Page 42 of Love in Times of Contempt

"But you're not pretending to love them, are you?" Andy insisted, a playful smile on his face.

"Andy, tsk." Marie shook her head. "They're professionals."

"I hope you don't ask questions like this tomorrow!" Liam joked. "Ana has no reason to be jealous. That's not how we roll."

"I'll make sure he keeps within the guidelines tomorrow," Marie reassured them. "We really look forward to chatting with you!"

"I'm sure it'll be great," Ana commented and, if Liam didn't know her, he would have believed her.

Chapter Fifteen

ANA LET LIAM OPEN the door to their hotel room for her. Finally away from prying eyes, she allowed her shoulders to collapse under the weight of feigning excitement and affability for hours.

In silence, she took her jewelry off and put it away in its box. Her tired, heavy heart needed a warm bath and maybe a bit of a cry; summoning the little energy she had left, she lifted her arms to her back, trying to reach the hidden zipper there.

"Here, let me help." Liam stood behind her and undid the zipper for her. "You okay?"

Spikes invaded her throat, gripping at her vocal cords until it was difficult to speak. Hot, frustrated tears threatened to trickle up through them, and Ana hated every second of it.

"Not really," she managed to say, stepping out of her dress and hanging it. Mindlessly, she also reached for the complimentary robe there, untouched until that moment, and put it on. She wasn't in a mood to prance around in her underwear, giving Liam ideas. She closed the belt tight.

"I thought so. You've been… off," Liam said.

Off. One tiny, mediocre word to describe the flood of feeling crying to be let out.

"You noticed." She bent down to undo the clasp of her shoes, pulling at the leather straps with rigid fingers. She huffed, seeing red at how the delicate task didn't respond well to the force of her fingers.

God, she didn't like this feeling. She didn't like herself feeling this thing, either. She needed that shower right now to hide until the tide passed. It seemed full of debris, a raising water level that could swoop her up in a whirlpool drift.

Still bending down, face flushed from the position and building anger, she watched him walk by and kick his shoes off from the corner of her eye. She couldn't take this small thing on top of everything else.

Fuck.

She dropped to her haunches, eyes watery, knowing full well that the anger and the tears had very little to do with the damn shoes, and feeling utterly ridiculous.

"Do you need help?" Liam's words came out clipped.

"No. No! I'll figure this fucking thing on my own. Nothing to do with you."

Or maybe a little. A lot.

She clenched her teeth. That was unfair. Mostly.

"Tell me what's wrong." Liam's voice cut the space between them, a rare undertone of irritation in it.

That was a bad sign.

She kept fighting with the straps. Her voice came out grumbly and low. "Don't poke, Liam. We're gonna end up fighting and I'd rather not."

"Do you want some fucking scissors?" He removed his jacket with brusque movements, making quick work of the buttons of his shirt.

She whipped up into a standing position. "Don't."

"Why won't you tell me what's going on? Something is clearly bothering you and here you are, fighting with an inane shoe strap!"

"It's not about the shoe!"

Lips tense, fire in his eyes, he took care of the last button on his shirt, leaving it open as he approached her. "I know that! But you won't tell me what the problem is!"