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Cake and wine churned in her stomach. No one wanted her for who and what she was. Everyone was playing an angle and had an agenda. It was why she walked away from this world. She would rather be alone than be a pawn in their game, but Dad brought her back into the arena. He gave her money, but he didn’t give her a map to navigate these treacherous waters or backup. She couldn’t trust anyone, not even herself.
She buried her face in the pillow, knees tucking up, as she was swamped with feelings of worthlessness and loneliness. She refused to give in to the urge to curl into the fetal position. The worst part of her divorce wasn’t realizing that Roth used her, it was losing trust in her own judgment. She was afraid to trust her instincts, afraid of making another catastrophic mistake, afraid of falling for another man she would give up everything for, only to discover it had all been a game to him. It was why she kept her relationships at surface level. She wasn’t looking for another relationship to lose herself in. She was just starting to trust herself again when Roth knocked her back to square one.
She closed her eyes when he came into the bedroom and let out a shaky breath when he went into the bathroom. She heard the water run, doors close, and then the bed dipped. She expected him to flick on the bedside lamp, so he could work in bed as he so often did, but the room stayed dark.
“I could be wrong,” he said into the silence.
She said nothing.
“But it’s better to be cautious and realistic. Most people don’t change.”
Her face screwed up in pain. She knew that all too well.
Neither of them spoke. He didn’t try to touch her, for which she was grateful. She lay with her back to him, staring at the moon, as mind and heart battled.
An hour passed. She assumed he was asleep, so when a hand landed on her shoulder, she let out a startled yelp.
“You think too much,” he said as he tipped her onto her back and dragged her under him.
“Look who’s talking,” she wheezed and slapped his shoulder when he gave her his weight. “Are you trying to suffocate me? If so, do it fast and classy and strangle me. This is torture.”
Was that a fuckinglaugh?
“I saw your weighted blanket at Tuxedo Park.”
She stiffened. “You know what that is?”
“I’ve always had a hard time sleeping. Mind won’t shut off. One of those psychologists suggested a weighted blanket, but it didn’t work for me. I exercise instead.”
She hesitated and then, “You exercise to exhaustion?”
“Seems healthier than most addictions.”
“That’s why you’ve always been so muscular,” she murmured. “And why you choose to do such hard physical labor jobs.”
He grunted. “Go to sleep.”
“You don’t still do construction, do you?”
A long silence and then, “No, but I still like to hunt.”
“When do you—"
He pressed his lips to her temple. “Sleep.”
She shifted and so did he, redistributing his weight, so she could breathe easier. When they settled, his weight began to have an immediate effect, suppressing overactive senses. Tension eased out of her and her eyelids drooped. She fought back, gripping his bicep as she tried to stay conscious. She shouldn’t be taking comfort from her enemy, the man who admitted to using her and marrying her twice to further his own plans, but she fell even deeper when he cupped the back of her skull and massaged gently.
“I don’t understand you,” she whispered.
He didn’t answer, but brushed his thumb over the apple of her cheek. Why that made her eyes sting with tears, she didn’t know. Her hand slid from his bicep to his ribs.
“You believe they’re using me.”
He didn’t need clarification.
“Yes.”
“So why say you could be wrong?”
