Page 39 of Chosen By Swift

“What does that mean? What is Discard?”

“It’s what we call a failed union.”

“Oh.” One argument—and he wanted to throw her away? One disagreement about morality—and he was done with her? “If you think that’s best.”

“I don’t think—”

A chime interrupted their tense discussion, and he glanced at their closed bedroom door in frustration. With a noisy exhale, he pivoted away from her and grabbed a pair of dark blue pants from a drawer. He hopped into them and left her standing there in the bedroom.

Alone and naked, she grew uncomfortable and rushed to find something to wear. There was another wrap style dress from the kit Swift had given her, and she carried it with her to the bathroom. It took her a moment to figure out how to lock the sliding door. She relieved herself and then took the fastest shower possible.

“Alys?” Swift knocked on the bathroom door as she was stepping away from the drying device that blasted her with warm air. “Breakfast is here.”

“I’ll be out in a moment.” She stared at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She didn’t look any different than she had yesterday, but she felt like a whole new woman. She had left behind everything she had ever known to escape an arranged marriage and found herself in an unarranged union mate thing with a stranger. A handsome stranger. A kind stranger. A gentle stranger

A man who slept with prostitutes.

Except he doesn’t think they’re prostitutes.

Did that distinction matter?

The question troubled her as she finished dressing, pulling on the form-fitting underwear from the kit but skipping the too-small bra. Once the dress was tied, she unlocked the door, slid it open—and stepped right into Swift’s bare chest.

“Easy.” He touched her shoulders and guided her aside. “Breakfast is on the table.”

She nodded, uncertain what to say after their argument ended so abruptly. He entered the bathroom, and her gaze drifted to the unmade bed. She might not be his mate for much longer, but she wasn’t going to let him live in an untidy home. She smoothed out the wrinkled sheet and straightened the fluffy cover. As she adjusted the pillows, she couldn’t help but think that a proper quilt would look lovely on the bed. If she were staying, she would have made one, but...

“You didn’t have to do that.” Swift loomed in the doorway between the bathroom and bedroom. “I’m perfectly capable of making our bed.”

“Our?” She held one of the pillows in front of her almost like a shield.

“Yes?”

“For how long?” When Swift frowned, she reminded him, “You said you wanted to discard me.”

“I don’t want to discard you, Alys.”

“But you said—”

“I was offering you a choice.” He crossed the bedroom and walked around the edge of the bed until there was only the pillow between them. “You were—are—clearly uncomfortable with the realization that I paid for sex.”

“I am,” she confirmed, clenching the pillow.

“So, where do we go from here? I can’t ask you to stay if I disgust you.”

“You don’t disgust me, Swift.”

“But what I did disgusts you.”

“What you did was wrong. To me,” she clarified. “But I understand the rules of your world are different from mine.”

“If I thought it was degrading or abusive, I never would have done it,” Swift insisted.

“I believe that.”

“I won’t ever do it again.”

“I should hope not.”

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