I lift her up into the passenger seat again. "You don't want me to see your house, do you?"
Her eyes dart away from me nervously. "It's an apartment."
"House, apartment, whatever. You don't want me there. Why not?"
"I never said that."
"You don't have to. You're transparent as fuck. It's written all over your face."
Her eyes shoot daggers as I lean against the truck door, not budging.
"Let's just go, then," she relents. "And get this over with."
As she gives me directions to her apartment while I drive, her reasons for not wanting me there become clear. She lives in the ghetto. Like, I used to buy drugs here when I was younger, it's that kind of shitty neighborhood.
I glance over at her as I park in front of the run-down apartment building. She's just staring out the window, her fingers making circles on her jeans. "Are you okay?" I ask her.
"Yeah. I'm fine."
She doesn't sound fine, though. She sounds distant.
"Asia, it's okay. No big deal."
"You don't belong here."
"Neither do you. Not anymore."
Her eyes shift down to the floor. "Yeah, I do. Marrying you doesn't change who I am."
"No, but it changes who we are together," I grab her hand to stop her fingers from nervously circling on her leg. "Together, we're supposed to be better."
What the fuck just came out of my mouth?
Her hand squeezes mine. "That's very sweet. Thank you for saying that."
Wow. I actually said something right, even though I was momentarily possessed by Hallmark when I said it. Score.
As luck would have it, the elevator is broken, so we have to walk up the three flights of trash-infested stairs to her apartment. The hallway smells like the pit of hell. I can't believe the team put me with someone who lives like this. We could not be more different in every possible way.