Chapter 32
Ike
I don’t know what’s going through Diana’s mind. Usually, she’s easy to read, but at the moment her gaze is darting from my eyes, to my mouth, to my bowtie and back as I lead her around the floor.
Slow, slow, quick-quick. Slow, slow, quick-quick. I recite the steps in my head while I wait for Diana to say something. Anything. Patty said I was a natural dancer, and Diana would be putty in my hands. So far she’s more like unreadable granite.
“Oh…” Her word is barely more than a puff of air against my neck. “When you say ‘real’ do you mean—”
I smile. I’m trying so hard not to scare her off. “I don’t want to hear the words ‘fake marriage’ or ‘business agreement’ come out of your mouth ever again.” So much for not scaring her off.
Her toe catches on my polished shoe, and she trips.
I steady her in my arms. My heart is thumping, whether from joy or terror, I can’t tell.
I can’t believe I did it. I finally told her.
Stevie has been pushing for this. Patty couldn’t be more obvious about what she wants.
Everyone seems to be Team Wentworth… except for my silent wife.
“Oh,” she says again.
“I wish you’d say something other than ‘oh’.” I chuckle. I promised her no pressure. I need to deliver. “You know what? You don’t have to say anything. Just think about it.” I squeeze her delicate hand. “I promise, we’re good either way, okay?”
“I’m thinking about it, okay?” Her words are careful. I can tell she doesn’t want to hurt me, and that in itself is pretty incredible considering where we started. Her red lips curl. Geez, she’s pretty.
I duck to press a kiss against her soft cheek. “Okay.”
Am I still falling for this woman? No. It’s done.
Over. I’ve fallen. I’ve said enough, though.
If I say anything else she’ll dart into the woods like a doe.
I shouldn’t be surprised that I caught her off guard.
This isn’t the usual order of events for normal people: First came antagonism, then came marriage, then comes love, then comes the baby in the baby carriage.
So, I got things a little off. She warned me of her feelings on marriage.
We agreed to the terms. I’m the one changing them.
Over Diana’s shoulder I spot her grandparents and pray that Diana doesn’t see them.
If I haven’t scared her away, their faces will.
Patty looks victorious, like she’s already planning a baby shower.
That should scare me, but I haven’t forgotten Christmas morning with Diana.
I don’t think I’ll ever let go of that daydream.
I lead us to the other side of the dance floor, away from Charles and Patty. I want to bundle this moment in bubble wrap and move us away from where the high pressure grandparents can break anything.
Unfortunately, dancing around this tent is like being inside a pinball machine.
My bubble wrap isn’t enough—it’s obstacle after obstacle in here.
I’ve led us straight to Diana’s mom. And my mom.
What’s happening there? I don’t know Charlotte well enough to read her, but I know my mom.
My mother’s words and expression are both heated.
“What?” Diana follows my gaze over her shoulder. “Oh, no. Do you think we should…?”
“Maybe.” But there’s no time for that now. The song winds down, and Patty and I made a plan for this. I hope I can get it right when I’m so distracted by whatever is going down between our moms.
I twirl Diana to the side, catching her off guard again.
Her delicate laugh and the swirling layers of her white dress are picture-perfect.
I spin her back, dropping her into a perfect dip.
The surprise in her bright blue eyes is another one of those Christmas morning moments that I'll never forget. This is worth every minute of the awkward dance lessons and practice with Patty. Diana’s lips look so kissable. I lean down and—
Tink-tink-tink-tink! Someone tinks flatware against a glass before I can kiss my wife. Tink-tink-tink-tink-tink!
“I have something to say,” a woman announces over the soft applause and fading notes of “Witchcraft.”
I pull Diana back to her feet, looking for the source in the awkward quiet that follows.
“Mom,” Diana mutters like a warning.
I pull her against my side protectively, moving us to the edge of the floor toward our seats.
“A toast.” Charlotte stands at the edge of the floor, holding up her glass.
“You know, as a mother, your one great hope is that your child will turn out better than you did. When I got the invitation to my daughter’s reception in the mail, I knew she turned out better than me.
She fell in line with exactly what my parents always wanted—”
“Charlotte,” Charles cuts her off, standing.
“No, Dad.” Diana’s mother holds up a reassuring hand.
“Let me say this. Then I’ll leave, and you can finish turning my daughter into the WASP-y Stepford Wife you always wanted me to be.
” Her sharp laugh hangs in the tense air.
“Congratulations, Diana, on snagging the perfect man and becoming the daughter my parents always dreamed of. To Diana.” She holds up her glass.
“Oh, and Ike. The local who finally found a way to marry into York money. Kudos to you both.” She sneers.
Then she takes a long drink from her glass, slams it onto the white tablecloth, and pushes through the sea of chairs to the tent door.
Oh, not a chance, lady. I start to follow her, but Diana snags my arm. She mutters, “No, Ike. Let her go.” She reaches up, pressing a kiss to my jaw and grasping my arm. “Not tonight.”
Should I wait to defend us when her mother comes back after another fifteen years? No. “I’ll be quick.”
“Ike, please—”
“Be right back.” I’m out of the tent in eight steps. I spot Charlotte’s long brown hair as she stomps through the dark toward the house. “Charlotte,” I bark across the lawn. I catch up to her quickly.
She spins. “What?”
“Say what you want about me. I know who I am and why I married your daughter—”
“For money.” She sneers. She’s trying to hurt me by lobbing cheap shots, but she doesn’t know me.
I straighten. “I don’t care what you think of me, but you will not come here and disrespect Diana and her grandparents.” I mentally pat myself on the back for keeping my voice even.
She doesn’t respond right away. Her eyes tighten. She looks me over, and her nose wrinkles in disgust exactly the way Diana’s used to. “You think this is what Diana wants?” she asks, heavy on the sarcasm.
I can’t tell if she’s referring to me, or the opulent reception and seaside estate. Either way. “Yes. I do.”
She smirks. “Then you don’t know my daughter.”
“You do?”
“I know who she is.”
Is she delusional? “How? Her grandparents raised her.” I may have accidentally raised my voice that time.
Charlotte’s grin is eerie. It’s so similar to Diana’s, but unsettlingly disingenuous. “I know my daughter. She isn’t built for that life. For marriage. Settling down. Raising a bunch of silver spoon brats and repeating the cycle.”
Hey, those are our silver spoon brats she’s talking about. “You seem to know a lot about the daughter you abandoned.”
“You don’t know anything. I didn’t abandon her.
” She shakes her head. “I’m going to teach you something about the Yorks, new guy.
They like to be in control.” She sighs heavily, like she’s bored and explaining the obvious.
“When my parents couldn’t control me, they gave me two options: Fall in line, or I could leave, and they would raise my daughter.
” She sniffs. “Without their help, I was broke. Raising Diana in poverty wasn’t a choice I was willing to make. So… I left.”
“That isn’t true.” Diana’s shaking voice comes from the darkness behind me.
My stomach drops. I hate that Diana heard any of that. Her world is being upended, and all I can do is stand here. Helplessness isn’t a feeling I enjoy. I want to make this right, but that’s her mother’s job.
Instead, Charlotte’s unapologetic smile makes my stomach sour. There is something seriously wrong with this woman. When Diana comes to stand beside me, I can’t help but angle myself between them.
“Poverty?” I’m impressed by the strength in Diana’s voice.
Charlotte nods. “I couldn’t do that to you. I need you to understand why I left—”
“That isn’t why you left.” She moves past me, taking a few steps toward her mother. “I know my grandparents. They raised me, after all.” She moves closer. “And I know a Cartier bracelet when I see one. You haven’t been living in poverty. You’ve been taking good care of yourself.”
Charlotte scoffs. It’s as if Diana’s accusation bounces off of her.
She seems incapable of acknowledging the truth, or admitting she was caught in a lie.
“I wasted my time coming here.” She turns to leave, like she can’t physically abide being called out on her malarkey.
“I should’ve known they’d have their hooks in you by now.
” She calls over her shoulder, her voice cool and indifferent: “When you’re tired of playing by their rules, come find me. ”
Diana’s chin drops to her chest. She shivers, and it finally occurs to me that it’s breezy and cold outside of the tent. I take a few steps toward her, pulling off my suit coat and wrapping it around her shoulders.
“I’m sorry.” It isn’t my apology to offer, but I can’t stand this.
She's quiet for a little too long. “Do you think any part of what she said is true?” She lowers her voice. “Did my grandparents… push my mom out of my life?”
I don’t know. I think back on the interactions I’ve had with the Yorks, and there’s no denying that they like a certain level of control in the lives of the people they love. The fact that Diana is standing there wearing a wedding dress, married to a man she used to despise is incriminating.
But there was something off about Charlotte’s accusation.
My instincts tell me not to trust the woman who has made no effort to connect with her daughter in over a decade.
I don’t care what her parents threatened to do, a loving person wouldn’t abandon her child like that. Did the Yorks force Charlotte away?
“My gut says no.” I take her hand, turning her toward me. “But talk to your grandparents. They love you. We both know that.”
Some of her warmth returns at the words, and she almost smiles up at me. “They love you, too, you know.” She links our hands together. “I can’t believe my grandma taught you to fox trot.”