20. 20
Selene
At the bar in Battle Harbour, I try something called Screech, and it burns my throat.
I have my first beer straight from the bottle.
I get to dance.
Diandra talks to the bartender, who seems to be in charge of the music, and the clunky country twang quickly becomes a mix of ’80s and ’90s pop hits. We take over the small square of space in front of the pinball machine, and a few of the men push back the tables for us.
We’re also joined by a few of the men.
“Your name is Coy?” I demand, and catch myself too late. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”
“You can be rude.”
“I really can’t be.”
Benny drove us down, but Diandra refused to let him come to the bar with us. “Go see Margie,” she told him. “You know you want to.”
“Who’s Margie?” I ask from the back seat.
“The woman he would like to be his girlfriend if he had more time to spend with her,” Diandra threw over the seat. “We’re giving you time, so take it.”
“Mag won’t like it…”
“Mag won’t know anything and he won’t be back until tomorrow. No one will know who we are,” she assured him. “It’s better this way. More fun. They’ll recognize you straight away.”
“They’ll recognize Her Majesty.”
I wince at the title. Not tonight. I don’t want to be the queen tonight.
“Would you recognize her tonight?” I met Benny’s gaze in the rearview mirror, and smile, a toothier grin than my usual close-lipped, tight smile.
This is exciting. This is fun. I’m twenty-nine years old, and I’ve never snuck out of the house to go dancing before.
It’s not exactly sneaking out when you get a drive, but it’s still something.
“And she’s not Her Majesty tonight,” Diandra continued. “She’s Selene. No—Selly. Sally. She’s Sally, and I’m Dee, and we’re from Wabush.”
“They’ll know who you are,” Benny warned her.
“They’ll pretend they don’t.”
Diandra’s—no, Dee—ruse works. I tell everyone I’m Sally from Wabush. I talk to men. So many men.
There are only a few women there, and none of them talk to us.
I talk to everyone. I talk more than I’ve talked in a long time. And I dance. And between meeting and smiling, and refusing the drinks they offer to buy me, I talk to Diandra.
About Magnus.
“He still hasn’t kissed me,” I confide during one of our bathroom breaks.
Beer, apparently, makes you visit the washroom more frequently. And Diandra never lets me out of her sight, so she comes with me every time I go.
“How has he not kissed you?” Diandra seems aghast at the news, which makes me feel better. Better… and worse. Because I’ve been thinking a lot about the lack of kissing in my marriage, and I’ve come to the conclusion it’s my fault.
Until Diandra.
“He’s an idiot,” she announces.
“He doesn’t want to kiss me.”
“He wants to kiss you. This entire bar wants to kiss you, so of course he does.”
“The entire bar does not want to kiss me.”
She just looks at me. “Have you not… do you not spend any time together?” she asks tactfully.
“We sleep together every night. Sleep,” I repeat, so she understands. “We have dinner and breakfast together, and we go for walks after dinner when we can, and he hasn’t… even… tried… to kiss me.”
I hadn’t realized how frustrated I am about the fact until I say the words.
“It is an arranged marriage, so maybe that’s not part of the arrangement,” I say sadly.
“I heard it was a marriage of convenience, and it is not convenient when your husband won’t kiss you.”
Just as she says that, the washroom door opens and a woman enters.
I hold my breath as she pushes past us at the sink and enters a stall. “She didn’t hear,” Diandra mouths.
I lift my shoulders, heart beating wildly, wondering if our game is up. Benny arrived a few minutes shy of the hour he gave us, accompanied by a woman. They took a table at the back and seemed more interested in each other than anything Diandra and I are doing.
“We should go back out,” I tell her quietly.
“You should kiss him,” she says in her regular voice. “Stop waiting. You’re a strong, independent woman, and if you want to be kissed, you shouldn’t wait to be kissed. Lay one on him.”
“I don’t think I can do that.”
“You didn’t think you could do any of this, and look at you.”
I look at myself in the mirror. I don’t look like the usual Selene. My cheeks are flushed from the dancing—and also the alcohol—my hair, which Diandra piled up in a clip, seems ready to tumble around my shoulders.
I look pretty. I look like I’m having fun.
A toilet flushes and the woman comes out of the stall. She’s short and curvy and wears quite a lot of blue eyeshadow. “Who are you planning on kissing?” she asks as I move aside to give her access to the sink.
“No one here,” Diandra tells her.
“That’s a good thing, seeing as how most of these men are spoken for. Don’t let them tell you any differently.”
“I’m not here to meet any man, especially one who is spoken for,” I tell her.
She nods. “Good thing.” And then she leaves without drying her hands.
Diandra and I wait until she leaves, and then we burst into laughter. “I think you’ve been warned,” Diandra says.
“I’ve never been warned before,” I tell her.
“Add it to the list. But seriously—” She catches my arm as I turn to leave. “You should kiss him. It’ll do him good, show him that he’s being an idiot.”
“Do you really think he’s an idiot? Maybe this is just how he wants the marriage to be.”
“I know Magnus, and I seriously doubt that. Besides, my brother says he’s always looking at you. Looking at you like he likes what he sees.”
“Did he really say that?”
“I think he likes you.”
“Duncan?”
“No, Magnus! Duncan likes you, too, but not like that.”
“I like him. I like both of them—all of you. I like being queen,” I whisper, surprising myself with the admission. I’m not surprised that I like my new role, only that I’m admitting it.
“You should like it,” Diandra says with a grin. “And you should kiss your king. Now, let’s go dance.”