The drive to the resort was silent.
Bianca had stayed behind with Sarah—safer that way. Just me and Maxwell in a stolen car, heading toward a destination neither of us wanted.
I stared out the window, watching the landscape blur past. My mind was a war zone—grief, anger, confusion all battling for dominance.
He killed my mother.
But he'd also tried to make it right.
He'd lied to me.
But he'd also protected me.
I hated him.
But when Isabella had fired that gun, my first instinct had been terror at losing him.
"Mia," Maxwell said quietly. "I know you don't want to talk to me. But we need to establish some ground rules for this."
"Fine." My voice was flat. "Rule one: separate beds."
"There's only one bed."
My head whipped toward him. "What?"
"Couples' resort," he said, eyes on the road. "Sarah booked us the honeymoon suite. One king bed."
"Absolutely not."
"I'll sleep on the floor."
"Good."
Silence stretched between us again.
