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When I say nothing, frustration tightens her expression.

“You’ve barely touched me since we left.”

“That’s not true.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

My mouth opens.

Nothing comes out.

Her eyebrows rise. “Exactly.”

I drag a hand over my face. “It’s complicated.”

“No, Ezra. It really fucking isn’t.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I can’t.”

“Won’t.”

My jaw tightens.

She steps closer. “You kissed me.”

I say nothing.

“You chose me.”

My chest tightens.

“You stood in front of that fucking thing and told it you chose me. Not the Bride. Not the McBride. Me.”

“I remember.”

“Do you?”

My gaze snaps to hers.

She doesn’t back down.

Of course she doesn’t.

She takes another step until there’s barely any space left between us. “Because ever since we left, you’ve been treating me like touching me is going to bring the whole fucking farm back.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then make me.”

I look away.