A wave of nausea hits, and I wobble. “Oh, shit.”
I bolt into the bathroom and barely make it before I’m sick in the toilet. The tile is cold under my palms. My stomach twists, bile and adrenalin burning my throat.
“Scarlett, baby.” Cormac’s voice comes from behind me, low but sharp with concern.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Go away.”
“I’m not leaving you sick on the bathroom floor,” he mutters.
A warm hand gathers my hair. Another one rests lightly between my shoulder blades. I hate how good it feels.
“I’m fine,” I whisper.
“No, you’re not.” He rinses a washcloth with cool water and presses it to my neck. “You’re finally reacting like a sane person who was just forced to marry her professor to stay in school.”
My body melts against the touch I’m supposed to avoid. “I’m good. Really.”
“You had a rough day. Get ready for bed. Use the bathroom for however long you need.” He goes to stand.
I catch his wrist. “You won’t…leave, will you?”
His throat bobs. “I’ll be right outside.”
“Okay…” There’s nothing more to say tonight.
After Cormac returns with my toiletry bag from my duffel and closes the door, I stare at myself in the mirror. This day has to end, because this was the day I almost lost it all.
But I gained a husband. Cormac saved me.
My fingers tug at my collar, heat buzzing up my neck.
I take longer than I need to. Slowly peeling away clothes to look at the body he doesn’t want. Or wants but won’t touch.
He wants distance. Rules. Lines we won’t cross. Which only makes me want to cross every damn one. He thinks he cornered me and won’t take advantage of me. I can’t think about how to unravel that flawed philosophy of his right now.
I shower to get the sweat off me from the mad dash to move out of an apartment in five minutes. The steam and scalding water don’t wash away how low and defeated I feel. How Pierce tried to ruin me. Again.
When I step back into the bedroom wrapped in nothing but a towel, Cormac is setting up a worktable for me in the corner. My books are already piled next to my laptop. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and dark-framed glasses I’ve never seen on him.
I glance around. “Where are my clothes?”
His eyes drag over me. “In the closet. You can change in there. I’ll change in mine.”
The way his sweatpants sit very low on his hips, I’m thinking he sleeps commando.
In the closet, when I step near the center dresser and shelves this time, soft lights come on. Today would havebeen the happiest day of my life if I had married and moved in with a boyfriend I loved. Who loved me.
Even with a nice closet, this all feels wrong, but I don’t have a choice. I put the duffel on the dresser and just pull out a nightgown. Stripping feels weird behind a door since Cormac has seen me naked. But I have to respect his conditions.
Dressed in the thin gown, I step out and find him sitting up on his side of the bed.
His eyes feel like X-rays that see under the gown.
“We just go to sleep?” I whisper, looking at the bed. “Like everything here is normal?”
“Yes.” His jaw tightens. “This isn’t real, Scarlett. You were cornered into this. You had a chance to marry me of your own free will, but you didn’t.”
I think about that. This doesn’t feel that way. But I guess that’s exactly what happened.