Iyisha slipped back into their room, the wine still hot in her blood, Mary's words echoing sharp in her head.
You're the same. Aren't you selling your body for safety? Malcolm, right?
Malcolm was already there, seated at the table with his rifle half-assembled. He didn't look up when she entered, only murmured, "Late," before returning to his work.
She stripped off her coat, the silence pressing heavy. She couldn't stand it, not after hearing Mary's blunt truth, not after being told she was no different from Ester.
The thought burned in her, fierce and unrelenting: she wasn't trading herself for comfort, not for safety, not for wine or a sofa or anything else. She was here because she wanted to be with him.
If only he wanted her like she did. And when she dared glance at him, she caught it, the flicker of heat in his eyes that betrayed the truth he wouldn't say. Her courage spiked and she tugged at her jeans, sliding them off until only her boxer-cut panties remained.
