She doesn't pull away, but I know whatever stolen moment we just shared is gone. But gone for now isn't gone for good.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ASHA
Ialmost kissed him.
My fingers drift to my lips as I stare at the woman reflected in the mirror. Yesterday, I almost kissed Trigger Hale, and God help me, I wanted it. Iwantedhim. The memory alone makes my skin flush. The way his hands felt on my jaw, the heat of his body pressed against mine, the rough timbre of his voice saying all the right things. I still want it. That's the part that terrifies me. Because wanting him and trusting him are two very different things, and damn it if everything I've unearthed about my father isn't the exact reason I can't afford to blur those lines.
You can trust me,he said.You don't get to make me into someone I'm not.
Logically, I know he's not wrong. But logic and a lifetime of conditioning are two separate beasts, and my father did a hell of a good job making me believe the Hales couldn't be trusted. Even now, as I stand here questioning everything I thought I knew about my father's character, I can't shake what I've been conditioned to believe. It's maddening. How can I doubt him on one hand and still let his poison about the Hales dictate myreactions on the other? How can both things be true at the same time?
My reflection doesn't have any answers, just the same wide eyes and lips that ache, betraying exactly how close I came to giving in yesterday.
I've never lied to you.
My brain had stumbled over those words when he said them as I tried to reconcile them with the narrative I'd built. I had to separate my hurt from the actual truth: he didn't lie. Not about prom. Not about us. Not about any of it.
I made assumptions. I let those assumptions root into facts because he was the enemy, and enemies don't get the benefit of the doubt. Of course, prom night was calculated revenge for all the hell I'd given him in high school; that's what made the most sense when he didn't call. When I came home from college and saw him with someone else, her hand on his arm, his smile easy in a way it had never been with me. And then again, this past year, when he kept his careful distance, playing nice because his brother and my best friend are irrevocably in love, and someone had to be the mature one.
I'd filled in every blank with the worst possible explanation because that was what I'd been taught to do. Hales lie. Hales manipulate. Hales take what they want and leave destruction in their wake. But what if I was wrong? What if the only liar in my life has been the man I trusted most? The thought makes my stomach turn. I grip the edge of the sink, maybe Trigg was never the villain. Maybe I just needed him to be one because wanting him since I was fifteen scared me more than hating him ever did.
There's a knock on the door, shattering my spiral, but I don't say anything. I can't. Not yet. I just need a few more seconds because, if I'm being brutally honest, the reason I almost kissed him yesterday wasn't that I trust him. It's because part of me doesn't care if I should.
"Asha, are you ready?" I turn toward the closed door and the voice that's echoed in my head nonstop for more nights than I can count. "We're supposed to be down?—"
His words die when I open the door. For a moment, he just stares.
His gaze travels down my body and back up, slower the second time, like he's memorizing every detail. The crimson dress hugs every curve before flaring at my hips. It has off-the-shoulder sleeves, and my hair is pinned over one shoulder in loose waves. It's bold, feminine, and completely different from anything he's seen me wear. But we're in Spain.
"Trigg?" My voice comes out smaller than I intend. His silence is unnerving.
His eyes linger on my collarbone before snapping back to my face. "Christ, Asha."
It's not a complaint.
"Too much?" I smooth my hands down the fabric nervously, suddenly self-conscious under the weight of his stare. "The event coordinator said traditional Spanish formal wear, and this was what?—"
"Don't." He steps closer, and I can see the muscle ticking in his jaw. "I'm just… I thought… I mean…" He clears his throat. "It's perfect."
I can see the genuine compliment in his eyes. He likes what he sees, and what he sees is me. My chest tightens, and I'm not ready to face whatever this is. I dramatically roll my eyes and press my hand against his chest to push past him into the room for my shoes.
"What were you about to say?" I ask as I walk toward the closet, where one of the maids must have unpacked, hung, and organized our things while we were out touring the property yesterday.
"I thought you might have changed your mind about dinner," I hear him say. I take a seat on the ottoman inside the walk-in closet to put on my shoes.
"That's not part of the deal," I tell him evenly, although the thought of not attending passed my mind many times.
"We don't have to. We can leave," he says, and my hand pauses on the clasp of my ankle strap.
"You'd do that?" I ask, my eyes finding his. "You'd walk away from the deal for me?"
"If that's what you want," he says without hesitation. "Arora Heritage isn't the only bull breeder out there. I can find another partner." He shrugs. "You can help me land that deal."
My heart skips a beat from his admission. I know how much this deal means to him, and knowing he'd walk away for me… I stop myself from processing the thought. It's too heavy.
"But you chose Arora because they're the best?"
