Page 32 of The Illusion
"Sorry. It's just—there's an issue with the Singapore contract and—" He stops himself. "You know what? It can wait. I'm here with you. Keeping you happy is worth more than that."
What an odd thing to say. But it's so very him. "Is it urgent?"
"It's always urgent with them." He reaches across the table and takes my hand. "But you're more important. This is our anniversary. I'm not going to spend it staring at my phone."
And I believe him. Because even though he gets distracted sometimes, even though work pulls at him more than I'd like, he always comes back to me.
On our last night, we lie in bed with the windows open, a cool breeze drifting in from the valley. Asher is on his back with one arm around me, and I'm curled into his side, my head on his chest. I can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong.
His phone buzzes on the nightstand. He reaches for it automatically, then stops himself. "It's probably just Cal," he says.
Calvin Louis Essington the third, aka Cal, is one of his college friends. Rich. Entitled. Pompous. Damn near unbearable. Like almost all of Asher's friends, except for one notable exception.
Ryan. He's always been kind to me, has never looked down on me or acted like my lack of family wealth is problematic.
"You can check it."
"No. I'm with you."
We lay together in silence for a few minutes, just breathing. "I don't want to go home," I admit after a moment.
"We have to eventually."
"I know. But I like this. Just us. No distractions."
"We can do this at home too."
"It's not the same. At home there's distractions.”
Asher laughs. "Fair point."
"Let's just stay here forever."
"Tempting. But I think they'd eventually kick us out."
I sigh dramatically. "Fine. But I'm bringing this feeling back with me. This peace and happiness.”
"Good. Hold onto it." He kisses the top of my head. "Because I'm not going anywhere. This is forever, Jules. You and me."
Forever is the goal. Fuck the five year clause.
CHAPTER
TEN
JULIE
I'm standingat the kitchen island chopping vegetables for a sheet pan bake I'm making for dinner when I hear the garage door going up. The sound of Asher's car pulling in is followed by the slam of his car door, then the door from the garage into the house banging open hard enough that I flinch.
"Babe!" he calls, his voice sharp and loud.
I set down the knife. "In the kitchen."
He comes running up the stairs from the ground level and through the doorway fast, still in his suit from work, his tie loosened and his hair disheveled like he's been running his hands through it. His face is flushed, his jaw tight.
"You're not going to believe this," he says. He drops his briefcase on the counter with a thud. "I mean for real, you're not going to believe this!"
I've never seen him like this. Asher doesn't get angry. He gets quiet when he's upset, withdrawn. But right now he's practically vibrating with rage. "What happened?" I ask, worried.
