Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
SCARLETT
The coffee tastes like salvation… and regret.
Mostly regret.
I sit across from Donovan in a quiet corner of the hotel café, both of us wearing sunglasses like we’re trying to hide from the world.
Or maybe just the light.
Neither of us says anything for a minute, which is strange. Because last night, we couldn’t seem to stop.
I wrap both hands around my mug, letting the heat seep into my fingers, into the soreness that still lingers there.
Into the reminder.
My gaze drops. To the ring. To his. Still matching. Still permanent.
“Oh my God,” I mutter again.
He huffs into his coffee. “You said that already.”
“I’m saying it again.”
“Fair enough.”
Silence lingers between us.
Somehow, it’s not awkward.
Despite everything. But it is heavier… maybe because I have no clue what to fill it with.
A waitress stops by, sets down our plates—eggs, toast, something greasy enough to soak up bad decisions—and disappears again without asking questions.
Bless her. My gaze shifts between the food and him, then back at the food.
“So,” I say finally.
“So,” he echoes.
I blow out a breath. “This was supposed to be temporary.”
His jaw tightens. “I know.”
“And Vegas was supposed to be…” I gesture vaguely between us. “A distraction.”
“Still can be.”
I shake my head. “No, it can’t.”
Because now there’s a ring, and a night I can’t pretend didn’t matter.
And him. Sitting across from me like he belongs in my life. Which he absolutely does not.
Right?
Tell that to those gorgeous dark blue eyes that perceive everything without speaking… or judging. That square-cut face, sharp jawline, thick neck, broad shoulders, and chiseled body.
That last part makes me feel all warm and gooey inside like fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. Because I may not remember it all, but I still clocked enough muscular angles to populate my dreams for the next decade.
“You said you wanted proof, something we couldn’t walk away from,” he says.
“I did.”
“And now?”
My throat tightens. Now I don’t know. That’s the problem.
“I still do,” I say, even though the words don’t land right. “It’s just… a lot of proof.”
He watches my face, his expression unreadable. I can’t tell if he’s measuring my words… or this whole situation. Or maybe, just maybe he’s not nearly as freaked out about all of this as I am.
No matter what he’s thinking, he’s too quiet. Just like his reputation.
And God, that silence makes it worse. Because it would be easier if he didn’t care.
“If this is too much—” he starts.
“It is,” I cut in quickly, then stop myself. I take a deep breath and repeat softer, “It is.”
He nods once like my words don’t surprise him. Like he’s already adjusting.
Something in my chest twists. “I have a life,” I say, forcing the words out. “Or… I’m trying to build one.”
I don’t tell him that everything I’ve built could be destroyed in an instant. One snap of one man’s fingers, and I’ll be right where I started all over again.
From zero.
New life. New identity.
New everything.
Knowing that, not being able to tell him as much makes all of this so much worse. So does wanting him. Not just his strength or his power. I crave his safety, how I can relax around him, stop looking over my shoulder. Stop having to explain myself, too.
It’s been too long since I felt this way. And saying goodbye to it… to him—stranger or not—feels worse than anything this hangover could inflict on me.
He leans back slightly, giving me space. “Okay.”
“That doesn’t include—” I glance down at the ring again. “This.”
“That’s a shame,” he says quietly.
My eyes snap up. “Why?”
His gaze meets mine. “Because I don’t think this was nothing.”
My breath catches. His words are dangerous. So very dangerous.
Because an irrational part of me couldn’t agree more.
I can’t let it get the better of me. I can’t do anything that will drag him deeper into my life and unending uncertainty.
“It was one night,” I say. But we both know I’m lying.
“Didn’t feel like one.”
No. It didn’t.
“Doesn’t look like one, either,” he says, voice low and grumbly.
I look away first because that’s the problem. That part of me last night—drunk, wild, loud—wanted proof. But maybe the quieter more sober part of me does, too.
Memories wash back over me as I pour cream into my coffee. A dark dive bar with quiet country music. I touch my fingers to my lips, mind wandering.
“I put on your hat,” I say, cheeks flushing. “Without permission.”
He nods once, jaw tightening. “You had my permission.”
“Phoenix,” I say carefully.
“Donovan,” he corrects.
That stops me.
“Donovan,” I try again.
His expression softens just a fraction. “Better.”
I swallow. “We should get it annulled.”
There it is… the safe choice. The right one. The only thing that makes any sense.
Because the rest of my life doesn’t.
But how do I make him see this when there’s so much I still can’t tell him?
He doesn’t react right away. Just takes a sip of his coffee like we’re talking about the weather. “Okay,” he says finally.
Okay?
That’s it?
Something sharp flickers in my chest, but I ignore it. “We can go today,” I add. “Before we leave.”
“Sure.”
The word comes out too calm and steady. Not a hint of hesitation or regret. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does. In fact, I hate it, which makes no sense at all.
“You don’t seem very bothered by this,” I say.
His gaze lifts, locking onto mine. “Do you want me to be?”
I open my mouth. Then, close it again. Because I don’t know the answer, and I don’t trust my words.
He sets his cup down slowly. “I don’t regret it,” he says.
The words land between us, heavier and more honest than I expect.
“I do,” I say quickly. It’s a lie, and we both know it. But there’s so much he still doesn’t understand about me. So much that I could never make fit with him and this… and staying any place for too long.
His jaw tightens. But he doesn’t call me on it. Instead, he drawls slowly, “Then we’ll fix it.”
Fix it. Right.
His fingers brush mine on the table, just for a second. As if he forgot himself, or he didn’t mean to let go yet.
It doesn’t help the move does something to me. Sends a little trail of sparks up my arm.
I press my lips together. “After breakfast?” I say.
“After breakfast,” he agrees.
Silence settles again. But it’s different now… fragile. Like something already broken.
I pick up my fork, and try to force myself to eat. I settle for pushing hash browns and eggs around on my plate. I feel like a coward because I can’t look at him, and my head’s swimming in memories.
The kind that could put an ear-to-ear grin on my face and a blush on my cheeks if I let them.
The way he touched me. The way he said…
I squeeze my eyes shut. No. This is the right choice. It has to be… even if it doesn’t feel like it.
Because a life on the run is no life at all. I know that better than anyone. And I could never inflict that on somebody else.
“Scarlett,” he says gently, regarding me for a long moment.
That settles it.
I look away.
Married, and he doesn’t even know my real name.
Not his fault. Fate’s if I had to name a culprit. But those two syllables remind me of why I have to let this go.
Why I have to let him go.