There’s no discussion from anyone about our sleeping in separate rooms. Ben follows me into a room with two small beds and closes the door behind him.
We stand in the middle of the floor and stare at each other.
“Y’okay?” he asks at last.
I shrug. “It’s a relief, really.”
“I know.”
“There was no fixing our relationship.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t even really know her.”
“I know.”
Emotion is lodged hard in my throat, making it hard to breathe. I cross my arms tightly, squeezing my chest with them. I breathe loud and ragged.
“Was she out of it the whole time?” Ben asks after a minute.
“Mostly.”
“Did she say anything to you?”
“Yeah. She said—” I can’t get it out. I try to suck in more air around the ache in my throat.
He’s been standing perfectly still, his hands curled loosely at his sides. But now he clenches them. I see it. “What did she say?” he asks, soft and thick.
I blurt it out. “She said I’m a disgrace. That I’m a disloyal daughter. That I selfishly put everyone else in danger.”
Something almost imperceptible—a shudder, a tension, a wave of energy—runs through him. Both his hands are still clenched into fists. “And what did you say?” he asks in a hoarse whisper.
I shrug. “I said… I said I’m sorry she felt that way.”
“Nothing else?”
“It didn’t seem worth it. It would feel like… like punching a stone wall. It doesn’t matter.Shedoesn’t matter to me. Nothing she said… matters.”
Ben finally unclenches his fingers. His mouth twists, and he makes a summoning motion and murmurs, “I’m so sorry, baby. Come here to me.”
I go to him with a weird choked sound, and he wraps his arms around me. I shake against his big body, burying my face in his chest.
I don’t sob. I almost never do. But I shake for a long time, and if there are any tears, they’re absorbed by the fabric of his shirt.
He holds me for a long time, and I’m the one who finally ends the embrace. I pull away, sniffing and brushing back loose strands of hair from my face. “Okay. It wasn’t good, but it’s over now. I think I might be able to sleep a little.”
“Good. You have three hours.”
“You’re going to rest too.”
“I don’t need?—”
“I don’t care what you think you need. I’m not going to get in bed unless you get in bed too. No one knows we’re here. No one suspects our real identity. We’ll leave at dawn, and it will be like we were never here at all. So stop stalling and get in the damn bed.”
My tone is more forceful than I intend at the final sentence. I blink in surprise.
Ben just chuckles and sits down on the edge of the bed in the corner of the room. As he’s unbuckling his belt, he drawls, “Yes, ma’am.”
