Chapter 41

• Annabelle watches Nicholas, struggling with some unseen emotion, his jaw clenching tightly. He closes his eyes for a beat before looking back at her. “Annabelle, please just listen to me. Don’t go,” he utters. “It’s just that…” he pulls a hand up to grip the back of his neck, confusion and uncertainty etching his remarkable face as he is either unable to find his words or finish his lie.
• Her heart wants to believe him when he tells her not to go, but her head knows differently. Her dignity is all she has left, seeing as her wits have been thoroughly destroyed, scattered, and left on the bed in the room beyond. “Look, Nicholas,” she exhales, “we both know you don’t mean that. You don’t want me to stay. You got a room here tonight hoping you’d get laid. You just probably thought it would be with Raquel. A nice little suite where there would be no drama and no complications—a place you could leave in the morning without a backward glance at who’s still asleep in the bed. Well, I walked into it willingly,” she admits, stepping up to him, his eyes never leaving hers as she places a hand on his bare chest. “It was great, Ace, but this girl,” she says, motioning toward herself and then the bedroom. “This isn’t me.”
• He stares at her, his eyes piercing into hers with such intensity that she averts hers momentarily. “You’re right, this isn’t you,” he grates out, his countenance guarded, as she flicks her eyes back to his. He lifts his glass and empties the rest of the glass’s contents, pools of emerald continuing to watch her eyes from over the rim of the glass. When he finishes, he runs his tongue over his lips, angling his head as he thinks something through in his head. “Let me get my keys and drive you home.”