Chapter 28
Diana
Stevie kicks her feet onto my coffee table, wiggling her perfectly-painted kelly green toenails. “Big deal. Let your grandma throw a nice party. You’ll eat some good food, maybe get some gifts out of it. What’s the harm?”
After I hung up with my grandma this afternoon, I immediately texted Stevie an SOS. She came over as soon as school let out to talk me down, but she’s not getting it.
I slouch beside her, a bowl of Ike’s leftover soup balanced on a pillow on my lap.
I’m still not a hundred percent, and this stuff has medicinal properties.
Medicinal as in, a dead sexy man labored over this soup and served it to me in bed.
Medicinal. “You don’t understand. None of this is real.
Wouldn’t you feel like a phony throwing a whole expensive wedding reception and accepting gifts? ”
Stevie raises her eyebrows. “Okay, so it’s not traditional. It doesn’t mean it’s not a marriage. Let Patricia celebrate. It might be her only chance.”
I choke on my broth. “That’s a low blow.”
She snickers. “Are you saying you’ll get married again after this thing with Ike is over? You’ll give your grandma a chance to plan a wedding?”
I imagine the possibility for a fraction of a second until my brain rejects the mental image. Some other guy? And where would we live? New York, I guess. I try to picture some New Yorker making a pot of soup and shake my head. “Obviously not.”
“So let your grandma have her fun. Enjoy it.” She elbows me. “You’re acting kind of spoiled, you know.”
“I am not.” I sip my broth.
“Yeah, you are.”
“Listen,” I lean forward, setting my empty bowl on the coffee table.
I realize she’s right, but I don’t like it.
My grandparents have taken good care of me.
The new hardwood flooring and freshly-painted walls around me are evidence of that.
“You’re only allowed to call me out on my crap when it suits me. ”
She laughs.
“You’re right.” I sigh. “I can muscle through a reception. Let my grandmother live her dream.” I sigh again. My pride is batting against the box I’ve stuffed it into.
“You’re not mad at Ike anymore?”
“Who said I was mad at Ike?” This town.
She shrugs. “Marlow, and also Hal. I guess he was having lunch at the counter when it all went down. Word was, you were over here digging a shallow grave behind the boat shack.” She titters. “Marlow said the diner was packed. No doubt word is out.”
“Great.” Good to know that I’ve made no progress with the people of this town.
Then Marlow pushes through the door, dumping her purse on the floor.
“I’m here for damage control.” She’s still dressed for work, with her hair in a messy ponytail.
She drops onto the cushion on my other side in a French fry scent cloud, kicking her feet onto the coffee table.
“But I only have a little bit of time before Brady’s game, so let’s do this. ”
“Stevie already talked me into the reception.” I roll my eyes. “You hiked over here for nothing.”
“I wasn’t thinking about the reception.” Marlow arches an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side. “You’re not mad at Ike?”
“Ugh. No. I never was. This is trademark York behavior. Ike wouldn’t have planned something like this.
It’s not him. I doubt he’s looking forward to it either.
” I grin, picturing the event. “I mean, can you see Ike wearing a tuxedo in a tent full of retired executives who want to talk about their real estate holdings?” I snort.
He’s going to hate that. Then I feel my friends' eyes on me. “What?”
They don’t say anything. Instead, they sit on either side of me, looking at me with poorly-concealed glee. Marlow is all but bouncing on her cushion.
“What?” I ask again.
Stevie beams. “Nothing.”
“Stevie Saoirse Sullivan,” I warn.
Marlow titters. “Uh-oh. She’s pulling out the big guns, Saoirse."
I scowl at Stevie. “You know what? I’m remembering why I moved to New York.” I try to push myself off the couch, but both of my friends drag me back.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Stevie says with a bright smile.
“You’re just so married. You get Ike. I’ve been watching you two.
We all have. You’re fighting and fighting against this, but nothing makes me happier than two of my best friends—who are so perfect for each other, by the way—being so obviously blissfully wed.
” The accusation spills out of her like she’s been holding it in for a while.
Her words are like seeing myself on one of those hostile Target check-out cameras.
My life is playing in 4K—the nights watching baseball with Ike, laughing at his left-field jokes, and the feel of his hands in my hair.
And his kisses. In 4K, Ike Wentworth kisses Diana York like the world could end at any moment, and it’s his last chance.
And Diana is happy. She is married. She is happily freaking married.
She got her joie de vivre back, but a bearded man came with it.
No. No, no no. I shake my head to clear my thoughts.
I’m happy because I’ve spent a few months in the one place where I’ve always felt connected and loved—the lighthouse—and it’s finally being renovated.
That’s all. Ike is fun, but even he wants this marriage to be temporary.
If this marriage was genuine, the high stakes and reality of it would pop the bubble. I know I’m right about that.
“She’s glitching.” Stevie says soberly. “We need to unplug her and plug her back in.”
She’s so close to being right. “That’s exactly it, though. That’s what happened when I moved onto this island. I unplugged. Now I’m plugging back in, and I’m happier.” I frown. “That’s all. It’s not the fake marriage. Don’t read into it.”
Marlow swipes open her phone with a heavy sigh. “Let me just…” she trails off as she clicks around.
“What?” I ask. Does she have photographic evidence or something?
“I’m Googling ‘cognitive dissonance.’ Or maybe it’s straightforward denial.” She looks over my head at Stevie. “Do you think she’s in denial?”
I shove her knee away from me. “I’m not in denial. I know myself. Marriage won’t make me happy, and none of this is real anyway. I am not happily married to Ike, you guys are just bored. This town needs a movie theater.”
Marlow nods. “It’s denial, then.” She drops her phone onto her lap. “Because you’re clearly very happily, genuinely married to Ike—”
Just then, the man himself walks in from the breezeway, and the three of us freeze. When did he come in? Marlow’s mouth hangs open, mid-sentence. Palpable joy radiates off of Stevie, but she’s smart enough to keep it to herself. My face burns at the thought of what Ike must’ve overheard.
He loosens his tie, taking in the three of us lined up on the couch, wide-eyed and silent. The clock ticks a few times. A seagull screeches outside the window.
“I’ll come back later.” He turns.
“No, no! Stay!” Stevie jumps up.
“I was just leaving,” Marlow adds. “Brady has a game.”
“Ugh. You two are ridiculous,” I say as Stevie shoves her feet into her tennis shoes.
“You don’t have to leave because Ike’s here.
” That makes us look more guilty. We might as well own up to the conversation.
“Ike, I know you heard Marlow. They’re ganging up on me.
Tell them they’re crazy. Remind them that nothing has changed, and this marriage is only temporary,” I say with a light laugh.
Easy breezy. No pressure. Despite what he just heard, I’m offering him an out.
Then why are you heartsick at the thought of him taking it? A gruff voice asks in my head.
Zip your handsome lips, Tom Selleck. I have an ego to protect.
Something changes in Ike's eyes. He chuckles. “She’s right, you guys. Nothing has changed. Same old, same old.” He reaches for his shoulder, then quickly tugs his tie out from his collar instead.
He drops it on the coffee table. “We’re doing what needs to be done to save this place.
” His mouth forms a tight line, and he sinks onto the cushion Stevie just vacated.
He rests his head on the couch. He looks drained.
Marlow snags her purse, hitching it onto her shoulder. “Oh, and that includes flirting with each other? Kissing in the kitchen when you think we aren’t looking?”
“Listen—”
Stevie cuts me off. “I guess the renovation work also includes gravitating to each other every chance you get without realizing it.” She gestures to where we’re sitting inches apart, despite the roomy couch.
She salutes obnoxiously, then follows Marlow out the door.
“Bye, guys. Enjoy your denial,” she calls from the breezeway.
The exterior door bangs behind them, and Ike and I are alone. He turns his head against the cushion, his brown eyes searching my face. “Hi,” he says, his voice low.
I smile. “Hi.”
“Are you angry with me about the party thing?” he asks gently.
What? Oh, the reception. I was so caught up worrying that he thinks I’m in love with him and deluded into believing this marriage is real, I had almost forgotten. I chuckle. Now that we’re on friendly terms, I appreciate Ike’s candor. It settles issues quickly.
“I’m not mad at you, no. My grandma, on the other hand…” I purse my lips. “Her enthusiasm tends to end up with me in formalwear, feeling like a show horse in an auction.” I’m frowning now.
His chest rises and falls slowly. “Yeah, I don’t know what happened. One minute I was introducing her to my mom, the next she forwarded a list of acceptable tux shops.”
“She always wanted to plan the big wedding for me. I guess I’ll let her.
” I turn to face him, leaning my temple against the cushion.
I twist my lips to the side, thinking about what a big party means for him.
It will be dozens of my grandparents’ friends grilling him about who he is and who his people are, trying to suss out his net worth. “You don’t mind too much?”
“Not a bit,” he says intensely. His gaze drops to my lips then back to my eyes. Lines form between his eyebrows. “Did you forget something?”
“Umm, no? I met the electrician today. We made a plan to move forward with the work before things freeze.” We also made a secret plan I can’t tell Ike about. Then I put in my hours at work. I talked to my Grandma. That’s it. “I don’t think so…”
He taps his lips like he’s thinking. “I think you forgot something.”
I’m wracking my brain over here. Is it his birthday? Oh no. When is Ike’s birthday? Did I miss it?
He taps his lips again, with emphasis this time. “You forgot something.” He tips his chin up.
Oh. I feel the corners of my mouth turn up in a half smile. He wants his “welcome home” kiss. I don’t think I’ve missed a day this month, and I’d hate to reset the clock.
“If I keep kissing you, people are going to think you like me, and this whole thing is real.” It’s an immature way to test the waters, but I’m scared. I don’t like the thoughts I had while my friends were interrogating me. I want to know where Ike stands.
He looks at my mouth. “How about this?” He moves close enough that I can feel his warmth.
He wraps his big hand around my elbow, pulling me in.
“We do whatever we want, and stop caring what anyone thinks,” he grumbles, ducking to cover my lips with his impatiently, like he’s trying to make himself forget that he cares a lot about what people think.
No one would sacrifice his time the way he does without wanting to make people happy.
But his kissing works. I’m starting to forget what I was so worked up about. Ike takes his time, and I let him. The “welcome home” kiss is becoming my favorite part of our day.
A while later—a long while later—he comes up for air, out of breath and grinning like he won. “I like you, Diana. We’ll figure out what’s real and what’s not later.”