I don’t bother trying to sleep, because there isn’t any point. Instead, I surf Reddit on my phone and respond to the handful of text messages I’ve been ignoring. The oldest one is from my father:
Is it done?
My response is only one word.
Yes.
He hasn’t asked me for any details about the money I’ve spent or the plans I’ve made to get Zaya’s compliance, and I haven’t offered any. I get the feeling he’d rather not know what I’m doing, because he doesn’t want to feel compelled to get involved. That has always been the way of things. Whenever some uppity administrator at school tried to force me to heel by threatening parental interaction, they quickly learned that for every ten messages they left with my father’s secretary, maybe one would get returned. Even that was a stretch.
We’ll expect you for dinner tonight.
And that’s what I get for not ignoring him. As stupid as it sounds, I had this idea that I could keep these two very different facets of my life completely separate. I doubt she wants to be inside Cortland Manor any more than I do. I angrily push out a reply and close the messaging app. I hate that I’m supposed to be available to everyone in my life at all times. Sometimes, I just want to cut myself off from the world.
The next time I look up from the screen, Zaya is awake and staring at me.
She opens her mouth. Before she can say anything, I hear a loud rumble from under the sheet coming from the general vicinity of her stomach.
Her face flushes with embarrassment.
“I’ve already ordered lunch,” I laugh, thoroughly amused. I keep forgetting how cute she manages to be without trying.
Her shy and grateful smile sends a stab of warmth through my cold heart.
Zaya attacks the tray before the room service guy can even finish setting it down on the small table. The fact that she refused breakfast is a testament to just how annoyed she had been with me earlier.
She eats with a single-minded intensity, systematically demolishing the Montechristo sandwich as I watch in amazement. When I snag a french fry from her plate, she practically slaps my hand away.
“You eat like you’ve spent time in prison.”
“And you eat like someone who always knows the next meal is coming.” The dull point of her butter knife stabs at the back of my hand when I go for another fry. “Steal anything else off my plate, and I’ll shank you.”
“Are you really threatening me over a fry?”
“Five fries. You’ve taken five fries. Keep your hands off.” A small smile teases the corner of her mouth, but her tone brooks no argument. She might just stab me over a side dish. “If you wanted french fries, then you shouldn’t have ordered that sad little salad.”
I glance down at my plate full of freshly-picked arugula and heirloom tomatoes.
“Calm down, Shawshank. The rest is all yours.” Shaking my head, I hold my hands up in surrender. “Though I do feel compelled to point out that bottomless french fries are only a phone call away.”
Zaya starts at that, as if only just realizing there is more food where this came from.
I know she doesn’t want me to pity her, so I keep my face carefully blank.
The tension leaves her expression as she takes a furious bite of her sandwich. “Then leave mine alone and order some for yourself.”
If she eats like this at dinner with my parents, Giselle is going to have a field day. “We’re leaving soon to head back.”
Food gone, she leans back in her chair and just stares at me as I stand up from the table. The robe I wrapped around her after we got out of the shower gapes open in the front, exposing the smooth expanse of her chest. My gaze narrows on one almond-colored nipple just peeking out past the terry cloth.
“We’re not spending the night?” She almost sounds disappointed.
Aside from the dinner date with my damn parents, there is a laundry list of things we need to accomplish for this marriage to hold any water. Our marriage license needs to be filed at the courthouse, and West wants a copy of the prenuptial agreement as soon as possible. Not to mention, I figured she would want to go see her brother as soon as possible.
“Is that a problem?”
“No,” she replies hurriedly. “I just thought…you know what, never mind.”
Her dress is draped across the foot of the bed. I toss it in her general direction without looking at her. “Get dressed. We’re going.”
Her balled up robe hits me hard in the face. With a force of will that almost brings me to my knees, I keep my head turned away.
That lasts for about fifteen and a half seconds.
When I finally chance a look at her, not only is she still naked, but posed with her hips jutting forward so my gaze is automatically drawn to the part of her I can’t stop thinking about.
Smirking at whatever look is on my face, she finally pulls the damn dress over her head.
I don’t know how the hell I’m going to make it through the next year without losing my mind. The game has changed, and Zaya just scored another point.
Thirty
“Oh, hell no.”
I hold the dirty receiver away from my face so it won’t touch my skin, but Zion’s voice is still loud enough to practically burst my ear drum.
Visiting Zion at the Justice Center is even less fun than I thought it would be. Luckily, they haven’t transferred him to the county jail because he’s underage, but this place still sucks. I spent an hour in the visitor’s waiting room watching the parade of stricken family members come in and out, trying not to
