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I nod. “We did.”
She pulls a fuzzy pair of socks that say “book nerd” from her drawer, and I want to smile, because yeah. That’s more like the girl I met last year. I think.
She stuffs them into the bag she just emptied.
“You’re leaving again?”
She pauses. “I usually spend Christmas at my parents’. Last year was different.”
Right. Because last year in Vegas wasn’t about severing ties with family she never wanted to see again. Not for her. She was a runaway bride. A woman scorned.
Now?
Truth is, this woman is an unknown quantity. Sure, it felt like there was a connection, a bond. Like there was something almost tangible between us that first night.
But I wasn’t exactly thinking straight when we met.
That whole trip was out of character for me. My choices risky, when I’m a deliberate guy who thrives on control. I don’t make rash decisions, but with her I wasreckless.
I wait for her to start packing again, but she’s practically vibrating with tension. Her jaw clenches, and her eyes snap to mine.
“Wepromised,” she huffs, digging through her drawers.
“We were drunk.” Spectacularly so.
I look around. Every surface is adorned with some quirky knickknack or stack of something. Nothing from the city of our sins, though. Not that my place has any, either.
She packs jeans, a sweater, and two shirts that were hung in her closet but are going to look like she dug them out from the bottom of the hamper when she unpacks.
“Jane.”
She stops, her hands resting on top of the bag, and lets out a slow breath before giving me her eyes.“Stormy.”
“Sorry?” I look out the window at the bleak winter sky, but she shakes her head.
“My real name. It’s Stormy Hendricks.”
It shouldn’t shake me.
I knew her name wasn’t Jane Jones. Hell, I was there when she picked it. Understood why she’d wanted to be someone else for a night.
Obviously, our legal names are on the marriage certificate— signed to the sound of her laughter and the feel of her hand covering my eyes. But we didn’t keep the paperwork.
So, for a year, she’s been Jane.
Now that I know her real name, though, I can’t help but grin. “It suits you.”
She lifts her brows in expectation. “Well? I’m Stormy. And you’re…”
Probably in trouble.“Liam. Liam Diesel.”
She stares at me for a second, her eyes widening before they narrow into accusing slits.
Yep. Definitely in trouble.
“That’s yourrealname.”
Never have I felt shittier aboutnotlying to a woman. “It is.”
