Page 28 of Trust

My heart plummets into my stomach. “There was a sale,” I say clumsily, the lie making my tongue feel thick, but it’s not like I can say it reminds me of another man. “I thought it would be a nice surprise for dessert.”

Adam huffs, and I tense up at that small sign of annoyance. “You should have asked first,” he says. “I booked us reservations at a restaurant for tonight.”

“Oh,” I say in a small voice. “I’ll put it in the fridge. It’ll hold up for a day or two…”

“It’s going to turn soggy. Who likes soggy fruit?” Adam mutters.

I don’t mention thathelikes soggy fruit, when it’s at the bottom of a yogurt cup.

“Anyway, let’s go get changed,” Adam says. “We’ve got about half an hour to get there.” He pats my ass before walking to the bedroom to change out of his uniform.

I look at the mess on the counter. Do I quickly put everything away? Or do I follow him and leave it for later?

The indecision makes me linger in the kitchen long enough for him to call out, “Micah?”

I put the container in the fridge, leaving the fruit peelings on the counter. I’ll clean it up as soon as we get home.

I head into the bedroom, forcing a smile. “Where are we going?” I ask as I rummage through the closet for something to wear.

“There’s a restaurant with live music I wanted to check out,” Adam says. “I hear some great cellist is playing there tonight. You like the cello.”

It’s a thoughtful gesture, and I smile at him. “Thank you,” I tell him. “That’ll be nice.”

I wish he liked to hearmeplay, but I know I’m not good enough for him to enjoy listening to.

Adam puts on a pair of jeans and a button up shirt. He looks good, reminding me of the first time he’d taken me on a date.

Now I feel even guiltier about having Ilya’s number in my phone.

“You ready?” Adam asks, giving me a once over. “Don’t you have nicer shirts? They’ll kick us out if you go in that. Pick something better.”

His tone of voice has me instantly obeying, instantly yielding, and I grab a different one. I pull on the soft shirt, hoping it passes muster.

He looks critically at me, but to my relief, he doesn’t find anything to complain about this time.

“Ready,” I say. I’m not. All I can think about is the mess in the kitchen, and my eyes start to water.

I don’t think Ilya would get upset with me if I left a mess because he made surprise plans. I think he’d like the thought.

“Thank you for planning this,” I say quietly as I get into his car. Normally I’d take the subway or bus to get around the city, but Adam hates public transportation. He says it’s because he knows what kind of crime happens in the subway, but it’s really that he thinks it’s dirty.

Of course, driving isn’t faster than the subway when we end up stuck in traffic.

Adam taps his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. “What is taking so long? Don’t people know how to drive?”

I want to say something comforting, something that’ll make him calm down or even laugh, but I don’t know what that could be. “I guess not,” I say instead, opting to agree with him instead. “Did you have a good day?”

“Got to do an arrest,” Adam says. “But later I got sent to a bullshit domestic. Women keep lying about this shit.”

I wobble a little, hating when he goes off on his tangents about women who need to keep their mouths shut and stop provoking their husbands.

Like I do.

“That sucks,” I whisper.

I wonder if Ilya would hurt me, or if his touch would remain gentle. I wonder if he’d yell at me, or tell me I’m doing everything wrong.

I wonder how Ilya would feel about him being so dismissive of cases where women “lie”about their husbands hitting them. Probably the same. If he’s mafia…