Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
TRIGGER
"What aren’t you telling me?" London asks as I stare at Asha sleeping across from me on the plane, her head tilted against the plane's window, her arms crossed as if she needs to keep her guard up.
There's a small crease between her eyebrows, like she's fighting something even in her dreams. Probably me.
"You really expect me to believe the two of you are jet-setting to enjoy a romantic honeymoon? "
"Actually, yes," I sigh. I'm not thrilled about lying to my brother, but it's not just me I have to look out for anymore.
I have her. My wife. For a year. That was the deal, anyway.
Three hundred and sixty-five days, then we both walk away.
She finds a way to save her land, my merger goes through, and everyone gets what they want.
Except, I'm not walking away. Not in a year.
Not ever. "It must be in our blood or something," I add, as my eyes study every curve of her face.
"We fall, and we never stop." I toss back a truth he can't argue.
I hear the anxious breath he takes, his frustration evident before he says, "So this trip—"
"You mean honeymoon," I correct so that he starts to wrap his head around my new normal.
"No, I mean trip. Tell me which circle of hell I'm going to be dealing with when you get back."
Asha's eyes start to flutter open as she wakes up.
"I'm not sure what you mean. I'm on my honeymoon. See you when I get home." I cut the call without another word.
I turn to find Asha watching me, sleep still softening her features even as wariness sharpens her gaze.
"How long was I out?"
"Three hours. We have about five more to go."
She sits up straighter, tugging at the blanket I draped over her. "Five hours to where, exactly?"
"You'll see when we land."
"Trigger.” Her tone is a warning. "I agreed to marry you. I didn't agree to be kidnapped."
"Legally, I don't think it counts as kidnapping when it's your husband." I reach for my coffee. I should sleep, but I can't shut off my brain. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that last night fucking happened.
She looks furious and rumpled and entirely out of her element. It's a nice change from her usual immaculate control.
"Keeping me in the dark wasn't part of the plan.
I didn't agree to this." She unbuckles her seatbelt, and I can see the moment she harnesses her anger and starts calculating.
"Appearances matter, Trigger. If you want this marriage to win over your partners, it needs to look real, and this might be news to you, but couples talk.
They share things. If I show up on your arm completely unaware, they'll know it's fake. "
I know she's right, and I do plan to fill her in, but letting her in on my future business plans requires trust. She took a big first step last night, not once but twice.
First, when she agreed to marry me on the spot.
The second, and maybe even bigger move, was when she chose me over her father.
But I don't want blind trust, and I don't want momentary trust, the kind that fails when things truly get hard. I want unconditional.
"Share things," I muse over the rim of my coffee.
"Yes, things. Information. Plans. The basic building blocks of a functional partnership." She's fully awake now. "Unless you'd prefer I smile blankly when your business associates ask about our life, our future?"
Our future. I like those words coming from her mouth. Those are the ones I'd like to discuss in detail, but since we're on the topic of sharing things, there is something that has been needling me since the words were uttered. Something I haven't been able to piece together.
"What did you mean last night when you told your father a cracked screen wasn't enough to change your plans?"
"Nothing." She averts her gaze out the window, which may have been borderline convincing were it not for her hands.
"Right, so you're cutting the circulation off in your fingers for nothing," I say as I watch them turn whiter by the second, which is a feat in itself, given her warm complexion. "Sharing works both ways, sweetheart."
She closes her eyes and presses her head into the seat. "Fine. I guess if anyone should know what those words mean, it's you." Her voice comes out quiet, almost detached, as she stares out the window.
I set down my empty coffee cup, the ceramic clicking against the wood console.
She's silent for a moment, her jaw working like she's trying to decide how much to tell me.
When she finally speaks, she still won't look at me.
"My father's accident, the one he was in the night of our senior prom…
When he finally woke from his coma, the doctors asked him if he remembered any details from the night of his crash.
His statement was he swerved to miss a deer crossing the road and lost control on the wet pavement.
.." She pauses, and I watch her fingers find the edge of the blanket, twisting the fabric between them before continuing.
"But I know differently. I know because when the paramedics brought me his belongings that night, his cracked phone was among his things, and the picture on the screen was a photo of the student council prom committee. "
My hand freezes halfway to the water glass on the console between us.
"You already know you are part of the reason I was sent away to begin with.
They didn't want me going back to public school after I fell.
I wasn't safe there.” She finally turns to look at me, and I can see everything she's kept buried in those dark eyes.
"He saw that photo, and it caused him to run off the road. "
I shift to face her fully. "Are you saying he didn't know I was attending Ridgewood?"
"I never brought it up." She holds my gaze, unflinching, letting me see the truth. The question is what truth? I'm not sure why she never mentioned it to her father. I sure as hell know it wasn't for her undying love for me. She enjoyed having fun at my expense most days.
"Why?" I lean forward, elbows on my knees, needing more.
If she had brought it up, I'm sure it would have gotten her out of there. She wanted to go home. She never hid that fact. If I were the reason she was sent away, surely my presence at Ridgewood would have been enough for Warrick to bring her home.
"I answered your question." Her voice is steadier now. "Now it's time you answer some of mine, starting with where we are going."
I sink back into my seat and cross my leg over my knee at the ankle. "Somewhere warm."
She rolls her eyes, a trademark sign of her annoyance, one that's grown on me because even if she's thoroughly peeved with me, I'm still the one on her mind. It's still me making her feel something.
"More specific."
"Why are you so worried about it anyway?" I press, loving how easy it is to get her worked up.
"It would help to know if I packed the right wardrobe. You only gave me ten minutes."
"I said to pack something nice." I shrug, reaching for my water.
"You're such a man. You probably packed jeans, boots, and a few polos and called it a day. It doesn't work the same for women." She shifts in her seat, and sunlight breaks through the clouds just then, flooding the cabin with harsh light that catches the gold band on her left hand.
"You think I care what you wear?" I quirk a brow. "If you're asking, I'd prefer you wear—"
"Definitely not asking, but if we arrive and I don't have the right wardrobe, you're buying.
" My forehead creases as my eyebrows rise, her comment taking me by surprise.
Asha is fiercely independent, so the fact that she's willing to take anything from me is somewhat shocking.
"What?" She points toward my face. "What is that look for? "
"Just surprised, is all. I assumed I'd be splitting checks this entire marriage."
She rolls her lips and inhales deeply through her nose. "That's kind of hard to do, seeing as how I don't have a trust fund like you. I had a credit card with no limit, but since I just married my enemy without so much as discussing it with my father, I'm sure I've been cut off.”
"My money is your money, Wife," I say a little too pridefully, drawing out that last word like it's something profane.
"I'll pay you back. I don't want to spend your father's money on my clothes."
"Not necessary. You won't be spending his. You'll be spending mine." I watch her process this, watch the war play out across her face, pride versus practicality versus whatever else she won't let me see. "The money in your trust fund wasn't earned by you, so yes, I'll be paying back every dime."
"I don't have a trust fund, sweetheart. I didn't go to college like you.
Instead, I came home and started running the family business alongside my brother and my father.
Every dime I have to my name is mine. The only thing my last name guaranteed me was land.
" I pause, letting that sink in as the clouds thin below us, revealing the deep blue hues of the sea.
We must be getting close. "The only thing I inherited was enemies—including you. "
I'm not sure what I see on her face. For a small second, she looks fairly impressed, but then a notable scowl appears before she snaps. "Good. I'll be sure to make it hurt," she says with a smile.
"I wouldn't expect anything less." I let my gaze drag over her deliberately. "But here's the thing, watching you spend my money on something that makes you look good isn't the punishment you think it is."
She turns back to the window, jaw tight, her interrogation seemingly put on hold. I know my responses are throwing her for a curve. It can't be helped. I want her to think about what it means to be tied to me now.
I didn't create this situation. Didn't manipulate it.
I just...waited. Patiently. So patiently it nearly killed me.
I waited for her to realize what I'd known the moment I found out about the land lease.
I waited for her to exhaust every possibility, rage against the unfairness of it all.
I waited for her to come to the inevitable conclusion: she needed me.
For the first time in all the years I've known her, loved her, fought with her, she actually needed me.
And then I waited for her to come to me.
The hardest part was knowing I could approach her and offer her this very solution, but also knowing she might just throw it back in my face if I did.
She'd see it as pity, as me lording it over her, as a weakness on her part.
It had to be her choice. Her decision. She had to be the one to swallow her pride and ask, and last night, she finally did.
She laid it out like a business deal. One year of marriage.
I get the merger I need; she gets to save her land.
Then we divorce and go our separate ways.
I listened. Nodded. Asked the appropriate questions.
All while thinking: she has no idea. No idea she just handed me exactly what I've wanted for years.
The one thing I could never take by force: her.
I made her think I was considering it. Made her sweat a little, not to be cruel, but because she needed to feel like it was a negotiation. Like she still had power. Then I agreed. One year, a few poorly negotiated conditions. Above board, on her terms.
Except for the part where I have absolutely no intention of honoring the end date.
Asha made the choice. That's what matters. She came to me, she proposed this arrangement, then she stood up in front of all our friends and family and said "I do" of her own free will. No one forced her. No one manipulated her.
She chose this. Chose me. And now that she has, I'm never letting her go.