Page 193 of Law Maker
“Sorry.”
The blanket rustled as he turned to face me. “What’s wrong?”
Dimmed cabin lights gleamed in his dark eyes. His hair was tousled from his nap after dinner, and all I wanted was to curl into him and forget his mother’s voice. But secrets had torn us apart once. I wouldn’t let them again.
“I met your mom for coffee today,” I said.
Asher’s hand cupped my cheek. “Why? What did she want?”
“To remind me that our relationship upsets my father.” I leaned into his shoulder. “And to tell me you pursued me just to hurt him.”
He scoffed. “She must really think everything revolves around him. No, peque. I didn’t pursue you because of him—back then or now.”
His breaths grew uneven. It hurt to see him upset, but it would’ve hurt worse to hide it from him. “I didn’t believe her,” I whispered. “She claims to know you, but she doesn’t.”
He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple shifting. I brushed my fingertips over the stubble along his jaw. “I don’t want this to spoil our trip.”
“It won’t,” Asher said. “Remember that interview with the Spanish sports magazine I told you about?”
“What about it?”
“Come with me.” Asher laced his fingers through mine. “They’ll be thrilled to run a spread with my girlfriend. I didn’t pursue you because of Russell, and I won’t hide you because of him or my mother either. I want everyone to know I’m with you. If anyone has a problem, they can fucking say it to my face.”
“I’d love to,” I said.
All I wanted was to live my life with the person I loved—and be happy. If my happiness upset my father, it only proved what I’d suspected for years: he didn’t love me, not really.
His lack of affection used to break me, but time had carved out a new truth. I couldn’t change him. But I could refuse to keep swallowing his neglect. I could choose better for myself.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Asher
Kaia grinned at the camera over her shoulder, and I chuckled. In jeans and my racing jacket, she posed with effortless grace, answering the journalist’s questions in Spanish as if she’d been born to it.
A flash burst. She tossed her waves over one shoulder and gifted Juan, the photographer—and me—another dazzling smile.
“Asher, ven aquí,” Juan called. “Una foto juntos.”
A picture together?He could have a thousand. I jogged to Kaia’s side, cupped her jaw, and tilted her face up.
The shutter clicked as I brushed her lips in a teasing kiss.
Then she framed my face in her palms and pressed her forehead to mine.
More pictures. More encouragement from Juan.
“Tu chica es guapísima,” he said when the shoot wrapped.Your girl is gorgeous.“Eres un tipo con suerte.”You’re a lucky guy.
Didn’t I fucking know it.
Kaia hugged him and his assistant goodbye, and we left the studio hand in hand.
Cars streamed along Gran Via, and Kaia drank in the avenue, wide-eyed. Our hotel was a ten-minute walk. We’d barely had time to drop our luggage before the interview, but I had surprises waiting for her once we returned.
“Do you think Juan will send us those pictures?” she asked. “I’d love to frame them for my room.”
“He’ll email them to me,” I said. “Thanks for doing the interview. You were amazing.”
