“Your family seems to think this sham marriage is real,” he said bitterly.
I stared out at the frost coating the fields and barns; it all looked so pure, so simple.
“Well,” I said carefully. “I’ve come to have feelings for Ash, and I believe he feels the same.”
Collin laughed angrily. “Are you really that na?ve? He’s telling you exactly what you want to hear. As soon as he’s got his green card, he’ll be gone.”
“That’s your opinion,” I said stiffly. “I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did. You didn’t deserve that.”
“No, I didn’t.”
We sat in silence while he drank his coffee.
“I have one more question,” he said, frowning into his cup.
“Go ahead.”
“Are you sleeping with him?”
I looked him in the eye as I answered.
“I promise, I never cheated on you.”
I could tell that he didn’t believe me, but there was nothing I could do about that. I’d done enough.
The door behind us swung open and Ash was there, standing with his arms folded across his chest, frowning at us.
Collin stood abruptly and tried to body check Ash as he walked back into the kitchen.
“Asshole,” Collin muttered as he walked past.
“Prick,” Ash replied, without missing a beat.
The strong scent of testosterone hung in the air.
Laney
WE DROVE BACK to the city after supper. My parents were disappointed that we weren’t staying longer, but Ash and I really needed some privacy to talk about what had happened last night.
And besides, I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of having sex with him again while my family was in the house. I didn’t even know if that was something that was going to happen.
And wouldn’t it be a crying shame if that was it? Because that had been the best sex of my entire life.
As I drove through the darkened streets toward the highway, questions crowded my mind. Were we together or not? Should we go back to him sleeping on the couch? Was he expecting to sleep in my bed? Did I want him to?
Well, at least I knew the answer to that last one.
When we finally closed the front door of my . . . of our apartment . . . my head was pounding and it was a relief to be home.
I flopped onto the couch, happy to leave Ash to carry up our luggage and load the fridge with all the leftover food that Mom insisted we take with us.
He stole my iPhone from my purse, and the soft sounds of the new Adele album poured from the speakers.
I listened to Ash moving around in the kitchen, filling the kettle with water, setting it to boil, and soon the aroma of chamomile tea filled the room.
I cracked one eye as he pulled off my boots and started to massage my aching feet.
“That feels good,” I groaned, as he dug his thumbs into the arch of my left foot.
He didn’t answer, humming along with the music, his lips moving wordlessly.
His fingers slid up to my ankles, massaging thoroughly. He couldn’t go any higher because I was wearing skinny jeans. I should really wear more skirts.
I blurted out the thoughts that were on my mind.
“What happens next, Ash?”
He raised his eyebrows and looked up at me, his hands still moving rhythmically.
“Whatever you want, Laney.”
I frowned, frustrated that he hadn’t given me a real answer.
“I just want to know where we stand.”
He sighed and sat back on his heels.
“I don’t know,” he said simply.
I was going to have to spell it out. I steeled myself for the conversation.
“Are we together, Ash?”
His forehead puckered. “We’re married,” he said, as if that explained everything.
For other people, perhaps, but not for us.
“We married to get you a green card,” I said, as patiently as I could. “But . . . last night and, um, this morning, we had sex.”
He grinned at me, his eyes glittering with carnal thoughts.
“Yeah.”
I shook my head in frustration. “I don’t just sleep with people!”
His sudden, irritated expression matched mine. “I’m your husband!”
“On paper!” I snapped. “It’s not real.”
He stood abruptly, his nostrils flaring with anger. “I don’t know what you want!”
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to keep calm.
“We need to work out some rules,” I said, my voice tight and clipped.
He swept his hand in front of him theatrically.
“What are these rules?” he asked, his voice full of disdain.
“Well,” I replied, thinking on my feet, “will you . . . are we going to have sex again?”
He blinked, surprise replacing anger. “Of course.” Then his face clouded. “You don’t want to?”
I almost laughed. What a comedy of errors. I had to try and wrestle my turbulent emotions into some semblance of order and tranquility, or we’d never get anywhere. Least of all the bedroom.
“Ash, come sit next to me,” I said calmly, patting the couch.
He sat stiffly, oozing reluctance.
“What I’m saying is . . . if your dick is in some sort of popularity contest, I’m not interested in competing. Or sharing at all.”