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 th
e 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.
He continued to stroke her hair and then his hand went still and he frowned. “Is that bothering you? I wasn’t thinking. I’m sure you must be supersensitive to any touch or sound.”
“It was…nice.”
“I’ll be right back. Let me order your soup. You need to get something in your stomach. It might help with the headache, too.”
She closed her eyes as he stood and walked across the room. He stepped outside but she could just make out the low murmur of his voice as he ordered room service. A moment later, he returned and gently laid his hand over her forehead.
“It’ll be here in a few minutes. I told them to put a rush on it.”
“Thank you.”
He was silent for a few seconds and then he said in a voice full of resignation, “I’ll make arrangements for us to fly home in the morning. Perhaps it’s best if you’re back in familiar surroundings. I don’t want you to suffer with a headache the entire week we were supposed to be here. At least at home, you’ll have your family and your friends to surround you and…make you feel better.”
She nodded, her chest heavy and aching with regret. It should have been different. They should have spent the week making love. Laughing. Spending every waking moment immersed in each other.
Instead they’d go back home to a very uncertain future in a world that was suddenly unfamiliar to Ashley. Where she’d have to guard every word, every action.
It frightened her. What if she failed? What if even after she removed the annoyances he still felt nothing more for her than he did now?
Then he doesn’t deserve you, the voice inside her aching head whispered in her ear.
He didn’t deserve her now. The intelligent side of her knew and accepted this. But she wanted him. Wanted his love, his approval. She wanted him to be proud of her.
If that made her an even bigger moron than she’d already been, she could live with that. What she couldn’t live with was just walking away without seeing if their marriage could be salvaged.
“It will be better when we get home,” she whispered.
His hand stilled on her hair but he remained silent as he seemed to contemplate her words. His expression was grim and tension radiated from his body in waves.
Then there was a distant knock and he rose once more. “That’ll be the food. Just stay here. I’ll wheel the cart in and we’ll get you a comfortable spot made up so you can eat in bed.”
He strode out of the room and Ashley lay there a moment mentally recovering from what felt like a barrage of emotional turmoil. Finally she pushed herself upward and sat cross-legged on the bed, with pillows pushed behind her back to keep her propped up.
Devon returned with the rolling table and parked it at the end of the bed. As soon as he uncovered the bowl of soup, the aroma wafted through the air and her mouth watered. On cue, her stomach protested sharply and sweat broke out on her forehead.
“You okay?” Devon asked as he positioned the tray in front of her.
His gaze was focused sharply on her face, his forehead creased with concern. She nodded and reached for the napkin and utensils with shaking hands.
When she would have slid the bowl closer, Devon gently took her hand away.
“Perhaps it would be better if I ladled the soup into a mug so you could sip at it. Less chance of spilling it that way.”
She nodded her agreement and watched as he filled one of the cups on the table with the delicious-smelling broth.
“Here. Careful now, it’s hot.”
She brought the steaming mug to her lips and inhaled, closing her eyes as she tentatively took the first sip.