His tone was so sincerely apologetic. My anger faded a little. But still, I had to ask. “Why? Why were you talking to her about me? I thought you were nice.”

“I am nice,” he quickly assured me. “I’m also really into you. And I don’t want to sound like a creep, but I was kind of hoping she was telling the truth. If you’re lying about having a husband, that would mean I stood a chance with you. And I’d…”

He looked down at the ground shyly, then back up. “I’d like to stand a chance with you.”

Wow…

My heart melted. Then sank with regret.

Five more months. If he’d waited to approach me for five more months, I would’ve happily played my part in this rom-com moment. I would’ve confessed that I did have a husband, but we have been living apart for years and that we were finally getting a divorce. I might even have asked for help moving into the short-term apartment I was already planning to buy because I didn’t want to live in that dream home disguised as a prison for a moment longer than I had to after Victor and I separated.

I would’ve kissed him as a thank you for admitting he liked me. And then, eventually, after two or three dates, I would have invited him into my bed. I would’ve had sex for the first time in ten years with someone who wasn’t Victor.

I would’ve happily done all of that. Because Asher had been nice to me. Because this was how relationships were supposed to go. The guy was supposed to ask you out. Then you were supposed to date. Then you are supposed to have sex because you wanted to, not because of some weird power dynamic game you were both trying to win.

But this wasn’t five months from now. It was now. And I did have a husband. One whose henchman was watching me as we spoke.

So I swallowed and said, “I can’t. I can’t go out with you.”

Disappointment shadowed over Asher’s hope. He was a good guy who really did seem to like me. And I couldn’t have felt worse.

But in the next moment, an idea occurred to me, so I pushed down my guilt to say, “I might reconsider in five months after we’ve graduated…if you convince Jacoby Pirelli to let you change thesis presentation groups with me.”

Asher’s face screwed up with confusion. “I’m in Group A. Our presentations are scheduled for that Wednesday. Group B gets to go on a Friday. That means you can have a party afterward. Most people would kill to be in Group B.”

Yes, and most people also didn’t have a psycho husband at the top of their list of secret things they never talked about.