Page 112 of Deceit

Slowly I concede, nodding my head. Though, it’s not like Asher needed my permission. He’s already busy assumingly ordering food or calling the chef to come in.

It doesn’t take long for the food to get here. Actually, it’s kind of amazing how fast it gets here. Asher meets whoever the delivery person is at the door, making sure not to allow them a peek inside. I assume, seeing his fiancée tangled in bed with two other men and a third on the couch would come across a tad taboo.

When he steps back in, he has four large bags that he’s somehow managing to hold with his two hands as he kicks the door shut. Surprisingly, Ronan, Liam and even Vincent stay asleep. Asher sets out the food across my desk, before pulling up the loveseat next to my desk chair.

He leans over Vincent, offering me a hand out of bed. I slip my hand in his as he pulls me up and out. My feet almost kick Vincent and I tuck them quickly, somehow wrapping myself around Asher in the process.

Asher looks down at me in surprise, before the smallest smirk touches his face.

“Looks like you’re more of a koala bear than princess.”

I give him a dry laugh as I shake my head, while he essentially carries me over to the desk. He sets me down on the loveseatwhile he takes the desk chair, before he begins unpacking bag after bag.

There is a pizza, supreme with no mushrooms and extra bacon, my all-time favorite way. Along with spaghetti, bacon cheeseburgers with chili cheese fries, and the biggest surprise, scratch made fish and chips. I haven’t been able to find any decent fish and chips since coming to America. All of the batter is heavy and greasy, while the fish is very clearly frozen. Just from appearance alone I can tell this is good quality. The breading is light and flaky, and the fries look to be that perfect combination of crispy and soft.

All manners forgotten in the name of food, I dig in, trying a little bit of everything as I do. I eat and leave no crumbs behind.

“So,” I say as I finish my second piece of pizza, god I’m really on a roll. I don’t think I’ve eaten this much in the last three months. “Is it a coincidence you were able to guess all of my favorite foods without asking me a thing?”

Asher shrugs, busying himself with a burger in front of him.

“It was in your file.”

I frown. “What file?”

“The one my dad gave me on you, before you came to Salem. It had pictures of you, your favorite foods, hobbies, friends. All of that stuff.”

“Why would you need that?”

He swallows his food and takes a sip of one of the water bottles before speaking.

“It’s designed to get the relationship on the right foot– establish common ground, shared interests.”

“You clearly had no interest in that,” I say with a hollow laugh.

He scoffs and nods before taking another bite, chewing it thoughtfully before taking another drink.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I apologized for the shit I pulled, did I?”

“Have you ever even apologized for anything in your life?”

Asher chuckles and nods his agreement.

“Fair point. Well, I am. I feel like shit, honestly. It wasn’t too hard to explain away any guilt, blaming my actions on the thought of you being a calculated bitch but…you’re not.”

I don’t respond, because while this isn’t the best apology I’ve ever received in my life, it feels like this is a lot for him and I don’t want to ruin it.

“When I saw those pictures at dinner,” he says as he looks at me, trailing off with a shake of his head as he continues.

“It was like a lead ball had dropped into my stomach. I didn’t think too much about how scared you would be in that hole. Looking at the pictures where you were desperately climbing the dirt wall, fear so deeply etched across your face,” he winces. “I didn’t like that I did that. I didn’t like that I had become someone I always swore I wouldn’t.”

“Who is that?” I ask.

“My father,” he says, his eyes locking on mine. “He’s a man who enjoys others’ misery, relishes in it. If he can flex his power and teach you a lesson in the same move, it’s an extra good day in his eyes. The way I’ve treated you is only a tenth of what he did to my own mother, but I swore nonetheless that if I ever got married, I’d never lay a hand on my wife or disrespect her like that. And look at me now,” he laughs, in a self-deprecating way that hurts my heart.

Images of a young Asher, watching the horrors of his childhood, flit through my mind. Seeing his father hurt and abuse his mother, before no doubt coming for him. I can practically hear his small voice vowing to never be like Christopher, and he’s not, not yet at least.

“If it helps, you treated me like that when I was just your fiancée. There is still hope you’ll treat your wife better,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.

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