49. What You Want
Summer
My face froze. My lips literally felt like they couldn’t move. All I could do was stare at him.
“Oi.” The syllable was gentle, and so was Roman’s hand on my face. “Too soon?” A twist of a smile.
“N-no. Of course not.” Oh. Tea. I took a sip, then another one, because if I was doing that, I didn’t have to talk. “I just—” I tried to laugh. “Wow. That’s a lot.”
“Ah,” he said. “It is just me, then. Bugger.”
“No!” I said. “I like you so much. At times, of course, I haven’t liked you at all, but that was earlier, obviously, because now, I—I think you’re great. Really. I’m attracted to you, too. Well, you’ve probably noticed. But you know I’m not in … in shape to feel anything like that. To trust anything like that. I’m still all over the place. You’re a lot. A lot of … personality. Of strength. A lot for me to have to stand up to. You’re … you’ve helped me so much, but I’m not?—”
“In other words,” he said, “It’s not me, it’s you. Except that it is me. But what d’you mean, ‘a lot for me to have to stand up to?’ You stand up to me just bloody fine.”
“Maybe,” I said. “I mean, I accept that it feels that way to you. And it’s so much me and not you. I’m sorry if this has felt like … like false pretenses. Taking your money for the dress and the shoes, not to mention this house and the dinner. And the hotel. And the lingerie. And the painting. You can’t have wanted that painting. That was so over the top. I can?—”
“Do not,” he said, his face looking nearly dangerous, “tell me that you’ll pay me back.”
“Oh. Right, then. I won’t. I can’t pay for the painting anyway. It was thousands of dollars. Maybe they’ll take it back, though. They probably haven’t even shipped it yet. You could?—”
“I bought it,” he said, biting the words off, “because I wanted it. It’s not your responsibility, and neither am I. I can take care of myself.”
“Oh. Of course.” I’d hurt him, and that was the last thing I’d wanted to do. If anybody had ever seemed solid and strong enough to be a launching pad back into life, it was Roman. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel anything, or that he didn’t need anything. Besides, that was just his surface, and hadn’t I learned enough to know that people were more than their surface?
Also, what did I do now?
He seemed to know, because he said, “No worries. I said too much, that’s all. That’s on me. And you’re running again. That’s on you.” He threw the duvet back and got out of bed. “I’m going to take a shower and get dressed. Got some work to do before tomorrow.”
Oh. I was still in his bed. I scrambled out, thinking, Right. Right. I’ll go … for a walk on the beach. I’ll get a coffee. A decaf one, so I’m not up all night. What time is it? It must be … afternoon? Evening? When? I won’t get anything to eat, or not much, because this isn’t my real life, and I can’t afford to eat out. Oh. Delilah’s still got that credit card. I need to … I’d better message her. Feeling about two inches tall. Like I’d come along on this trip, had taken all this from Roman, had made him feel like it was a romance, when I’d turned out not to want that at all. That I’d promised him understanding, and closeness, and maybe more.
That I’d been exactly as deceptive in my actions as Felipe had been with me. All this time, I’d thought I was the blameless one, but maybe not. Maybe there are all sorts of ways to chip away at a marriage.
All of that whirled through my head as I grabbed my tea, wished for a towel, wished for my clothes. As I heard a door slam in the distance and Delilah shout, “Hello?”
Roman came out of the bathroom fast. I thought in response to Delilah, but apparently not, because he strode across the floor to me, naked and soaking wet. He’d been in the shower, and it was still running. I was just registering that when he grabbed me, kissed me quick and hard, stepped back from me as I stood stunned, and said, “Stop torturing yourself.” Gruffly.
I said, “What?” Not my brightest moment on the planet.
“You’re standing here suffering, feeling like you’ve hurt me. You haven’t hurt me, or if you have, I’ll get over it.”
“I took your money,” I said.
“I don’t care about the bloody money!” It was a shout, and then he seemed to recover himself, because he shoved his dripping hair back and said in a more controlled voice, “I did exactly what I wanted to do, and so did you. I asked you to come for the weekend, and you did. You never told me you’d live with me. You told me you wouldn’t. You never told me you’d love me.”
“But you want—” I started to say.
“You can’t always get what you want,” he said.
“So we’re—” I began again, and then had to stop, because how was I planning to end that sentence?
“No dramas, Summer,” Roman said, looking weary. “We like each other. We had sex a couple of times, and it was bloody good. I’m not going to tell you that I didn’t mean what I said, because I don’t lie to myself if I can help it. You’re not ready for anything like that, though. You told me you weren’t. You were clear. No deception there. But I’m not going to ring you again after tomorrow. If you decide you want me, you’re going to have to do the running. I’m not much on sacrifice, though, so don’t call unless you want to do this for real. And don’t expect me to wait for you.”
Summer
“All righty, then,” Delilah said, when I came out of Roman’s bedroom. “That’s quite an entrance. So much for caution and rebuilding our strength and our ability to be alone before we jump into a relationship with somebody new. At least I think that’s how your explanation generally goes. I haven’t always paid that much attention.”
I said, “I need to put on clothes for this conversation.” Rather than a towel. I’d hastily snatched my sweat-soaked clothes off the floor of Roman’s bathroom while he showered, because I hadn’t been able to figure out any non-awkward way of getting them back, but I couldn’t bring myself to wear them, clammy and damp as they were. I had peeked out to make sure Delilah was alone, though. In a bikini and coverup, with most of the contents of the fridge and pantry spread out on the kitchen bench before her as if she were taking inventory. Three kinds of cheese and two kinds of crackers, plus apples, mandarins, grapes, and chocolate truffles. And fresh-squeezed orange juice. And ice cream, because that was what she was scooping out into a bowl. Not a small bowl, either. The only thing she hadn’t got out was the soup. Too nutritious and not caloric enough, probably.
“Well, that’s one thought,” Delilah said. “Your body could give a person an inferiority complex, you realize, and your towel’s seriously slipping. Also, you know you’ve got some marks there, right? Beard burn, probably. You could think of that next time before you traumatize me.” She took a bite of chocolate ice cream and followed it up with a cracker topped with a big wedge of sharp cheddar. I was so distracted, I barely shuddered.
“There isn’t going to be a next time,” I said, not bothering to fix my towel, because what was the point?
“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows, picked up a chocolate truffle, and took a nibble. “OK, I’m gazing firmly at your left eye. That seems safe. That bad, huh? I’d have sworn Roman was your type. Masterful.”
“Masterful? He is, sure, but how is that my type? It’s so not my type. Felipe was …”
“A big baby, yeah,” Delilah said. “So obviously insecure, and incredibly immature under the posing. All that bling. All that celebrating. Ugh. And you’re telling me he was your type? Please. He was the giant mistake you couldn’t admit to yourself.”
“You discerned this at the age of twelve,” I said.
“No,” Delilah said, cutting up the rest of the truffle, sprinkling it over the ice cream, and digging in. “I looked up the trial a few weeks back and read the immaturity thing—that trial generated a lot of coverage—and agreed with it, but what was he when you got together? Twenty? Even younger than you, and newsflash, you were born mature and he wasn’t. And then, of course, he had his mommy to take care of him. Again. That would be you. Hey,” she said when I opened my mouth, “you’ve never talked about it. I had to form an opinion somehow. But the way you are with Roman, it’s obvious you like the strong, masterful, grown-man deal way better. Sexual chemistry much? Sparks flying all over the place, even while I was concussed and you were all bloody. Even if they’re hostile sparks, they’re still sparking away like mad, and this weekend, sorry, but you haven’t seemed hostile. You’ve seemed like that thing they say.” She made air quotes with her free hand. “Swept off your feet. Of course, he is pretty rich. And good-looking, I guess, if you like tough old guys, even though he’s not nearly as handsome as Felipe. Kind of like Harrison Ford, and lots of older women still think he’s hot. Roman might actually not be a criminal, too, so there’s that.”
“I’m not discussing this,” I said. “Honestly—I can’t. Except that I’ll just say—Harrison Ford? The guy’s eighty! And listen, I think we need to leave today.”
“Today?” Delilah blinked at me and ate a big wedge of mandarin, then followed it up with the truffle-enhanced ice cream. “It’s already almost five, and I’m going out with the new friends in a couple of hours. It’s trivia night at this pub. Not the one with Daryl Harshbarger’s equally evil clone, so no worries. They want me to be part of their team. I know soccer, because there was probably some hero worship of you back there when I was young and less discerning, and I know some genetics and biology, too. I also know movies, and there’ll be more questions on that than astronomy. So unless Roman did—what? Something nonconsensual or whatever? That would be totally uncool, and I’d support you, but—really?”
I didn’t answer, because I was looking at my phone. For some reason, I still wasn’t going down for my robe. I was standing almost naked out here like some kind of declaration, even though I was trembling inside. Probably because I was trembling inside. I couldn’t manage any more emotion. I was too raw to cry, if that makes sense, and was shutting down instead. I could feel the doors slamming shut at this moment, like hatches on a submarine that’s about to dive. It was like my brain was outside my body, like some of the bad times last spring, and I was watching myself disintegrate. It felt terrifying to go back there, and if I had to distract myself by standing around half-naked while Delilah made snarky comments, that was what I was going to do. That, and check flight times.
I put the phone down. “OK, we can’t. No flights. We’re still leaving tomorrow morning. Go do your trivia thing. And no, of course he didn’t do anything like that. Roman is a … a good person. An ethical person.” I sounded eighty years old myself.
“Uh-huh,” Delilah said. “You know—you could come with us. Distraction, right? Also, you could answer all the math questions, and who knows what else, what with your college education and reading habits and all. I don’t know anybody who reads nonfiction all the time except you, at least no women. Right now, you’re reading about the bubonic plague and the Lewis and Clark expedition. No wonder you’re depressed. Ever heard of escapist fiction? There’s a reason people like it. You get to escape.”
“I like to be informed,” I said stiffly. “‘Those that fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.’ Winston Churchill.”
Delilah rolled her eyes. “Come on. You just want to know that other people suffered more than you.”
“Also possible,” I said.
She sighed. “You’re extremely weird, but—hey. Trivia knowledge base. Come on. It’ll be fun.”
If I had to smile for hours tonight, my face was going to crack. I’d spent months—possibly years—wearing a mask, but somehow, my mask had dissolved, and I couldn’t recreate it. I said, “Thanks. I’m going to the movies, I think. Maybe go for a walk first and try to push myself some, though. I’ve always wanted to live on the ocean. Might as well take the chance. I should probably start doing pushups and planks and things, too. Physical accomplishment is supposed to make you mentally stronger. Worth a try.”
“Fine,” Delilah said. “Be all super functional like that. You may want to put on some clothes first, though. That’s a lot.”