Page 107 of Seale the Deal

Jesus Christ.

I need to give her enough of the truth that, if she remembers this conversation tomorrow, she doesn’t think I was just brushing her off, but not so much that we’re still sitting here talking about this when what she needs is to go home and sleep off the alcohol.

I don’t regret the kiss, I say.

Neither do I, she pipes in quickly.

I hold out a hand, telling her to give me a chance to speak. I don’t regret the kiss. I also don’t think we can ignore that it might mean something between us is changing.

That’s deep, she says, her eyes wide.

Is it?

She nods. Definitely. But I feel like you’re leaving out a lot of details and expecting me to connect the dots.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Wrenley, you’re drunk.

Correct.

Very drunk.

Moderately drunk.

I chuckle despite myself, pressing the back of my head into the headrest as I stare out the windshield. Too drunk to talk about what’s happening between us and whether that kiss has deeper meaning. I roll my head so I’m looking at her. But I don’t think either of us would care this much if the kiss didn’t matter.

She doesn’t say anything right away. She just holds my gaze, her eyes glassy from the alcohol as she processes what I’ve said.

I… She starts, and then she presses a hand to her mouth. One second. She shoves open the passenger door and leans out. A second later, she’s throwing up into the darkness. Again.

I press my lips together and look away, giving her whatever dignity is possible when she’s puking out of the side of my truck. The passenger door closes a minute later, and Wrenley sinks back into her seat and lets out a miserable groan.

Now I do start the truck. We should get you home.

She makes a noise that might be agreement. Or it might be nausea. Either way, I take it as permission to drive. I put the truck into gear and head away from the gravel pit.

I drive with one eye on the road and one on her, head leaning against the window, arms crossed over her chest. By the time we pull into the driveway, she’s barely awake. I put the truck in park, circle around, and lift her out in a bridal carry. Her head tucks against my chest, and I can’t help thinking she fits there too well. Upstairs, I lay her on her bed, pull the blanket over her. Her nose twitches in her sleep, and I smile.

As I step into the hall, I close her door and rest my forehead against it. If tonight has proven anything, it’s that there’s no avoiding it now. Alcohol may have fuelled the conversation, but now the conversation has been had, which means tomorrow, we’re going to have to figure out what we’re doing… and how fake this marriage really is.

Chapter 21

Wrenley

DAYS LEFT ON VISA: 55

I cradle my head in my hands because it feels like it might roll off my shoulders if I don’t. Coffee would help, but the thought of moving enough to make it is laughable. Or maybe cry-able.

Unfortunately, my brain refuses to be merciful. The events of the previous night come crashing back one humiliating memory at a time. The bar. The gravel pit. The fact that I apparently decided several beers was the perfect time to corner Ruger into discussing our emotional problems.

I groan and drag a hand over my face. Of all the nights I have forgotten after having one too many drinks, why is last night not one of them? Ruger said something I can’t ignore. That the kiss isn’t the thing that changed everything. It’s a symptom of something that was already there.

My head hurts too much for this level of self-reflection.

Because now I’m forced to confront a question I think I’ve been avoiding for a while but Anchorage has forced me to examine. What exactly is the life I’m trying to build for myself? Not that long ago, I would have for sure said a life with the career I dreamed about in university. And it was easier then because there was only one version of my future I was willing to consider.

Now there are two.

The conversation at the reindeer farm comes back to me. The way Ruger talked about his ex, how they couldn’t find a future that worked for both of them.