Page 142 of The Pact
I suck in a deep breath, taking in her words. This marriage could end in a year. And the thought of that makes my stomach sour.
Alie brightens. “You guys should come over for dinner tonight.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I need to run by my place. Now that the weather is getting warmer, I need to get some more clothes.”
Her brows lift. “Mmhmm.”
“What now?”
She smiles wide. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Alie.”
“When was the last time you slept in your own bed?”
I open my mouth. Then close it.
“Interesting.”
“That’s not—” I stop.
Because I don’t even know what I was going to say to that, honestly.
It’s not what it looks like?
It’s exactly what it looks like. I’ve been living with Saint for months. Sure, at first it was because he needed comfort. He needed me. And then the kids, and now we’re married.
But now … it’s because I want to be there. I can’t imagine not being there.
Instead of telling her that though, I answer simply, “I still need clothes.”
“Right.”
“And shoes.”
“Naturally.”
I give her a flat look.
She holds up her hands. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“Okay, fine,” she says. “Go get your spring wardrobe from the apartment you haven’t stayed in since January.”
“Glad you’re keeping track for me.”
I stand, grabbing my tablet and the folder of medical notes.
Alie stands to walk me to the door. “Pres.”
I look at her.
She pulls me in for a hug. “I’m really glad this is working out. Despite the loss, you both seem happy.”
