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My feet touch the floor gently, but Carter doesn’t let me go. He cups my face in his hands as his smile grows by the second, and I swear he’s a breath away from kissing me like nothing happened. “I missed you.”

I shove him off. “No. Don’t do that.”

I stomp away, picking up the blanket and folding it carelessly. I lay it on the couch and then pick up my tablet, setting it on the table. That takes me to the coffee mug, and I carry it to the kitchen, pouring it out in the sink. Anything that’ll get me away from Carter. Except he follows me into the kitchen, trapping me and making me wish I’d chosen an apartment with a more open floor plan.

“Luna, we need to talk.” He sounds so sure that I’ll do what he wants, but those days are over.

I’ve done too much for Carter already, and the end result is that I’m mad at myself and mad at him. “You should go.” I put the mug into the dishwasher. “I have nothing to say.”

“That’s not true. You have so much to say, I can see the words jumbling together behind your eyes.”

Carter’s right, but telling him what I think won’t do either of us any good. I want to walk away and pretend this never happened so I can go back to my comfortable, predictable life. “It doesn’t matter. Just go.”

I try to squeeze past him, but Carter grips my upper arms in his hands. “It matters to me, Luna.”

Laughing bitterly, I jerk out of his grasp. “No, it doesn’t. If it did, you wouldn’t have dragged me into all this.”

His eyes go wide. “Dragged you? As soon as I mentioned Thomas’s collection, you were all aboard. Remember that?” I cross my arms over my chest, screaming at him with my eyes and hoping the lenses in my glasses amplify it like sunlight through a magnifying glass and he fries like an ant. He looks back at me, frustrated. “It’s easier to fully blame me, though, isn’t it? Guess you’ve decided I’m your all-too-convenient scapegoat.”

I put some space between us, but there’s nothing else I can do to keep my hands busy. I resort to fidgeting, wringing them together as I clarify, “I’m not blaming you. Or not only you. I was wrong too. I shouldn’t have gone along with your stupid plan so I could see the art collection. No matter how amazing it is, it was wrong.”

I’ve already given myself a hard time for that and don’t need Carter to repeat the conversation or talk me out of the self-flagellation.

He takes a deep breath, his blue eyes locked on me. I feel like he sees everything—my nerves, my anger, and even the desire I’m shoving down so deep I can deny it exists. “That’s not even why I’m here. I think we’re well beyond that, and we both know it. I want to talk about us.”

I laugh. “Us? There is no ‘us’.”

He jumps in immediately, stating, “But there is. We’re married . . . for real. My dad’s talking about annulments and prenups—”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” I bark. “Fine. Show me where to sign and I’ll put your mind at ease. I just want this whole thing to be over.” I wave my hands around, wishing I could wipe this whole thing away with just a signature. If only it were that easy. But I’ll never get Carter out of my heart, no matter how many times I sign us away.

“No!” Carter shouts.

The neighbor knocks on the wall and I yell, “Sorry!” Glaring at Carter, I snap, “This is done. Send me the paperwork and we can pretend this never happened. Should be easy for you. You’re good at pretending.” I know it’s a low blow, but I’m too mad to care.

I don’t blink, but I don’t see him move. Regardless, I’m suddenly pressed against the counter, immoveable in Carter’s grip, with him in my face. “This is not done. It’ll never be done.”

“What?”

I don’t get to finish my question because Carter kisses me. His touch is powerful, his lips firm and his tongue demanding entry. I squirm, trying to get away, but he moans, and I’d swear it sounds like my name, but that doesn’t make sense. This whole thing makes no sense.

He determinedly dances me down the hall, his unyielding mouth on mine the whole way. “It’s real,” he murmurs, laying a line of kisses along my jaw to my ear. “I don’t know when, and I don’t fucking care. But this. Is. Real.”

“No, it’s not,” I argue, but unconsciously, I tilt my head to give him better access.

He bites the tendon in my neck sharply, not enough to hurt but to get my attention, and I gasp. “You like that, don’t you?”

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