“You know what,” I snap. “You acted like you hated me when we first met.”
“Who said I was acting?” He gives me a derisive sneer that makes my blood boil.
I ignore him. “And you’re still doing it. Why the fuck are you so determined to push me away? To make me hate you? Because let me tell you—it’s working. I’m one goddamn word away from rejecting you once and for all.”
Shock, dismay, and sadness all creep across Ashton’s face, each one appearing and disappearing so quickly I think I imagine them. What’s left behind is bitter indifference.
“Then do it.”
“Reject you?” I stop walking and turn to face him. “Is that what you want?”
Once again, a plethora of emotions flickers to life in his eyes. Then his jaw clenches, and he grits out, “Reject me, Isabella.”
A bark of harsh laughter escapes me. “You are such an asshole. You know that? I can’t believe you’re taking the decision to reject you out of my hands. Is that what this is about? You need to feel in control? You want to hurt me before I can hurt you?” I ball my hands into fists. “Why don’tyourejectme? You hate me so much? Prove it. Reject me. Right fucking now.”
An almost incandescent fury paves its way across Ashton’s face.
“You want me to reject you?” His voice lowers to a growl.
“Do it.” I glare up at him. “If you have the balls, of course.”
But he doesn’t reject me.
Instead, he kisses me.
And I abruptly push him away and punch him in the face.
“What the fuck was that?” I screech, anger heating my skin and prickling my fingertips.
My knuckles scream in protest, and I cradle my hand against my chest.
Ashton rubs his cheek in disbelief. “Why the fuck would you punch me?”
“Why the fuck would youkissme?”
Ashton opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. Obviously, he can’t come up with an excuse for his actions.
“You don’t get to kiss me after you just went on a rant about how much you hate me and how you want me to reject you and—” I continue, but he cuts me off.
“I don’t hate you! That’s the fucking problem!” He spears his fingers through his black hair and begins to pace. “You would be much better off if I did. But god help me, I can’t bring myself to hate you. I’ve been trying, but you are just so…” He squeezes the air—almost as if he imagines my neck between his hands—and huffs out a breath. “I can’t fucking hate you, Izzy, so it would be best for everyone if you hated me instead.”
“Why?” I demand.
When he turns away from me without answering, I grab his arm to pull him to a stop, ignoring the pain radiating from my knuckles.
“Why do you want me to hate you? You can’t just act all cryptic and not explain yourself.”
“You don’t understand the pressure I’m under.” Ashton drags a hand down his face, suddenly appearing unbelievably tired. Gaunt. “From my father and the Council and?—”
“You want me to hate you because you’re under pressure?” Incredulity bleeds into my voice.
I can’t fucking believe this man.
Actually, I can.
This is totally something he would do.
“Sometimes things need to be sacrificed for the greater good,” he snaps.
