So why did Blake say those things? Did he really deny everything to Lucas?
I feel like my world is upending again, my resolve weakening. The truths I knew are no longer true, and I only want to believe what Lucas is telling me.
Don’t be an idiot.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…
I can’t afford to repeat the past. I drop my eyes. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”
“The hell you say.”
A knock interrupts him. He curses under his breath and answers the door. It’s room service.
The man keeps his gaze straight ahead and brings our food in. If he senses the tension in the suite, he doesn’t show it. He lays everything out, confirms that the order is correct, has Lucas sign a slip and disappears.
“Eat,” Lucas says, retaking his sectional.
“I told you, I’m not hungry.”
“Humor me, Ava.”
The cold, quiet rasp of his voice lets me know he’s close to his breaking point. I grab a fry and nibble on it, while he helps himself to the steak. If he’s disappointed by how small the portion sizes are, he doesn’t show it. Japanese people consume not even a third of what Americans routinely polish off in one sitting.
“As I said, I want you back for twenty-four weeks.”
“If you need a fuck buddy, surely you can get Faye Belbin to fill the role,” I say.
A tinge of something that looks like satisfaction glitters in his gaze. “Jealous?”
“You wish.”
“I told you, I didn’t sleep with her while I was with you. She and I were over years ago. Ask her to confirm if that will help.”
I laugh. “You haven’t been listening to anything, have you? I don’t trust you. I don’t trust the people around you to tell the truth, Blake being the most recent example.”
“I trusted you.” He speaks quietly and evenly. “I didn’t come to Osaka to fight, Ava. And I can’t stay in Japan for long, so you’ll have to quit your job and come back home with me.”
Both my eyebrows rise. “Are you out of your freaking mind? There’s no way I’m quitting my job for you.”
“Teaching isn’t your calling. You told me you wanted to be a writer.”
“Teaching is what I do so I can eat and put a roof over my head.”
“I can give you money, enable you to write full-time. Surely you can write a book in twenty-four weeks.”
I have to laugh. “It’s not quite that sim—”
“Fine, whatever, it takes longer. I’ll continue to provide for you until you make enough to earn a living from your writing. How long does it take to write a book? A year? Two?”
Bastard. He’s using what I told him in a moment of particular closeness to leverage me.
“I’m not the girl I used to be, and people’s dreams change. I’m not going back to you. I can never go back to what we had.”
He frowns. “What was so objectionable about it?”
My mouth slackens. “What wasn’t objectionable about it?”
“What we had was perfect.”