“Let me see,” Sebastian says, gently touching my wrists.
Slowly, I lower my hands, and the look of concern on Sebastian’s face intensifies. His eyes darken, his jaw twitches, his forehead wrinkles as his thumb traces the bridge of my nose.
“The good news is it doesn’t look broken. The bad news is it’s bleeding and most likely going to bruise.”
“We have to pack. Our car to the airport is here,” I say, sounding nasally, the taste of iron spilling onto my lip.
“First, you need to put some ice on your nose and eye.” Sebastian heads to the kitchenette, hobbling on his cast, and I follow after, tilting my head back to keep the blood from dripping everywhere.
“Sit,” he says.
I do, and then he hands me a bag of ice to hold against my face. I move to get up. “Stay,” he says, blocking me from getting up.
“But we have to go.”
“I’ll take care of the packing. You take care of that nose.”
I nod as a sneaking smile spreads. I don’t know how Sebastian thinks he won’t make a good husband someday. He’s such a sweetheart.
After that moment, though, the rest of the day goes to hell. Our car leaves, assuming that we changed our flight, so we have to take a crowded bus that only had two seats left on opposite ends of the bus. We were late for our flight and had to change to a flight that flew through Seattle and then on to Los Angeles, which meant we didn’t have first-class seats together anymore. Instead, we both sat in two middle economy seats on opposite sides of the plane.
By the time we landed, we had barely spoken to each other all day. We were crabby. And we hadn’t talked about the future at all.
We had an agreement that we’d learn all there was to learn about each other as we flew back home. We’d tell each other the truth about ourselves.
Instead, we weren’t even close enough to talk. And as we ride back in the back of a cab to Sebastian’s house with his crutches between us, I feel like the high we were on before we left is gone.
The world is back to being against us.
The truths we are supposed to share, stay hidden.
I think back to the other part of the night—the part that was equally as special and memorable as the sex part. The part that was tender and kind and intimate. Sebastian looked into my soul and found the darkness.
He thinks the guys I’ve been with are the problems.
My phone buzzes, and I stare down at the text message from my ex.
Sebastian thinks the stalker is my problem.
“We’re here,” Sebastian says.
He climbs out and wheels his suitcase up to the elevator. I follow with my backpack. Once inside the elevator, there is no spark. Nothing moves us from the misery we feel. When the doors open onto the top floor and Sebastian leads me to a door, I hope everything will change once we get inside.
And it does, but not because Sebastian suddenly starts talking to me, but because I learn one truth about Sebastian. He’s fucking rich. Like billionaire, I own half the town, rich. My mouth gapes as I follow him inside his apartment.
Now we are going to talk. Now is the time to discuss if we are going to have a conversation about who we are, if we are going to fuck again.
Which better be yes, because there is no way I’m going to survive living under the same roof as him if we don’t.
“I’m beat, and I have a meeting at six in the morning I have to get to. There are two spare bedrooms, choose either, and if there is any food in the fridge, you’re welcome to it. I’ll give you the grand tour tomorrow after I get off work.”
My mouth falls wider. Is he serious? Are we seriously not going to talk? About anything?
“Um…sure, I get it. I have to be up early, too,” I lie. In fact, other than packing up a few items to bring over from my old apartment, I have nothing to do tomorrow.
“Goodnight, Millie,” Sebastian says, not even looking back at me.
He’s back to being the asshole that I thought was all a lie. In reality, this is who he is. The man who doesn’t care once he’s fucked a woman. The man who is now done with me.