The nachos were good.

Amazing, really.

The beer Thorne washed it down with was even better.

He was slowly relaxing.

Cress, not so much. She sat across from him, her chips and guac barely touched in front of her. She kept wringing her hands and looking at him like he might jump out at her.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I should be the one asking you that. You're the one who dragged me to this random bar in the middle of nowhere."

"I couldn't exactly take you to our corner Mexican eatery by Whole Foods. What if my parents had decided to go there after shopping? Our neighborhood isn't safe anymore."

"Indeed." Cress picked up a chip and broke it in half. "About that..."

"You know?" Thorne took a long swig of his drink. "I'm cured. All I needed was a little something in my belly to forget I ever saw their faces."

Cress crossed her arms. "No, you're not getting off that easily. Tell me what happened with your family. You said they disowned you when you went to prison?"

In that moment, Thorne understood why Cress was a good teacher. Half the time teaching wasn't even about whether kids misunderstood math problems or did their homework. It was talking to kids about their day-to-day problems and helping them find solutions. Her tone was stern, but her face was welcoming. The kids were probably all too eager to talk to their cute technology teacher.

But he wasn't her student.

She couldn't solve his problems any more than he could solve hers.

"I'll tell you about them if you eat something," he conceded. "We were planning on making dinner at home anyway."

"We were planning on making dinner because it's expensive to eat out all the time."

"Darling, it's my treat. You can deduct this meal from my twenty-five grand, all right? I know you're always starving at the end of a workday. I haven't been living with you for nothing." He called for the waiter and ordered another round of drinks, even if Cress had yet to start on her first beer. He got them water as well, since Cress was a total lightweight. She ordered fish tacos, at least.

Had he ever noticed just how thin Cress was?

She was tiny.

Good tiny, he decided, as he watched her hesitantly take the first sip of her beer. She still had some curves he could work with — aces, what was he thinking? He was not going to be working with anything on Cress's body.

A sudden flashback to their night in Vegas made his eyes dip to her collarbone. Cress loved getting kissed there. It was a good spot. Not as exciting as some other spots, granted, but he was all about making women feel good. He'd spent a lot of time there. Had she had a hickey on her collarbone the following day? He hadn't stuck around to find out, had he? That had been a bonehead move. And why could he remember where he'd kissed her but not that he'd gotten married to her?

Dr. Fallow would surely have a thousand thoughts on that.

"Thorne?"

He shook his head. Damn one-track mind.

"Right," he started. Now he wanted to share his past even less. But Cress still had those warm, open blue eyes fixed on him. And he'd promised to discuss it, after all. He took a deep breath. "Remember Jacin?" Of course she remembered Jacin. Winter was one of her best friends. "Our fathers are both in the military and had specific paths laid out for us. Jacin took that path and I didn't. Nothing against the guy, though I can't say we got along well as kids, but his life definitely turned out better than mine, wouldn't you say? Every parent's dream? Every woman's?"

Cress looked down at her plate. "I would never say anything bad about Jacin, but I don't think he's every woman's dream. He's a bit…possessive?" Her cheeks turned pink. "I think he's what Winter needs. I have no idea what his parents think about him. You shouldn't compare yourself."

"Ah, but my parents did." Every big social function on the base, he could still recall his father's lectures, his mother's need for attention. His father, just like Jacin's, had risen up in the ranks quickly. With his mother's socialite status, the only thing missing was the son they could show off like a new car. Thorne didn't really care for those events, though, as much as it threatened to make his mother internally combust. Jacin was shiny enough, and Thorne had no problem getting attention out of the spotlight from the daughters at those events — to their mothers' dismays.

Cress didn't need to know those details.

He waved his hand. "It wasn't truly about Jacin. Nor Kai, though they compared me to him too—even though I met him later and he came from a different kind of wealth. If I'm honest, my parents disowned me long before I went to prison. Prison just solidified all of their hatred."

"Oh, Thorne." Cress reached across the table to take his hand. "If your parents hated you, they wouldn't have bothered to say hello. They would've just kept walking."

He wasn't so sure, though the thought was mildly comforting. Which disturbed him. He hadn't seen his parents in over a year. That was intentional. If they didn't want him back then, they didn't deserve him now.

Cress squeezed his hand. "I think it's normal that we want to impress our parents. Even if they're not the greatest parents. I have some experience with that."

Thorne was busy looking at her hand. She had painted her fingers a turquoise something-or-other, and it brought out the blue in her eyes, now that he thought about it. But if he really thought about it, he could remember red manicured nails running up and down his chest. Her fingers ghosting over his back. Afterward. It must have been afterward, because he remembered them practically ripping off their clothes in the hallway, before they had even gotten back to his room.

Had they cuddled? He wasn't a big cuddler. Not with one-night stands. He remembered lying there, though, talking in the dark, under the covers. Was that when they'd decided to get married? Why couldn't he remember that? Aces, had they cuddled more than once? They'd certainly gone at it a few times. Or was he mixing things up? Perhaps their frenzied passion turned into slow, long…

He cleared his throat. "Your parents weren't the best either?"

She withdrew her hand. Interestingly enough, his question made Cress down half her beer in one long gulp.

"Sorry. They passed. I forgot—"

"No," she said quickly. "It's a hard topic. I never knew my mom, so I can't say much about her. Though I do know she's deceased as well. I grew up in foster care for a little while until my father came back into my life. But he died quickly of an illness. I was sad about it, but probably not sad enough." She downed the rest of her beer and signaled for another from the waiter. "I don't think he was a very nice man, in the end. Smart, though. Very smart."

"Probably where you get it," Thorne said.

She didn't seem to hear his compliment. "But selfish. Misguided. And now…" She spread her arms wide, as if to say, who knows. "He's dead and I still somehow have a million questions that I should have asked him when he was alive and never did."

"That's not your fault, Cress. If you were in foster care, if he came back, he abandoned you before?"

"There are other ways to abandon people," she said, casting a knowing look in his direction. "Emotional abandonment, not just physical, can take quite the toll on a child."

Sharp as a tack, this one. He shrugged anyway.

"Can't really complain. My parents were wealthy. I was kind of an Army brat. There wasn't much I couldn't have."

But Cress stayed silent, beginning to nibble on her fish tacos. She kept her concentration on him though, which made him take a swig of his own drink. And another.

"All right," he said, pulling on his collar. "Enough with the interrogation. If you must know, I wanted to do things my own way. Make my own wealth. Get out from under their snotty worldview. I was going to show them. But sometimes plans don't unfold the way you expect."

That was putting it lightly. Prison had never been a part of his plan.

Obviously.

"If that isn't the truest thing I've ever heard." Cress drank more. "Just look at us. Married against our will. Who could have planned that?"

Against our will. Uneasiness crept into his stomach.

"Say, Cress. I've been replaying that night over and over again. I can remember most of it until we get to the hotel room." Another unwelcome flash of impassioned cries assaulted his memory. He gripped his beer tighter. "I know based on my record that you probably think I'm used to taking what I want. In some ways, that's true. But I've never been that way with women. Sure, I flirt with attractive women." He tipped his beer in her direction. She knew he was attracted to her. No sense in hiding it. "But I've never, you know…taken anything…unwanted. From women. They want me as much as I want them. But since I can't remember what happened in the hotel room, not exactly, it's just. I don't know." He didn't want to look at her, but he had to see what was in her eyes. "You don't feel like I… you know… pressured you, do you?"

There wasn't any anger on her face. Only confusion. "To marry you?"

He laughed darkly. "No, no. To spend the night with me."

"Oh!" She blushed. Despite his current state of squirming, he couldn't get over the fact that she looked real cute whenever she turned red. "No, from what I remember, we were both consenting adults. The marriage part is very hazy but some other details have come back to me."

He was both exceptionally relieved and intrigued at the same time. "Details?"

Her blush deepened, but, to her credit, she maintained eye contact. "About some of the things that happened before we got married. That and the state of the room the following day present a pretty clear picture. Well! Not clear. Not that clear. But, needless to say"—she waved her wedding ring at him—"it's clear that we both enjoyed ourselves. So much that we chose to get married. Which," Cress rushed to say, folding her hands together, "I would like to clarify."

"You remember why we got married?"

"No, those details didn't come back." She leaned forward as if she had a big secret, so he leaned forward too. "But, you made some comments about me being a romantic. I just wanted you to know that, first of all, I've never tried to marry anyone else, especially after sleeping with them. And second, you're not the first person that I've slept with who was good in bed."

Thorne arched an eyebrow. "I didn't assume either of those things. Though, to the latter—a man can dream. Eh?" He grinned. She thought he was good in bed. That was always an ego boost.

"Good." Cress sat back in her chair. "Because I don't want you thinking that I'm the type of person to get married to the first guy who…you know."

He couldn't resist. "Am I the first guy who"—he grinned—"you know?"

"No!"

Her face was scarlet. He had to laugh.

"Sex is important to me but it's not the main thing I look for in a relationship. So it's not a reason I would get married."

"I'm not quite sure how I would come to that conclusion." But aces, they could keep talking about sex. It was a good topic. Much easier than his parents.

"I thought you might come to that conclusion," she said, indignant, "because you keep saying how romantic I am. And you've probably turned on my e-reader by now and see my collection of romance novels."

He had not, but he definitely intended to now.

"Of course there are stories that I enjoy where a couple meets for one weekend, has amazing sex, and then gets married. That's not me. It's most important to me how a man treats me. And, for the record, I am the least likely of all my friends have a one night stand."

"Hey. I'm not judging. I have one night stands." All the time, he almost added, then thought better of it. He hadn't hooked up with anyone since he'd gotten married to Cress, mostly out of respect, but also out of fear that Judge Blackburn would somehow find out and his ass would land back in jail.

"Well." She shook out her hands, like she was getting rid of dirt. "I just wanted you to know."

"All right." He sat back too. Took another swig. "If were being honest, from what I remember, that was one of my better one night stands."

Cress's eyes darted around the room. "I don't think we should be talking about this topic in public."

"You brought it up, darling."

"Let's get back to your parents."

No. He didn't want to get back to that at all.

"I need another drink for that."

"I already told you, Thorne," Cress said an hour later. They were sharing a brownie explosion something or another with a lot of whipped cream. "You have a lot of strengths. I'm not just saying that. Winter said you're doing a great job working with the charity date auction committee."

Thorne shoved a large helping of chocolate in his mouth, thinking. Well. That was a compliment he hadn't expected. He hated those meetings, mostly because they were catty and gossipy. He knew more than he cared to know about who was dating who and even more frequently, who had dumped who.

He never thought he'd know so much about the body proportions of other single men or how likely they were (on a scale of zero to stalkable) to be auctioned off for a date. But considering that so many women within the network of the committee members had recently been dumped, he wouldn't be surprised if many of them showed up to bid themselves—just to have a little eye candy on their arms. Women liked that sort of thing, he'd learned.

He had often been the eye candy himself.

He wondered what kind of man Cress would pick if she were to participate in the auction. She was attracted to him, he knew that much, so physically he could guess a little about her tastes. If he was part of the auction, and she didn't know anything about his background or personality, would she bid on him? He wasn't many things, but he was a good date. He'd proven that to himself—and many women—time and time again.

It was a ridiculous thought. Out of nowhere, really. It didn't matter what kind of date Cress would want.

This charity was for cancer research, so they wanted big spenders, anyway. He shuddered. It was the type of event his mother would have shown up at if she were single.

He shook out his hands like they were dirty. Gross gross gross.

"You don't agree?" Cress said, mistaking his body language for a response to her comments.

He didn't want to talk about this anymore, but Cress had been open about her past. He should open up a little too. They were in this bar because of him, after all.

"I'm not saying I'm bad at being on that committee. But I don't like having other people boss me around, like the way Winter bosses me around. I want to work for myself someday. You can't rely on other people. I knew that already when I was growing up. And in prison, especially, you have to look out for yourself. Just yourself, Cress. That's what I've always done and one day I'll have that job too."

If he could figure out how to get a job that wasn't just serving fast food, first.

"But you're working on a team," Cress insisted. "Maybe you're not used to it, but it's an important skill for life. And one which you seem to excel at."

"I can work with people if it serves my purposes. I know how to get most people to see my point of view." Emphasis on most. "It's not hard, once you learn how to read people."

Cress shrugged. Her cheeks were rosy now, but it was the effect of the alcohol.

"Do you ever bother to read yourself?"

He startled. "Meaning?"

"I don't know. Do you like yourself?" She waved him off like she didn't expect an answer. "I like myself, I think. I'm not very confident, but at the end of the day I'm usually happy with my choices. But it gets boring sometimes. I have my girlfriends, I have a job that I love but also stresses me out, I rent an apartment…" She licked something off her finger, which was extremely distracting. "Am I living the life that I really, truly want? I don't know. I guess I expected more…just more. Adventure, maybe?"

"That makes sense. I remember you talking about us having an epic romance before we got married. I mean, the drunk Vegas version of us," he clarified quickly.

Cress gazed somewhere over his shoulder, almost dreamy. It wasn't an unfamiliar look on her, now that he'd spent so much time around her. Her head was in the clouds half the time.

"Love, yeah. I want that. I want all of it, the best of it, the stuff you read about in books."

He chuckled.

"But I also want to travel. Now that I'm not bogged down by my own family, what's stopping me? This fake-real marriage thing, of course. The first thing I wanted to do when I won the money was go on a vacation. I wanted to buy an Around the World Ticket and stop everywhere." She shook her head. "They probably don't even have those tickets anymore. But then I thought about it," she said, pointing a finger at him, "and I have only been thinking about practical things since then. I think I'm a little obsessed with security. I'm scared to lose my job. I'm scared to leave my friends. I'm scared to go off by myself on an adventure. Maybe that's my problem, Thorne. I'm too scared to look at the life I want to live."

He considered her. Cress was nervous about a lot of things, in the way that people were nervous about getting their carpets wet after being outside in the rain. Or in the way that most people were nervous about having a convicted criminal sharing their home. But he didn't peg her for someone who was scared. He'd seen her that night in Vegas. The Cress who didn't need someone to accompany her outside, who called him on his bullshit, who knew how to bluff in Royals perhaps better than even he did.

"What about you?" she said, blinking her pretty blue eyes at him. "Tell me something real."

"Real?" He thought hard. Then remembered her question about whether he liked himself. "I'm not exactly where I want to be, either. And every time I have a job interview where someone immediately rejects me because I'm a felon, it reminds me that I'm even further away from where I want to be. My parents… Seeing them tells me I'll never get there." Okay, so maybe he was opening up a little too much. "But they're wrong," he added with a carefree smile. "I make my own destiny."

Cress leaned back. "I like that."

"So how do you really know Cinder?" Cress asked. "I know it's from prison, but how? Aren't men and women segregated?"

Thorne wagged a finger. "Uh-uh. I'm not drunk enough to spill her secrets." But he was getting there. "I told you to ask her."

Cress shoved her cocktail at him. "Then drink this and confide in me."

Thorne pushed her wimpy drink back at her. Even if Cinder was being a jerk about this whole thing, he had some lines he didn't like crossing. Cinder and him had been friends one time, and that meant something to him, even now. Talking about those days made him feel like he was betraying her trust.

It was absurd, but he'd been really happy to see his old friend show up in Vegas after all these years.

"I'm sad she doesn't like me anymore," he admitted.

"You were together?!" Cress practically shrieked. She burst into hysterical laughter that mingled with hiccups. The alcohol had definitely caught up with her. "I married my best friend's ex?"

"No," he said with an eye roll. "Aces. I meant as a friend. I'm sure she had a crush on me at some point, though. Everyone did back then. What can I say? I'm a good-looking, charming guy."

"Even in a prison jumpsuit?"

"Cress. Especially then."

A line formed between her forehead. "Well, if you won't tell me how you and Cinder know each other, will you tell me why she thinks you're such a player?"

Thorne pretended to tick off a checklist in the air. "Good-looking guy… Popular with the ladies… Not afraid to kiss said ladies… Broke a lot of hearts… Smooth talker, to boot. Voilà!"

"Are you sure she didn't have a crush on you or something? For real."

"I can't say for certain." As much as he liked to imagine that everyone had a crush on him, Cinder had always somehow been immune to his charms. Maybe it was why they had become good friends. No romantic tension to get in the way, just his never-ending teasing.

Cress sipped on her pink drink through her straw. Some of the light had left her eyes since she stopped laughing. "I just can't figure out why she wouldn't tell me about being in prison. Obviously it has something to do with you." She gestured at him like he was Santa Claus or something.

He snatched her drink away and took a sip himself, so she'd be forced to drink some of her water. Plus, wimpy or not, he was still waiting on his refill.

"I think when people try to forget parts of their pasts, having a reminder of it show up in the flesh is jarring. I think"—he hoped—"that's why Cinder keeps avoiding the topic. Whenever she sees me, she has to remember the past she's tried to forget."

Cress leaned forward, pulling the straw away from his lips and inserting it into her own mouth. She sucked on it a long time as she eyed him over, and he humored her little staring contest for until his entire body was humming. He stole the straw back and looked anywhere but her puckered lips.

"So what you're saying is," Cress said, eyes piercing him, "Cinder seeing you was a lot like you seeing your parents."

"I can only speculate."

"You know what we never had?" Cress asked.

"Tell me."

"A first dance." She looked at the space by the band and sighed dreamily. "Maybe we did…but if we don't remember, does it count?"

Thorne eyed the makeshift dance floor warily. Two couples were up there. They looked liked fools dancing, but the women hanging off their men certainly looked happy.

"It counts," he said, but he had to scrunch up his face to think about it. Did it? "We're married and don't remember."

Cress was still staring at the dance floor. "What if we did our first dance now?"

"Now?" He didn't think that was a good idea, but he couldn't remember why, exactly. Dancing didn't sound terrible. He and Cress had danced in Vegas. That had been extremely fun.

Dancing meant touching each other.

And that was excellent.

The second he stood and clasped Cress's hand, feeling the warmth of her skin against his, he knew he'd made the right choice.

"It's a fast song," Cress said. "I don't know the steps!"

They both laughed as they fumbled around trying to catch the beat. They twirled and spun and were both dizzy by the time the song ended.

His hands stayed on her waist as the band slowed down the pace with the next tune.

"This one is a slow dance," he said, because he didn't want to let go. And he wanted Cress to keep smiling like that. "This one surely counts."

"We should get shots, like we did in Vegas! Then it counts."

He pulled her hands up around his neck. "First the dance, then the shots."

Cress leaned her head into his chest. "I like when you hold me," she murmured.

Thorne slapped the table. "Of course you should use the money to go to Paris! Why not?"

Cress giggled into her drink. "I should buy an apartment right in front of the Eiffel Tower. Then I can eat croissants every day with the best view."

"The best view? No way!"

"Way!"

"Fine. You keep your Eiffel Tower view, and when I have my own plane, I'll pick you up sometime and fly you around the world. But I'll keep you up in the air, so you can see what a real view is like."

Cress gasped. "You could see the Eiffel tower from the plane too!"

"Right?!"

"What if we went right now?"

Thorne cocked his head. He would love to go to Paris with Cress. She was so fun, so cute, and she kept looking at him like she could devour him. Maybe they could have croissants together in bed while they looked at the Eiffel Tower.

The thought was met with eagerness, which disturbed him, but he wasn't truly sure why.

Oh.

"We don't have the money yet. The marriage," he whispered scandalously. "They're watching us."

Cress looked around like Judge Blackburn's spies were already in the room. There might as well have been. The bartender kept looking at them every time they ordered more drinks and the waiter had come by countless times just to "check" how they were doing.

"We should go home," she whispered back. "Then they can't see us."

"That's a good idea."

Cress threw back her head and laughed. Thorne laughed too.

"I have an idea for something we can do at home." Cress kissed her way up his neck in the back of the cab, her hand smooth on his leg.

He groaned and dug his fingers into her hair. "Me too."

His entire body was alight with want. Cress was so hot, why had he not told her that this entire evening? His game was completely off.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" He returned her ministrations and Cress let out a happy moan. He wanted her on his lap, but the cab driver had barked at them the first time they'd attempted that.

"You too," she said. "I was staring at you all night."

He smirked. "I noticed."

That was enough talking.

He held her face in his hands, stared at her beautiful eyes one last second—he'd been staring at her all night too—then kissed her.

They must have given the cab driver the wrong address, because this wasn't their apartment building. It wasn't even their street.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"This way," Cress said, giggling.

They walked up the street together, his arm around her shoulder and Cress leaning heavily against him. It felt good, having her body heat mingle with his.

It felt good, making out with her.

Aces, it felt good talking to her. Cress got him. She believed in him. Thought he had strengths.

Everything about hanging out with Cress was good. And based on how it had gone in the cab, things were about to get even better.

The street took forever. How much uphill walking did a guy have to do before he could finally make love to his wife?

He blinked hard. No. Cress wasn't his wife.

Not really.

Legally, a voice in his head said.

Make love? said another.

You both want this. Yet another voice. It's been ages.

But this never-ending hill was slowly sobering him up. Just a bit. All the cars driving by them still blurred together, but his senses were untangling from the unquenchable lust that was coursing through him. He slowed his walk.

"Just a few more steps," Cress said. "Then around the corner, to a house. And another house. And another…"

Well, if she could figure out where they were, what she really that drunk?

He took her hand and kept them moving. "You think this is a good idea?" He squeezed her hand. "Sleeping together?"

"We're not sleeping together yet," she said with a giggle. "That's why we're going to the house."

"Right. But—"

"Come on, Thorne."

Cress led him to her bedroom, her hand in his.

He was never allowed in here, and it felt like an immense privilege.

Cress wanting him was an immense privilege.

The second she pulled him into her room, her lips were on his, her arms were around his neck, and her legs were tangled up with his. Every part of him was reacting instinctively, his body responding to her with equal excitement.

He did want this.

Fuck.

He wanted Cress. His wife.

But not like this.

"Cress, wait." He untangled them and led her to the bed, but she thought he was just moving things along. She attempted to pull him into the bed with her by his shirt. Which she'd already managed to untuck while plastering him to the bedroom door.

"Hang tight for a few minutes," he said. "I'll be back."

He left the bedroom as quickly as possible, ignoring her whine. He went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on this face. She was drunk. He was mostly drunk.

The last time they'd done this, it had ended badly.

He didn't want to do that to her.

To them.

He'd felt something tonight, with her, and he thought she felt it too. They should explore that connection. His body screamed at him to run back into that room right now and get on with it. Particularly the exploring. There was an exceptionally attractive blonde just waiting to remind him about all the memories they'd mostly forgotten.

Maybe it was just the alcohol. Their connection, their feelings—maybe it was all the alcohol.

He stuck his entire face under the faucet. A cold shower would be better, but he was afraid if he turned it on, said blonde might try to join him.

Gah.

He sat on the edge of the bathtub and thought. About his parents. And prison. And every other damned thing he could think of that he loathed about himself.

It worked.

Fifteen minutes later, when he returned to her room with a glass of water and some Advil, Cress was already asleep. Back on his pullout bed in the living room, he didn't have the same success, tossing and turning instead for most of the night.