Page 83 of Rule Breakers Fall Hardest

He follows, matching my stride. “It does to me.”

“Why?” I demand. I just want to get my hot chocolate and find an empty corner where I can let the tears fall.

“You’re my wife.”

Another snort rips out of me as my chest constricts. “In contract only.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “That doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me.”

“Daire?” I tug my beanie down lower over my ears.Why didn’t I pick a college somewhere warmer?“Right now, I just want to get a hot chocolate and drown my sorrows in sugar. Is that too much to ask?”

He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Thenwill you talk to me?”

I flash him a toothy smile. “Maybe.”

When we reach the dining hall, he hustles past me so he can hold the door for me. Silently, he follows me over to the beverage station. Ineverget coffee here. It’s nasty sludge, so I’d rather get it from the on-campus café, but the seasonal hot chocolate is a different story.

I step up to order, looking over my shoulder at Daire. “You want anything?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m good.”

With a quiet laugh, I say, “Two peppermint hot chocolates with the snowman marshmallow, please.” I scan my dining hall card, and then we step aside to wait for the drinks.

“I told you I didn’t need one.”

“Who said the other one is for you? Maybe I’m choosing sweets instead of alcohol today.”

I’m more than a little surprised that I can joke like this so soon after the conversation I just had. It won’t be long before my mom’s words are circling in my head once more.

“That bad, huh?”

I look away, lowering my focus to the tile floor that looks like hardwood. “You have no idea.”

By now, I should be used to her saying things like what she did. My skin should be thicker.

Though I suppose it’s not unfair to be upset when my own mother makes negative comments about my body.

I don’t for a minute think she hates me. She doesn’t do it to be malicious. Honestly, that might be the worst part of it all. It would be easier for me to dismiss if she was a horrible mother in general, but she’s not. She’s wonderful in all areas but this one. I even have sympathy for her, because her critiques of my body have more to do with what she endured from her own mom and the modeling industry than with me.

When our drinks are ready, I swipe both off the counter and hand one to Daire. “Trust me, you’ll like it.”

He looks down at the large snowman marshmallow that nearly covers the entire top of the cup. “Cute.”

His hand is a brand on my back—one I feel through multiple layers of clothes—as he guides me to a table in the corner. None of the other tables nearby are filled, so we’ve got plenty of privacy. I appreciate his effort, even if I’d rather run out the door than talk about my family problems with him.

He pulls out a chair for me, shocking me with the gentlemanly gesture, and I shrug my backpack off and set it on the floor before sliding into the seat.

For a moment, I’m silently focused on gently blowing on my hot chocolate before taking a tentative sip.

Perfection.

I hum at the taste and take another sip. “God, I love this stuff.”

Daire smiles, raising his own cup to his mouth. His eyes widen at the first taste. Surprise coats his words when he says, “That’s good.”

“I told you.”

He takes a few more sips before he sets his cup down and says, “Now, tell me what she said.”

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