Page 59 of Siren's Game

Her side of the door remains silent. My arm starts to hurt so I put down the rest of the stuff as well and start knocking with both of my hands drumming against her door.

"Come on, Sweetheart. The sooner you let me in, the sooner I'll leave."

I know that sounds paradox. It's because I'm lying.

She doesn't sound well, there is no way I'm just leaving her here. Not a chance.

Finally, I hear a very deep sigh, and then more shuffling on the other side of the door. I could cheer when I hear the key turning in her lock, but I manage to contain myself.

Finally, she opens the door a sliver and I waste no time pushing my feet between the door and the frame so she can’t close it on me.

"What do you want?" She looks miserable. Her hair is matted and messy, her bangs sticking in all directions. Dark bags under her eyes make her look like a ghost and she grimaces with what I assume is pain. Or annoyance.

She definitely doesn't look like she should be all alone.

"Millie mentioned you're sick, so I got you some stuff," I tell her and point at the bags and groceries at my feet. "Come on. Let me in." I soften my tone and I can see the fight seep out of her slowly. Whether that’s because of what I’m said or her feeling too weak to argue, I don’t know.

Finally, she sighs and steps aside, one of her arms protectively in front of her stomach, hunching over with a groan after taking a few steps.

Ah. Now everything makes sense.

It’s not my fault, but now I know why my mom told me to bring ice cream and comfort food.

"Go sit on the couch," I instruct her as I gather the things up, walk past her, and head straight to the kitchen, ignoring her attempts to push me back out the door.

"Asher, seriously, go away," she says weakly, but when I look at her, my resolve only strengthens. She might not realize or want it, but she shouldn’t be alone when she feels this bad.

"Nah,” I say with a shrug, trying to make the situation a bit lighter.

"You know there's no cameras here, right?" She raises her eyebrow at me, and I nod.

“Yeah, I know. Not your kink,” I say with a wink, but it goes right over her head.

"There’s really no need to act like a loving boyfriend here. You should save that for the cameras." She leans her back against the wall as another cramp seems to shoot through her and she puts her hand on her stomach.

Her words sting, but I get it.

We might have had sex, but we also have a deal. This is a show. For our fans, for the media, and maybe it's a show we're putting on for ourselves too.

Or maybe it's just an excuse the both of us find it easy to hide behind.

"I know," I say softly and continue on my way to the kitchen. “But I want to.”

Stunned silence falls before she gathers herself.

"You shouldn't be here. This isn't real." There is a hint of desperation in her voice, like she's clinging onto her words the way a wayward floater would cling to a door in the cold ocean after their ship sank.

I have had enough of her self-pity, though.

"Will you just shut up and let me take care of you?”

She jumps at my tone and even I am surprised at how firm I sound.

But she listens. Grumbling under her breath, I swear I can hear her mention the word 'bossy,' as she walks to her couch and sits down, hugging a pillow to her stomach.

I put down all the bags in the kitchen and hurry to throw the tub of ice cream into her freezer, before stowing the groceries wherever I think they go and just hope we'll find them again later.

"Hey, Sweetheart." She turns around, annoyance creasing her forehead at the nickname and already opening her mouth to object. "Catch."

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