“I thought you liked that.”
His face is a mask of barely restrained fury. “No. Him thinking she was so great ruined fucking everything.”
“What did it ruin. Asher? Was it bad that he finally fucking approved of something you did? Because to be honest, you seemed pretty happy about it until now.”
He glares at me for several silent seconds. “You know what? Fuck this. It's time you knew the truth."
He leans forward, his voice dropping to a conversational tone that somehow sounds more terrifying than shouting. “I don't fucking love Julie."
The room tilts. I look at him, waiting for the punchline, waiting for him to take it back and laugh and tell me it's a sick joke. He doesn't.
"What?"
"You heard me."
This isn't possible. I know what I saw with my own two eyes when they got married. I know how relieved he was when she came down that aisle. I saw him tear up. I saw his body relax when she got close. What he’s saying now does not fit with first-hand experience of that event.
"I think you need help, Asher. I'm dead serious." My voice sounds distant, like it's coming from somewhere outside my body. "You're having a breakdown or something. You love her. I know you do."
He scoffs. "I promise you I don't."
"Then why the fuck did you marry her?"
He stands abruptly, his chair rolling backward and slamming into the credenza hard enough to make the crystal decantersrattle. "Because I had to! You don't know what I've been through, what my father put me through.Nothingabout Julie and I was ever what it seemed. Even our meeting was bullshit."
My stomach rolls, that weird sensation of cresting a rollercoaster. It’s like the drop is coming, and I’m holding onto the rail for dear life, regretting that I ever got on the damn ride. "What?"
"That day she rear-ended me?" He watches me with the predatory focus of a cat cornering a mouse, and I realize he's starting to enjoy this. "I did it on purpose."
The words don't make sense. They register as English, as individual sounds, but they don't connect to meaning. My head is fucking pounding. This is impossible. “You're lying."
"I'm not. I knew exactly who she was. The girl from 3A you talked about that very fucking morning at breakfast before I dropped you off. The one you said was so beautiful but off-limits because she was wearing what you thought was an engagement ring."
My hands start shaking. I jam them in my pockets to hide it, but I can feel the tremor working its way up my arms. "What are you talking about?"
"Come on, Ryan. You talked about her all the time. The girl in 3A. The one who smiled at you in the hallway, who carried canvas bags from the farmer's market, who smiled at everyone and was, and I quote, fucking gorgeous." His voice takes on a mocking tone, an impression of me that makes my skin crawl. "If you liked her, that meant she was a good girl. Wholesome. The kind my father would approve of. The kind who would make me look stable and responsible."
The floor feels unsteady beneath my feet, like the foundation is dissolving. "So you what? Followed her? Stalked her?"
“Please. Nothing so desperate as that. I was in my car on the phone after I dropped you off that morning and I saw her comeout and get into her car. Her parking spot said reserved for 3A, so I knew it was her. I realized I had an opportunity, so I pulled out ahead of her. Waited until she was close. Then I hit the brakes and let her hit me." He says it simply, like he's describing a business transaction. "She was so desperate for love she didn't even question why I was so eager to take her to coffee. Why I was so charming. Why I moved so fast."
My vision blurs at the edges. What he’s saying is sick. "You engineered a fucking accident.”
“It was barely a tap. It’s not like she was in danger.”
"Why?" The word comes out strangled. "Why would you do that?"
"Because I needed to get married, and my father gave me a deadline. And Julie was perfect. Pretty, sweet, innocent, exactly the kind of woman he'd approve of." He pauses, his eyes locking on mine with something that looks almost like satisfaction. "He always liked your women.Be more like Ryan, he’d say. So when I saw her… I knew what I had to do.”
The implication hangs between us, heavy and suffocating.
"You’re saying you targeted her because I liked her."
He chuckles. “She was available, and the fact that you liked her told me dear old dad would approve. Two birds, one stone." He spreads his hands, a magician revealing his trick. "I got a wife who made me look good, and I got to take something you wanted in the process. It didn’t hurt that she was fucking clueless.”
I feel sick, actually sick, my stomach roiling with the kind of vertigo that usually precedes vomiting. "You married her. She trusted you. Shelovedyou, Asher. She built her whole life around you."
"And soon she can move on." He leans against his desk, casual as a man discussing the weather. "She'll be fine. She has her shop to focus on, and she never shuts up about it. She has her bitch of a sister to carry her through and get her back on herfeet. She'll cry for a while, then she'll move on and find some other guy to take care of her. Maybe you, if you play your cards right."
