is she scared of me?Her voice cracks. "Answering these questions gets us nowhere. It doesn't change anything."
"Bullshit." I shrug off my sport coat and toss it over the chair, never breaking eye contact. "I know you felt something today." I take another step, watching her spine straighten in defiance. "You felt it when I shocked you and got this tattoo. I felt the way your pulse raced beneath my fingers at dinner tonight when I held your hand, and the way you relaxed against me when I was at your back." One more step. "I don't think you hate me at all."
She shakes her head, dark hair falling forward to hide her face as she turns her back on me. Her arms wrap around herself. "You never called."
The accusation doesn't make sense.Why is she so scared of the truth?"You already know that's a lie?—"
"It was four months." Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the room. "Four months after Hollis gave me your number that I finally blocked you." Her shoulders shake once, like she's fighting back something she doesn't want me to see. "You had time to ask, to try, and you didn't."
I close the distance between us, stopping just behind her, close enough to see her reflection in the window glass. "I could say the same about you. You had my number, and you didn't call."
"That's not?—"
"Asha." I force my voice to soften as my frustration builds. "You already know what happened. My world was turned upside down when I got home. I went to your house. I expected to run into you in town, expected you to come home, and you didn't." My hands ball into fists at my sides to keep from reaching for her. "I came after you. I showed up at your father's house in Louisville." I pause, making sure she hears every word. "I know you know that. So don't sit here and pretend you believe I didn't try."
She remains stoic against the window, but I can see the rise and fall of her chest is more pronounced. "I came home after that." Her voice is hollow. "It was the week of the Winter Classic. I showed up." She pauses and pulls in a stuttered breath. "I watched you ride, and then I watched you exit the arena."
The memory rushes back, and my fingers curl so tight they ache. That night. The buckle bunnies giggling and hanging on my every word while my body screamed in pain, and my heart was somewhere else entirely.
"Yeah, well, clearly whatever brought you there that night wasn't enough to make you stay." I turn away from her, needing space, and pace the sitting area in front of the fireplace. "Because had you stayed, you would have seen that I didn't leave withany of them." I look up, meeting her reflection in the window. "I went home and soaked in a bath of Epsom salts—alone."
Her head shakes again, slow and steady, like she's not satisfied with my response. "And what about after that?" She finally turns, and her eyes are blazing now, all that fear replaced with something fiercer. "If it was important to you, if I meant anything, then why not say anything?" She takes a step toward me, then another. "You saw me at the auction house in Lexington a few months later and basically acted like I didn't exist."
The accusation stings because it's true—and because she doesn't know why. I close the space between us until we're toe to toe, until I can see the dark-brown flecks in her eyes and the way her chest rises and falls with each sharp breath.
"Because I showed up at your apartment a month before that." My voice is barely controlled, each word careful and precise. "I sat in my car, waiting for the rain to let up so I could see you again." I watch her eyes widen, watch the color drain from her face. "Instead, I watched you run into another man's arms." I lean in, my voice dropping to a rough whisper. "You drove off, and I let you go."
The silence that follows is deafening. Her lips part like she wants to say something, like she almost believes me, but something is telling her not to. Her eyes search mine back and forth, and with every pass, I can see her fortifying her walls.
"What you saw..." She takes a shaky breath. "It wasn't what you think, and you know that." Her voice gains strength, an edge of accusation cutting through. "You know that because there is no one at my side. There never has been." She takes a step back, then another, putting distance between us. "And for the past year that my best friend and your brother have been falling back in love, you never once brought up that night."
"Neither have you." The words come out more defensive than I intended.
She lets out a bitter laugh, the sound breaking somewhere in the middle. "I took off my mask that night." Her voice drops to something vulnerable. "You knew who I was. I let you see me. I let you..."
