Chapter Twenty-Two Imani
For one dizzying second, I think I might have imagined it. Asher’s voice, low and rough around the edges, cutting clean through the hum of the room. But then I turn, and there he is.
He’s standing barely a foot away, hands shoved in his pockets, dark eyes steady on mine. His expression is unreadable and it makes my pulse trip.
‘Please?’ he adds, quieter this time.
My brain scrambles to catch up. This must be part of the plan.
It has to be. Cause a scene. Be difficult.
Keep the tension alive. That’s what we agreed.
So, I straighten my shoulders, smooth my face into polite indifference, and channel every ounce of the practised frost I’ve spent the last few months perfecting.
‘Now?’ I ask coolly, like I’m mildly inconvenienced by his very existence. I gesture towards Teddy and Sloane. ‘Kind of busy, Asher.’
Asher hesitates, and an emotion I can’t quite decipher flickers across his face. ‘It won’t take long,’ he says finally.
‘Right,’ I scoff. ‘Because the last time you wanted to talk, it went so well.’
That earns a few curious glances from nearby guests. Perfect. All I need now is for him to bite back and to play his part and we’ll have something juicy for Emmy to post on @TrustFundTea within the hour.
I stare at him expectantly, ready for him to quip back with some snappy barb or for him to roll his eyes in disdain, but he does neither.
He just stares at me. He looks—God, he looks wrecked. Almost exactly like how he was that evening at Top Fry now that I’m really thinking about it.
His jaw works like he’s trying to find the right words and keeps losing them. In my periphery, I can see both Teddy and Sloane frowning, and I wonder what I’m missing here.
I lower my glass a fraction. ‘What? Are you—’
He shakes his head once. ‘Nothing,’ he says, and the word lands heavily between us. He looks like he wants to say more, like the words are right there on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them down and takes a step back instead.
I don’t know why but panic suddenly spikes inside me. Asher turns to walk away from me and I get the horrible, sinking feeling that, if I let him go, I’ll regret it.
Before I can think better of it, I’m hurrying after him.
‘Asher,’ I call, trying to keep my voice low, but the sound still carries. A few heads turn. I can practically feel the collective gaze of half the room turning to focus on us. Sloane hisses my name behind me.
‘Imani, wait!’
But I don’t wait. Right now, I don’t care about the optics of this.
Asher slips through one of the side doors and I follow him out into a quiet corridor. When the door shuts behind me, Asher stops and glances over his shoulder. He seems genuinely surprised to see me standing there.
‘What the hell was that about?’ I demand, crossing my arms over my chest.
Asher drags a hand through his hair. He’s looking anywhere but at me. ‘I don’t know. I’m sorry.’
‘You’re sorry?’ I repeat flatly, one brow raised in disbelief. ‘Have you forgotten that this is our last chance to—’
‘I was watching you,’ he says quietly. ‘With Teddy.’
I frown. ‘Okay?’
His jaw flexes. ‘And I guess I got jealous.’
‘You what?’ A nervous laugh bubbles out of me. ‘Asher, come on. You have no reason to be jealous of me and Teddy. He’s your brother.’
‘I know,’ he says quickly. He takes a few steps closer to me. ‘And I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘Then how did you mean it?’
He hesitates for a second or two, then seems to deflate a little as the truth comes out.
‘I wasn’t jealous because I thought you liked him.
I was jealous because he gets to be around you like that.
Because he gets to stand next to you, make you laugh, touch your arm, look at you without anyone whispering about it.
He gets to be friendly with you. And I—’ He huffs out a dark laugh and my heart trips over itself.
‘And I can’t,’ he continues softly, closing the last few inches of space between us.
‘I have to pretend like I can’t stand the sight of you, when all I want is—’
He stops himself and I realise I’ve been holding my breath.
‘All I want is to stand beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I want to make you laugh. I want to be the reason your face lights up the way it does when you smile. I want that privilege, and if I ever got it, I’d never take it for granted.’
The corridor we’re standing in suddenly feels too small for both of us.
‘Asher,’ I start, but my voice comes out like a croak. ‘You don’t… You can’t…’
‘I mean it,’ he says softly. ‘I’m tired of pretending. Of acting like I don’t want you when every time you walk into a room, I forget to breathe.’
My heart feels like it’s trying to burst free from my chest.
‘I want to be the one who gets to stand beside you, Imani,’ he says quietly. ‘Not because I’ve been told to by my father. Not for a deal. Not for a stupid social media gossip page. But just because I can’t imagine not being near you.’
Something inside me splinters. For a moment, I let myself want it: the way his voice drops when he says my name, the way he looks at me like I’m something sacred. I want to reach for him. I very nearly do.
But then reality slams back into place and I remember where we are. I remember how much is riding on this.
I take a shaky step back. ‘You can’t say things like that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because,’ I splutter, my mind racing.
‘That’s not a reason.’ He closes the gap I just made between us. ‘Tell me, Imani. Tell me why I’m not allowed to be in—’
‘I want to choose it,’ I whisper, cutting him off before he can finish that sentence and upend my entire world.
‘If we ever do this, if I ever choose you, I don’t want it to be because we were forced into it just to help our fathers get a deal over the line.
I want it to be my choice. On my terms. And right now, it’s not.
Everything is about them and if we were to do this, we’d just be their puppets.
I don’t want that, Asher. As much as I—’ I swallow and shake my head, not willing to say aloud what I’m pretty sure he already knows.
Asher nods slowly, his eyes still locked onto mine. ‘Then I’ll wait,’ he says quietly. ‘Until it’s on your terms.’
My breath catches. ‘What does that even mean?’
‘It means,’ he says, voice rough and honest, ‘that I’ll stand on the sidelines if that’s what it takes.
I’ll play my part, keep pretending that I can’t stand you, like there’s nothing between us but years of animosity, until you’re ready.
Until you want this as much as I do. Until you feel like you can choose it. ’
I swallow hard. My throat feels too tight, my chest too full. ‘Asher…’
He smiles faintly, but it’s soft, almost sad. ‘You don’t have to say anything,’ he murmurs. ‘I just needed you to know.’
And maybe it’s the way his voice dips, or the way he’s looking at me like he’s memorising my face, but my resolve crumbles.
My hand twitches at my side before I even realise what I’m doing. His fingers graze mine and although the touch is fleeting, it’s enough to send a current straight up my arm.
‘Asher…’ I whisper, though I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.
He takes another step closer until the heat of him fills the space between us. His gaze drops to my mouth, and I hold my breath.
He tilts his head and it’s the tiniest movement, but my heart leaps into my throat as the realisation hits me. He’s going to kiss me.
I want him to kiss me.
The door at the end of the corridor bursts open, and then there’s a rush of laughter and chatter spilling out into the hall. A pair of guests stumble out, half drunk and giggling, their champagne glasses sloshing as they jerkily make their way down the corridor.
I jolt back like I’ve been caught doing something criminal. My hand flies to my chest. ‘Shit,’ I say. ‘I—sorry. I didn’t—’
Raw emotion flits across his face for the briefest of moments before he smooths it over. ‘It’s fine,’ he says quietly, though it doesn’t sound like it.
‘No, I—’ I start, reaching out before I can stop myself, fingers brushing his wrist. ‘I didn’t mean to—’
He catches my hand before I can pull it back. His grip is warm, steady. ‘Come on,’ he says, his voice lower now, gentler. ‘Not here.’
Before I can ask what he means, he’s already leading me away from the noise. We stop outside a lift, and I know where this is heading before he even presses the button. My pulse thrums in my throat, and I should stop him. I should, but I don’t.
The doors slide open.
When we step inside, the music and laughter fade completely, replaced by the soft hum of the lift. Asher doesn’t look at me as he presses the top-floor button, but his thumb is still tracing slow circles against the back of my hand.
Every part of me knows I should pull away.
That I’ve already let this go too far. That it isn’t fair to him, not after what he just said, not when he’s standing here with all that sincerity laid bare between us like an open wound.
But I don’t pull away.
Because I’m selfish.
Because I want him.
Because tomorrow, we’ll have to step back into that ballroom and start the performance all over again – the bickering, the pointed looks, the perfectly staged loathing. And right now, I just want something real.
The elevator hums softly as it climbs, the only sound between us the faint rush of air and the quick, uneven rhythm of my breathing. His thumb still moves absently against my skin, and it’s ridiculous how such a small thing can unravel me completely.
When the doors slide open, he finally looks at me. ‘Do you want to come in?’ he says quietly, his voice rough like he’s forcing the words out. ‘You don’t have to. If you want to go back, you can. We can pretend like this never happened.’
I know I should say no.
I should remind him that the lines have been blurred too much today and we should stick to the plan.
But then I think about tomorrow, about putting the masks back on, about pretending like this spark between us doesn’t exist, and the thought physically hurts.
I think I deserve a little joy before the performance starts again.
‘Yeah,’ I say softly. ‘I’d like to.’