Chapter 4

Sebastian went back to the bathroom without another word to dry his hair.

A moment later something hit the tiles with a crash. My heart jumped before my brain caught up.

I peered in. The hair dryer lay on the floor.

Sebastian met my eyes with a stormy expression, and I retreated.

Why was he angry? I'd brought him his phone. I hadn't crossed any lines.

Maybe he'd realized how completely I'd controlled his routine and was angry with himself. Which meant he'd be even angrier with me.

For the last year, I'd made rules about more than his showers.

He had to hold me at bedtime and kiss me good morning. He wasn't allowed to take calls whenever he liked, and he had to answer my messages at once.

Once—because I didn't feel like walking to the bathroom—I made him carry me there.

What had I been thinking?

Nearly everything I did in that house could set him off now. And somewhere out there, a stranger still had my number.

I changed out of my pajamas and packed a suitcase before he finished drying his hair.

He came out, his eyes shadowed by his bangs. "Where are you going?"

"My boss needs me on a last-minute business trip."

"I'll drive you," he said, pulling on his clothes.

"No! Really, there's no need."

But he'd done this before.

The night I made him drive me out for a snack, it was already pouring by the time I finished getting dressed, and he was on the couch messaging his friends.

I pointed at him. "I'm going out, and you're just sitting there on your phone? Aren't you even going to drive me?"

His look alone could've iced the room over.

For a moment he scared me, but then I remembered I'd supposedly saved him.

I sat on his lap and jabbed a finger at his chest. "I saved your life, and you won't even do this? I should've left you to drown!"

I'd planted that seed myself. Now I had to live with it.

The more I protested, the more he took it as an act.

He lifted me with one arm and wheeled my suitcase into the elevator with the other.

His arm locked around my waist, so tight I could feel every line of him against my back—hard enough that I couldn't wriggle free, not with other people watching. My face burned.

The nerve of him. I'd said no, and he just—did it anyway.

I raised my hand to slap him, then remembered I was the fraud here. I swallowed my temper and let it fall.

He watched my hand drop. In the elevator light, half his face was in shadow. "Why didn't you hit me?"

"Who said I was going to? My hand just itched."

His grip on my waist tightened.

In the car he fastened my seat belt, then leaned close.

Before I could argue, he caught my chin, tilted my face up, and kissed me—slow, deliberate, like he was proving something.

His hair was still warm from the dryer. The grape scent we both carried rose off his skin, and I forgot, for one second, that I was supposed to be leaving.

When I could barely breathe, he pulled away.

"There. Today's kiss is done," he said, as evenly as if he'd just checked something off a list.

I just stared at him. I'd set a daily minimum, hadn't I?

Normally we kissed after he showered. Since I'd stopped him earlier, he was making it up now.

I didn't know how to feel. For a second I'd let myself think he might actually like me.

But apparently he only took my rules seriously because of a debt he didn't owe. Even his kisses were chores.

He pulled his own seat belt across his chest. "Where to?"

"The airport," I lied.

The car had no navigation. In his rush out of the house, Sebastian had left his phone behind.

I propped mine on the dashboard, and a message popped up.

[Sweetheart. Let's meet tomorrow.]