“That’s crazy. You have a lot of money. You barely know me.”
“I know you already walked away from millions of dollars before.” He takes the flask back. “No prenup. It’ll look suspicious, for one thing, and for another, I trust you.”
I eye him dubiously. “You sure you didn’t fall off a horse today? No concussion?”
He doesn’t look remotely concerned. “Next thing you’re worried about.”
“You’re a public figure,” I say. “This will end up in the press.”
“Probably.”
“Your teammates will talk. Your coaches. Not to mention everyone you’ve ever known in this town. It’s not going to be something we can keep under wraps. People will be curious.”
“They’re all adults who can mind their own business. I’ve been a public figure for a long time now. I know how to protect my privacy. I’ll protect my wife’s privacy too.”
My wife.
The words come to his lips without hesitation.
My belly swoops at the idea of being Slade Rhodes’s wife.
“Next season you’ll be gone,” I say, searching for new objections. “New city. New team.”
“Yup.”
“And then what?”
He looks out at the valley. “Then we make a clean break of it.”
Chapter 10
Amethyst Sky
LILA
He says it like it’s so simple to make a clean break of things. He’s obviously had a lot of practice leaving things behind. Different cities, different teams. I suppose a just-on-paper marriage is one more thing it’s easy to toss in the fire. Watch it turn to ash.
I walk to the edge of the overlook. The valley drops away steeply below. The wind is stronger out here, the land is breathtakingly beautiful and impossibly vast.
I need a second to think.
His wife.
I’ve never lived with anyone as an adult. Not a roommate, not a boyfriend, not anyone. Seven years of my own space, my own schedule. No one to answer to, no one else’s preferences I had to bend to. After the way I grew up, I craved that independence, even if it felt a little lonely sometimes.
What would it look like, Slade’s life and mine overlapping at the edges?
His boots by the door when I come home. His truck in the drive next to my car. The scent of his coffee, black and strong, already made when I come downstairs because he’s been up for hours doing things I’m only beginning to understand.
What does he look like first thing in the morning, that thick hair still rumpled, barefoot and in sweatpants? What does his deep voice sound like before it’s fully awake?
A year is long enough to find out.
And then I’ll have to learn to forget it.
I don’t realize how close I’ve walked to the edge of the overlook until a warm hand closes around my waist and gently pulls me back from the brink.
For a moment my back is pressed against his chest. The clean, sharp scent of cedar and leather fills my lungs.
