I stare straight ahead as I hold my tongue.
Not really.
CHRISTOPHER
Hans gets behind the wheel, and we pull out of the airport and onto the main road. “There’s a bit of traffic tonight, I’m afraid, sir,” Hans says. “Bumper to bumper when I was driving in.”
“That’s okay.” I smile as I hold Hayden’s hand firmly in my lap. “Can’t be helped.”
Hayden’s gaze is fixed firmly out the window. This is the quietest I’ve ever seen her, and I have no idea what’s going through her head.
I’m unsure if she’s shocked or furious . . . I’m hoping for shocked but beginning to expect furious.
I should have told her earlier, but I just . . . didn’t know how.
Hans sighs as the traffic comes to a complete standstill. “Looks like there has been an accident now to top it off.” I look up to see lights flashing from a traffic-control van.
I exhale heavily. Great. This is just what I need.
My phone lights up.
Eddie
Shit, now is not the time. I can’t even pretend to be in a good mood. He’s calling to check we landed okay. I’ll call him back tomorrow.
I turn my phone on silent.
“Would you like a glass of wine or champagne?” I ask Hayden as I open the minibar fridge.
Her eyes flick over to me, and I feel the venom behind them.
Hmm . . . I’ve never seen that look before . . . which is a good thing, because I don’t fucking like it.
“No, thank you,” she replies curtly.
I roll my lips. Well, I would. I pour myself a glass of champagne, and unable to help myself, I hold my glass up in a sarcastic cheers sign. “I’ll drink alone, then.”
Her eyes hold mine, and silent animosity swims between us.
Would she rather I be fucking broke?
I take a large gulp of my champagne. It’s smooth, cold, and delicious.
Unlike her in this moment.
The longer we sit in the back of the limo, the more I feel Hayden’s anger festering like a volcano that’s ready to blow.
The more I feel it, the more pissed I get.
Seriously?
She would actually rather I clean fucking toilets for a living?
That’s not loving someone . . . that’s enabling . . . to what, I don’t know, but I’m sure there’s some form of emotional abuse in there somewhere.
The more I think about this, the more I know I’m right. If I was broke and I told her I had money, then I would understand.
But this?
I will not be judged for having money . . . my parents have worked fucking hard to build the Miles empire. What . . . does she think she’s above it? I clench my jaw as I watch her and swish the champagne around my mouth as I silently fume.
How dare she?
I don’t judge her for fist-fucking cows for a living. And I could. Trust me, I could.
I drain my glass and then immediately pour myself another one without even asking her if she wants one. I put the bottle back into the fridge.
That’s enough.
The night is already spiraling out of control. Alcohol is only going to pour kerosene on the fire.
The car has been at a standstill for over forty minutes now. What the hell is going on up there?
I glance at my watch. Fuck it. This night is a disaster. I made a booking at my favorite restaurant, thinking tonight was going to be epically romantic.