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Irritation flickers across his features. "What do you mean the staff talks?"
"Are you really going to make me spell it out for you?"
"That would be helpful, yes."
"Miriam," I bark. "She told me all about your nighttime proclivities. That's who you were on the phone with the other day, isn't it? Making plans for your nights while you spend your days torturing me?"
For a moment, he looks so stunned by the accusation that it makes me question my sanity. If I’m being honest, I hate that I'm even pursuing this. That I need an answer from him. But I do.
"Miriam told you I was talking to... who, exactly?" he asks.
I roll my eyes and look away. "Who do you think, Judge? Your favorite courtesan."
He snorts, and it pisses me off. I move to leave, but he grabs me, dragging me back onto the bed and forcing me to look at him. Our eyes lock, and the amusement slowly slips away from his.
"There is no courtesan keeping me company at night," he says softly. "You keep me more than occupied for that. But what just happened between us? I need you to understand that won't happen again. Those intimacies are for your future husband. I shouldn't have crossed that line with you."
His words leave a sour taste in my mouth, and when I swallow down the emotions I want to hide, I hope he can't see them. I know he’s lying. He has to be lying because, on some level, he feels what I feel. That’s the only explanation for this dysfunctional attraction between us. As much as he pretends to be okay with the idea that I’ll marry someone else eventually, I can’t accept that it’s true. And part of me feels like he keeps throwing it in my face as a way to keep me at a distance.
He touches my face as if he's trying to soften the blow. "Don't retreat back into yourself. I need to know you're not going to do that again."
I blink away the stinging pain behind my eyes and shake my head. Again, I want to ask him why he cares, but I know it doesn't matter. Judge can’t even be honest with himself in this situation, so he’s certainly not going to be honest with me.
"I wasn't trying to hurt myself," I whisper. At least I don't think I was. Admittedly, what I did was reckless, but it wasn't like I was really trying to kill myself. "And I would never, ever want to hurt one of your horses. I’ve seen what a bad jump can do to a horse. I wouldn’t do that. It wasn't even my intent. I just wanted to see how fast he would go. I needed... something. But the terrain was unfamiliar, and I could hardly see in the rain. When you came out of nowhere, I didn’t want you to catch me. I didn't even realize what was happening until you jumped on to stop us."
I truly feel fucking terrible, and Judge must see it because he doesn't scold me again. Instead, he comforts me, his hand rubbing circles into my back. It feels so good that I don't want it to end. I don't understand it. How can this man who infuriates me so often bring me this kind of peace as well? When I look at him, I wonder if he's questioning it too.
"Just don't try it again," he says, his voice absent of derision. "You don't ride unless you're with me, or I give you permission."
I could bite back, but I don't. There's something about when he shows me even an ounce of softness that makes me wish for more. After the hell of the last few weeks, I shouldn't want or need these moments from him, but I do. I know I told him I’d never forgive him for what he’d done, and a part of me still hasn’t, but right now, it’s overshadowed by my basic human need for comfort.
"I want you to tell me what happened with Miriam."
I lift my gaze to his, already prepared for a fight, but he stops me with a shake of his head.
"I'll listen this time. Please, tell me."
"I did tell you." My lip trembles, betrayal prickling my nerves all over again. “I’m not in the habit of repeating the truth when it only serves to earn me a punishment.”
I learned that the hard way long ago, with my father and even Santiago. The men in my life all have a tendency to believe what they want, regardless of what I say. When someone challenges your truth, it makes you start to question your own reality. It invalidates everything you experienced. And I’m not about to let Judge do that to me all over again.
“Mercedes.” He tries to coax more from me, but I shake my head.
“No. I’m not repeating it. You betrayed my trust. You accused me of lying when I wasn’t. I’m not going through that again.”
I’m not sure if I should expect a fight from him, but he doesn’t give me one. Instead, we fall into a tense silence until he finally breaks it with the touch of his hand. At first, I’m not sure what he’s doing as his fingers move over the skin at the nape of my neck. Then it occurs to me, that’s where my IVI tattoo is located. Like every other member, I have one. But that ink isn’t what Judge is quietly contemplating. He’s touching the empty space above it. The one reserved for my husband’s family crest when I marry.
I turn toward him, and our eyes clash, and abruptly, his hand falls away. He knows I know what he was doing. That he was thinking about it. And I can’t tell if he’s already mourning the loss of me, or if he’s thinking something else. Something that… could be.
My answer comes when his features harden again, his voice regaining the steel edge he’s known for.
“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
21
Mercedes
True to his word, Judge hasn’t touched me again. More weeks have passed. I don’t even know how long it’s been. How long ago was it that I even had a life of my own? In some ways, it feels like an eternity. In others, it feels like no time at all has passed.
