Those words haunted me. They weren’t enough, not by a long shot, but a part of me still wanted them to be.
WHEN I PULLED INTOthe parking garage, the streets were serene, sleeping, indifferent. My headlights caught the faint shimmer of rain on the pavement, the reflection of a home I didn’t feel like walking into.
I sat there for a lengthy minute, hands still on the steering wheel, forehead pressed against the cool leather. The exhaustion behind my eyes wasn’t just from work—it was from feeling too much, from trying tounfeelhim and failing miserably.
I thought about sleeping in the car. Just reclining the seat, wrapping myself in the thin hospital blanket in the trunk, andpretending I didn’t have a husband waiting on the other side of the door.
But of course, I wasn’t that lucky.
Khalifa was pacing the apartment, phone on the couch, hair disheveled, eyes lined with a level of apprehension that made me want to feel sorry for him—and that made me hate myself for wanting to.
“Lillian,” he said the moment he saw me, relief spilling into his voice. “You’re home. Can we talk?”
My name on his lips felt like melted sugar dripping straight into my ears, coiling deep in my belly and sending a shiver racing all the way down my spine. My body betrayed me, wanting to arch into the sound, to completely dissolve into him. But I forced my feet to move toward the hallway, toward my room, toward anywhere that wasn’t him.
He stepped into my path. “Lillian, please.”
My grip tightened around my bag strap. “Move.”
He didn’t.
So I walked around him. Or tried to, because he moved again, standing in front of me like some immovable wall in human form. “Fine,” he said softly. “We won’t talk. Can you at least eat something? Please.”
I sidestepped him again, but this time he caught my hand.
That tiny contact—his fingers brushing my skin—sent a surge of fury racing through me. I yanked free, my voice shaking. “Don’t touch me.Ever. You’re lucky I’m not dragging your ass to court or reporting this hostage situation to the police.”
His expression shifted—pain, guilt, something deeper—but he didn’t reach for me again. “I won’t touch you. I won’t even come near you, but I want to talk—”
“Yeah, well,” I cut in, “we can’t always get what we want, can we?”
He sighed. “I’m trying to explain what happened last night.”
“Explain?” I scoffed, dropping my bag onto the floor. “I’ve already got you figured out, Khalifa. You’re a carbon copy of everypatheticman who thinks a rough childhood earns him a lifetime pass to the emotional range of a garden gnome. You’re thirty-six, for God’s sake. Grow up!”
His eyes hardened, the warmth draining out of them. “Oh,I’mthe one who needs to grow up? As opposed to someone who throws a temper tantrum every time she doesn’t get her way?”
“At least I’m not a coward,” I snapped. “At least I don’t hide behind my past and call it personality. At least I don’t use pain as a basis to never let anyone in orfeelanything.”
“Says the girl who specifically wanted a marriage arrangement withnofeelings.”
I blinked, caught off guard by how precisely he hit the mark, but I didn’t let it show. “Things change, Khalifa.Peoplechange. It’s called being human.” I moved closer to intimidate him, to make sure he heard every word. “Not you, though, right? You’re incapable of change.”
His jaw flexed, his chest rose and fell, and I could almost hear the thoughts grinding behind his eyes.
Then, too slowly, he took a step toward me, and another, until the space between us felt like it was shrinking and folding in on itself. Until I could feel his breath graze my skin, warm and maddeningly steady, carrying the faint trace of soap and something uniquely him.
It shouldn’t have made my pulse stutter. It shouldn’t have made my knees feel wobbly or my anger flicker into an ungodly desire.
He tilted his head, voice roughened by too much truth. “And yet,” he said, “you still like me anyway.”
“Like you?” I echoed. “Ihateyou.”
“No, you don’t,” he murmured.
The words brushed against my parted lips, slipping into my mouth and lodging somewhere deep in my throat. My breath snagged around them, heat flooding my chest at how easily he could twist my emotions into knots. I met his gaze, the challenge in it, the certainty that he was right.
So I did the only thing I could. I glared.Hard. Then I turned on my heel, walked down the hallway, and slammed my bedroom door behind me so loudly the frame shuddered.
