"It's working, you know."
"What is?" I ask softly.
"Marrying you." She lets that sit between us for a beat then continues. "He just slipped. Said something he shouldn't have. Fairfield is every bit mine as it is his. Turns out we have more in common than you thought. My mother didn't leave me money, but she did leave me land. He doesn't know I've seen the title. He's again lying to control me."
Her eyes stay locked on mine, and for one unguarded moment, I see it—the war raging behind them. The need to run warring with the need for something solid to hold onto.
I chose the devil I know over the one I don't.Her words from before echo in my head. She's terrified of everyone, including me.
"I'm going to take a shower." Her voice is steadier as she steps around me. "You should get ready. We have that tantric yoga class with Dar in an hour." I can hear her walls snapping back into place as she finds something else to focus her mind on instead of addressing the root of her pain.
I hate it. I hate that she feels like she has to be this way with me. But I give her space because, truth be told, I need a minute too. I've gone from incredibly aroused, to angry and hurt, and now I have to push all that out because, on top of everything, I'm here to work. To close a deal.
"Yeah, about that. What is tantric yoga?"
"Yoga," she says dismissively with a shoulder shrug. "Wear sweatpants. You'll survive." And then she closes the door to the bathroom.
I exhale hard, scrubbing both hands over my face. My body still aches from yesterday's work with the bulls, but that's nothing compared to the frustration burning in my chest. She can put the walls back up all she wants. I've seen what's behind them, and I'm not going anywhere.
A rough laugh escapes me despite everything. Leave it to Dar to schedule something called "tantric yoga" right after the morning we just had. The universe has a twisted sense of humor. In a few minutes, Asha will come out of the shower, composed and acting like nothing happened.
I look down at the sweatpants in my hands and shake my head. Tantric yoga with my wife who just edged me into oblivion for revenge, then almost shattered from a phone call, then locked herself away again. This is going to be one hell of a morning.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
TRIGGER
Twenty minutes into this torture, and I'm barely holding it together. Dar's private gym is all exposed beams and floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the southern pasture. The morning light streams in, making the polished wood floors glow golden. Sandalwood incense burns in the corner, and some kind of meditative music plays softly from hidden speakers.
The instructor, a woman named Valeria, moves between the two mats with the grace of someone who's never experienced sexual frustration in her life.
"Beautiful work, Dar and Santiago," Valeria says, observing them in some complicated twist where they're back to back, arms intertwined. They move like water, completely in sync. Santiago's dark eyes are closed, peaceful, while Dar looks like she's reached some kind of enlightenment.
Meanwhile, Asha and I just finished a pose where I had to lift her by the hips while she arched backward over my thighs, her hair brushing the mat, her body a perfect curve of tension in my hands. I'm still recovering.
"Next, we'll move into Yab-Yum," Valeria announces, settling onto her own mat at the front. "This is a sacred tantric position. It represents the union of wisdom and compassion, of masculine and feminine energy."
I watch Santiago settle into position, easily crossing his legs and straightening his spine. Dar climbs into his lap like she's done it a thousand times, wrapping her legs around his waist, her arms looping around his neck. They look comfortable, nothing like what Asha and I are about to look like.
"Trigger," Valeria says gently. "Legs out, please."
I extend my legs, and Asha's eyes meet mine for the first time since we stumbled through the last pose. Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing still elevated, and there’s a thin layer of sheen on her collarbone. This session is clearly affecting her too. The question is, in what way?
"This is the fourth pose," she mutters. "How many more does she have planned?"
"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure your aunt is trying to make a point." I keep my voice low, but across the room, I see Santiago's mouth twitch in a suppressed smile. Yesterday, he overheard us arguing by the pens. I'm sure that argument got back to Dar, and that's why we're having this intimate yoga class now.
"Asha," Valeria prompts. "Whenever you're ready."
Asha takes a breath then swings her leg over my lap. She settles onto my thighs, her legs wrapping around my waist, ankles crossing at my lower back. Every muscle in my body goes taut.
We've done three poses before this: a standing pose where she had to trust me to hold her weight as she leaned back, a seated twist where our legs tangled and hands clasped, and that backbend that nearly broke me. But this? This is different. This is her in my lap, chest to chest, with nowhere to hide.
"Arms around each other," Valeria instructs. "Create a circle of energy. Let your connection flow."
Asha tentatively sets her hands on my shoulders, and I wrap my arms around her waist. My thumb rests against her bare skin, and I have to resist the urge to trace the curve of her spine. Her eyes are fixed somewhere over my shoulder, but I'm acutely aware of every point where our bodies are close.
"Foreheads together," Valeria says. "Eye contact is necessary for this pose. Breathe as one."
