Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
ASHA
Ialmost kissed him.
My fingers drift to my lips as I stare at the woman reflected in the mirror.
Yesterday, I almost kissed Trigger Hale, and God help me, I wanted it.
I wanted him. The memory alone makes my skin flush.
The way his hands felt on my jaw, the heat of his body pressed against mine, the rough timbre of his voice saying all the right things.
I still want it. That's the part that terrifies me.
Because wanting him and trusting him are two very different things, and damn it if everything I've unearthed about my father isn't the exact reason I can't afford to blur those lines.
You can trust me, he said. You don't get to make me into someone I'm not.
Logically, I know he's not wrong. But logic and a lifetime of conditioning are two separate beasts, and my father did a hell of a good job making me believe the Hales couldn't be trusted.
Even now, as I stand here questioning everything I thought I knew about my father's character, I can't shake what I've been conditioned to believe.
It's maddening. How can I doubt him on one hand and still let his poison about the Hales dictate my reactions on the other?
How can both things be true at the same time?
My reflection doesn't have any answers, just the same wide eyes and lips that ache, betraying exactly how close I came to giving in yesterday.
I've never lied to you.
My brain had stumbled over those words when he said them as I tried to reconcile them with the narrative I'd built. I had to separate my hurt from the actual truth: he didn't lie. Not about prom. Not about us. Not about any of it.
I made assumptions. I let those assumptions root into facts because he was the enemy, and enemies don't get the benefit of the doubt.
Of course, prom night was calculated revenge for all the hell I'd given him in high school; that's what made the most sense when he didn't call.
When I came home from college and saw him with someone else, her hand on his arm, his smile easy in a way it had never been with me.
And then again, this past year, when he kept his careful distance, playing nice because his brother and my best friend are irrevocably in love, and someone had to be the mature one.
I'd filled in every blank with the worst possible explanation because that was what I'd been taught to do.
Hales lie. Hales manipulate. Hales take what they want and leave destruction in their wake.
But what if I was wrong? What if the only liar in my life has been the man I trusted most?
The thought makes my stomach turn. I grip the edge of the sink, maybe Trigg was never the villain.
Maybe I just needed him to be one because wanting him since I was fifteen scared me more than hating him ever did.
There's a knock on the door, shattering my spiral, but I don't say anything. I can't. Not yet. I just need a few more seconds because, if I'm being brutally honest, the reason I almost kissed him yesterday wasn't that I trust him. It's because part of me doesn't care if I should.
"Asha, are you ready?" I turn toward the closed door and the voice that's echoed in my head nonstop for more nights than I can count. "We're supposed to be down—"
His words die when I open the door. For a moment, he just stares.
His gaze travels down my body and back up, slower the second time, like he's memorizing every detail.
The crimson dress hugs every curve before flaring at my hips.
It has off-the-shoulder sleeves, and my hair is pinned over one shoulder in loose waves.
It's bold, feminine, and completely different from anything he's seen me wear. But we're in Spain.
"Trigg?" My voice comes out smaller than I intend. His silence is unnerving.
His eyes linger on my collarbone before snapping back to my face. "Christ, Asha."
It's not a complaint.
"Too much?" I smooth my hands down the fabric nervously, suddenly self-conscious under the weight of his stare. "The event coordinator said traditional Spanish formal wear, and this was what—"
"Don't." He steps closer, and I can see the muscle ticking in his jaw. "I'm just… I thought… I mean…" He clears his throat. "It's perfect."
I can see the genuine compliment in his eyes. He likes what he sees, and what he sees is me. My chest tightens, and I'm not ready to face whatever this is. I dramatically roll my eyes and press my hand against his chest to push past him into the room for my shoes.
"What were you about to say?" I ask as I walk toward the closet, where one of the maids must have unpacked, hung, and organized our things while we were out touring the property yesterday.
"I thought you might have changed your mind about dinner," I hear him say. I take a seat on the ottoman inside the walk-in closet to put on my shoes.
"That's not part of the deal," I tell him evenly, although the thought of not attending passed my mind many times.
"We don't have to. We can leave," he says, and my hand pauses on the clasp of my ankle strap.
"You'd do that?" I ask, my eyes finding his. "You'd walk away from the deal for me?"
"If that's what you want," he says without hesitation. "Arora Heritage isn't the only bull breeder out there. I can find another partner." He shrugs. "You can help me land that deal."
My heart skips a beat from his admission. I know how much this deal means to him, and knowing he'd walk away for me… I stop myself from processing the thought. It's too heavy.
"But you chose Arora because they're the best?"
The way he scrubs his hand over his jaw, I know I'm right, and whatever words he gives me will be a downplay for my sake. "It doesn't matter. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. If this deal goes through, there will be visits. Dar and Rohan will come to Bardstown."
I pause, my fingers freezing on the strap of my other heel. I hadn't thought that part through, not fully. But I did weigh walking away.
After we left the study yesterday and retreated to our suite, we didn't leave.
Not for dinner, not even after the sun went down and the house was quiet.
Trigg worked on his laptop, jaw tight with concentration, while I sat curled in the chair by the window, watching him when I thought he wasn't looking.
This morning, I finally turned my phone back on.
The voicemail box was full. Over a hundred missed texts.
The work I'd started back home at Fairfield, organizing the evals and updating our records software, all of it on pause.
After sifting through the chaos, one glaring truth remained: I don't want to go back to the way things were.
Which means seeing this through. Seeing us through, whatever that means.
I drop his gaze and focus on strapping my other heel, hyperaware of him watching me. "I'm sure Rohan told Dar about the picture in the study. How I confirmed I'm the little girl standing next to her mother." My fingers fumble with the tiny buckle. "How Warrick Fairfield is my father."
With my shoe secured, I stand and walk to the full-length mirror, needing distance and the excuse to look anywhere but at him.
"That might make all of this harder to pull off.
I have no idea if Dar wants anything to do with me now that she knows I'm Warrick's daughter.
" I smooth my hands over the crimson fabric.
"And even if that doesn't give her pause, I'm not sure she'll buy that all of this”—I gesture between us—"is truly one big coincidence. "
"So, we're doing this?" His voice is closer now, and when I glance up, I catch his reflection.
He pushes off the door frame, and his eyes drag over me achingly slow.
What I see in his expression makes my pulse stutter because it looks a lot like pride and possessive satisfaction.
When his eyes catch me watching, he bites his bottom lip, but not before I see the heat there.
I turn to face him. "Unless you're having second thoughts..."
"No." The word comes out clipped, almost harsh, and I watch his hands flex at his sides like he's restraining himself from reaching for me.
Then his brows tug together, worry creasing his forehead.
"But there's something I haven't been able to work out since last night, and I feel like I'm missing a puzzle piece that I need if this is the choice we're making. "
We. Like it wasn't going to happen if I'd said no. Like my answer actually mattered to him beyond the business arrangement. The word snags my breath; it's warm and terrifying all at once.
"What piece?"
"If the land and the business dealings were your father's doing..." He takes a step closer, and I have to tilt my head back to hold his gaze. "What reason would he have to hurt your mother? What would he gain?"
The question hangs between us, heavy and unavoidable.
"The land belonged to my mother."
He frowns. "I don't understand. The lease agreement was between my grandfather and Astor Fairfield."
"Yes, Astor was my mother's father, my grandfather.
My father took my mother's name when they married.
" I watch as understanding starts to dawn on his face.
"He was adopted, had no deep connections to his last name, so he took hers.
The Fairfields were known in the community; they already had a reputation.
It made sense for him to take her name."
It made sense for him to become someone he wasn't.
I see the exact moment it clicks. The way Trigg's face changes. The last shred of innocence he might have reserved for my father dissolving like smoke. His jaw clenches, and something dark and protective flashes in his eyes.
"Asha—"
"Don't." I grab my clutch from the dresser, needing to move, to do something before I completely fall apart in front of him. I've already let him see too much. "We have a dinner to get to."