Chapter Eleven
She slept because the pill Devon gave her would allow her to do no less. She rarely resorted to taking the medication prescribed for her migraines for the reason that it made her insensible.
When she awoke, she was in bed by herself and it was nearly dusk.
Her headache still hung on with tenacious claws and when she moved too suddenly to try to sit up, nausea welled in her stomach.
Her head pounded and she put a hand to her forehead, sucking air through her nostrils to control the sudden wash of weakness.
The room was blanketed in darkness, the drapes drawn and no lights had been left on. Devon had made sure she had been left in comfort, only a sheet covering her and the air-conditioning turned down so it was nearly frigid in the room.
Before, his consideration would have been endearing. Now, she could only assume he was operating out of guilt.
She pushed herself from the bed and sat on the edge for a moment, holding her head while she got her bearings. After a moment, she got to her feet and wobbled unsteadily toward the luggage stand, where her still-packed suitcase lay open.
She ripped off the silky gown she’d so excitedly donned the night before and tossed it in the nearby garbage can. If she never saw it again, it would be too soon.
She dug through the suitcase, bypassing the chic outfits, the swimwear and the other sexy nightwear she’d purchased, and pulled out a faded pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
She briefly contemplated shoes, but the idea had formed in her head to take a long walk on the beach.
Maybe it would clear her head or at least stop the vile aching. For that, she wouldn’t need shoes.
Having no idea where Devon was, or if he was even still in the suite, she opted to leave through the sliding glass doors to the veranda. The breeze lifted her hair as soon as she walked outside the room and she inhaled deeply as she took the steps leading down to the beach.
The night was warm and the wind coming off the water was comfortable, but she was cold to her bones and she shivered as her feet dug into the sand.
It was a perfect, glorious night. The sky was lit up like a million fireflies had taken wing and danced over the inky black canvas. In the distance the moon was just rising over the water and it shimmered like a splash of silver.
Drawn to the mesmerizing sight, she ventured closer to the water, hugging her arms around her waist as the incoming waves lapped precariously close to her toes.
At one point, she stopped and allowed the water to caress her feet and surround her ankles.
There she stood, staring over the expanse of the ocean, stargazing like a dreamer.
It would take a million wishes to fix the mess she was currently in.
And maybe that was what had gotten her into this situation in the first place.
Stupid dreams. Stupid idealism. She’d been a fool to wait for the perfect guy to give her virginity to.
She’d always been somewhat smug and a little holier-than-thou with her friends who’d given it up long ago.
But they at least had gone into the situation with their eyes wide open.
They hadn’t confused sex for love. They weren’t the ones on their honeymoon with the migraine from hell and a husband who didn’t love them.
They were looking pretty damn smart for shopping around and Ashley was looking like a moron.
She pulled out her cell phone and stared down at her contacts list. She could use the comfort of a good friend right now but she wavered on whether to send a text.
She was already humiliated enough. Could she bear to tell her friends or even one friend the truth about her marriage?
Or would she go back home, live a lie and hope that Devon would pretend as agreed.
Could she ever make him love her?
She lowered the hand holding the phone and then she shoved it back into her pocket. What could she say anyway in the limited number of characters allowed by a text message? Or maybe she should just tweet everyone.
Marriage fail. Honeymoon fail.
That would get the message across with plenty of characters left over.
She shoved her hands into her pockets, closed her eyes and wished for just one minute that she could go back. That she would have asked more questions. That she would have picked up on the fact he’d never said he loved her even when Ashley made it a practice to tell him every day.
She’d just assumed he was a typical guy. Devon was reserved. He was somewhat forbidding. But she’d been wildly attracted to those qualities. Thought they were sexy. She’d been convinced that he quietly adored her and that his actions spoke louder than words.
She’d never considered even once that his actions were practiced, fake and manipulative.
Another shiver overtook her and she clamped her teeth together until pain shot through her head.
“Enough,” she said.
She had beat herself up for the last twenty-four hours, but it was Devon who was the jackass here. Not her. She’d done nothing wrong. Naiveté wasn’t a crime. Loving someone wasn’t a crime. She wouldn’t apologize for offering her love, trust and commitment to a man who didn’t deserve any of it.
He was wrong. She wasn’t.
The only thing she could control from here on out was what she did with the truth. It was no longer about what Devon wanted. If he could be a selfish jerk-wad, she could at least focus on what she wanted from this fiasco.
Then she laughed because what she wanted was the jerk-wad to love her. That might make her pathetic.
No, she couldn’t text Sylvia or Carly or Tabitha. Definitely not Pippa. Pippa would have her in front of a lawyer in a matter of hours and then she’d likely take out a hit on Devon.
Plus her friends would tell her she was being stupid for wanting to stay in the marriage.
And she may well be an idiot, but she didn’t want people telling her that.
She’d already made one mistake. It wouldn’t be the first or last and well, if it didn’t work out, at least then she could cite incompatibility and she wouldn’t have to tell everyone that the marriage had fallen apart before it had ever gotten off the ground.
She had just enough of an ego to want to save face. Who could blame her?
Feeling only marginally better about taking control over a perfectly out-of-control situation, she turned to retrace her steps. She was hungry but the thought of food made her faintly nauseous and her head was hurting so badly she wasn’t sure she could keep anything down anyway.
She was still a good distance from the steps leading to her and Devon’s suite when she saw him striding toward her on the sand.
Even now after so much time to think and decide how she wanted to proceed, she wasn’t prepared to face him.
How could she just go on after finding out he was nothing like the man she’d thought she’d married?
It was as if they were strangers. Intimate strangers who would now live together and pretend a loving existence to outsiders.
There weren’t manuals for this. Certainly no one had ever given her advice on such a matter. She wasn’t good at artifice. She hated lying. But it was what she’d asked him to do. It was what she herself had just decided to do with her friends and family. To the world.
“Where the hell have you been?” Devon demanded as he approached. “I was worried sick. I went in to check on you and you were gone.”
Before she could answer, he put his hand around her elbow and pulled her toward the glow cast from the torches that lined the beach.
She flinched away from the burst of light and he muttered something under his breath.
“Your headache isn’t any better, is it?”
She slowly shook her head.
“Damn it, Ash, why didn’t you come to me? Or take another pill. You should be in bed. For that matter you’ve eaten nothing in twenty-four hours. You’re as pale as death and your eyes are glazed with pain.”
She braced herself as he reached for her again, but his touch was in direct contrast to the tone of his voice. He was infinitely gentle as he pulled her against his side and began leading her back to the suite.
Unable to resist the urge, she laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, trusting him to at least get her safely up the steps. His hold tightened around her and then to her shock, he simply swung her into his arms and began carrying her back.
“Put your head on my shoulder,” he said gruffly.
Relaxing against him, she did as he directed and for a few moments, basked in the tenderness of his hold.
Pretending was nice.
He carried her back into the suite, into the still-darkened bedroom, and carefully laid her on the bed.
“Would you be more comfortable out of your jeans?” he asked. But even as he asked, he was unfastening her fly and pulling the zipper down.
He efficiently pulled her pants down her legs, leaving her in her panties and T-shirt. She lay there, cheek resting on the firm, cool pillow, and willed the pain to go away. All of it.
He sat on the edge of the bed and then turned, sliding his leg over the mattress and bending it so he was perched next to her.
“I’ll get you another pill, but I don’t think you should take it on an empty stomach. It might make you ill. But neither do you look as though you could keep down much so I’ll call down for some soup. Would you like something to drink? Could you handle some juice?”
As he spoke, he smoothed his hand over her hair, stroking gently, and she had to bite her lip to keep the hot tears from slipping down her cheeks again. This wasn’t going to work if she broke down every time he was nice to her or took care of her.
And it wasn’t as if he was doing anything different than he’d done all along. It was one of the things that had made her think he loved her to begin with, even absent of the actual words. He’d been so…good…to her. So caring. Protective. Possessive. A guy couldn’t fake all of that, could he?
“Soup sounds good,” she said faintly.