“I, uh, I didn’t bring anything decent for nighttime because I thought I was going to be alone.”

I smile softly. “Ryot, I don’t think a pair of boxer briefs will make me clutch my pearls.”

“Guess not.” He scratches his bare chest, the way I love—like he isn’t sure what to do other than scratch an itch that isn’t there. It’s adorable. “Can I ask you a question without you getting mad at me?” he asks.

“That’s one way to put someone on alert.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he says. “I just want to be honest, and my question might upset you, and I don’t want it to come off that way.”

“Well, thanks for the precursor. What’s your question?”

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed and clasps his hands in front of him. “Why are you really here, Myla? I know you said it was because a deal was a deal, but I told you, you didn’t need to come. So there must be some other reason.”

It would be easy to lie at this moment. To tell him that what I said was the truth, but that would only cause problems with what I’m trying to accomplish while I’m here. So I go with the truth instead.

“I don’t want to resent you.”

His wet hair falls over his forehead as he looks up at me. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve been through a lot, Ryot. I would never say our romance had a fairy-tale feel to it because there were a lot of ups and downs, created mainly by me at the beginning, both of us in the middle, and you in the end. And the end of this marriage is clouding my ability to remember all the great things. I don’t want to walk away from you feeling anger, or hatred, or resentment. It’s not something I want to live with, and I don’t want you to live with that either. So I’m looking for forgiveness. I’m looking for . . . for healthy closure.”

He stares down at his clasped hands and nods solemnly. “Can’t say I love hearing that.” He lifts his gaze. “But I get it, Myla. I don’t want you to resent me either. I hate what I’ve done to you, hate myself for it, so the last thing I want is for you to hate me too.”

“I know the last thing you want is for us to be friends because I don’t think that’s possible, not with the heavy feelings we have for each other. But if we could at least, I don’t know, find a way to part without bad feelings, it might help both of us move on.”

He nods. “Yeah, I think you’re right. I’d rather part knowing that you don’t resent me than not have these next few days with you.” He lets out a sigh and then stands from the bed. “It’s late. We should get to bed.”

“Probably.”

I switch off the light in the entryway of the hotel room, then make my way over to the bed, where I plug my phone into my charger on the nightstand. He pulls down the sheets, and together, we climb in. But whereas I normally would have slithered over to his side, probably naked, and clung to him all night, it feels like at least three feet of cold, empty mattress is between us.