Page 82 of Be My Bride

She’s stressing about something and it bothers the hell out of me.

“Food’s ready,” mom announces, a big smile on her face. “Let’s eat!”

I clench my jaw as Asia backs away from me. She’s doing a great job avoiding my gaze as she helps mom set the table.

I move toward her, intending to grab her hand and drag her to the bedroom so we can talk privately. Sensing that she's my target, the sneaky woman grabs a bowl and skitters to the dining room, putting as much distance between us as possible.

I want to call her out on it so badly the words jump to the tip of my tongue.

But I hold myself back.

Whatever’s on her mind, she clearly doesn’t want to talk about it now.

Hauling in a deep breath, I gather around the table and enjoy dinner with my parents. They ask Asia a ton of questions about her childhood, her job, and her family.

Asia answers everything politely. Quietly. Respectfully.

She laughs.

She jokes.

She nibbles at her food.

From the outside, she’s totally fine.

But I know her a little better than she thinks.

Much better.

When my parents suggest we pull out the childhood photo albums, I prepare to put my foot down. I’ll cart Asia over my shoulder if I have to. To my surprise, she turns my mother down before I can.

Mom’s smile doesn’t waver. “Sure thing. You two have a good night.”

"Good night,” dad says, dipping his chin.

Asia returns the greeting and scurries to our bedroom, walking ahead of me and disappearing into the adjoined bathroom with her suitcase and toiletries.

I hear the shower running and sit on the bed, waiting patiently for her to return.

When she opens the door, she’s dressed in a cotton T-shirt and shorts that expose her long, slender legs. Her hair loops into a pointed bun at the top of her head and she’s not wearing any makeup.

Her skin glows in the shadows. Effortlessly beautiful.

Asia clears her throat. “Aren’t you getting ready for bed?”

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re upset about something.”

“I’m not.”

“Asia.”

“Hansley,” she slants me an exasperated look, “we have an early flight tomorrow. I have a ton of work to catch up on. Can we not do…” she points between us, “whatever you’re trying to do right now?”

“Either tell me outright or I pick you up, hold you in my lap and trap you there until you talk.”

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