Page 20 of Enemies to Lobsters
Finally, she cracks a hint of a smile. “What is it with you and Diana, anyway?”
I should have never agreed to this tour. I should’ve known her goal was to corner me and talk about stuff I don’t want to talk about. “Nothing. She hates me, I don’t care for her. The end.” I stand in an attempt to put an end to Stevie’s sneaky, surprise interrogation.
“I don’t buy that. You don’t dislike anyone. You’re like if Mother Teresa had a beard and knew her way around a chainsaw.” She sits on the bed, yanking me back down beside her. “What happened?”
She’s digging, but I’m not giving her anything. The past is the past. My present is downstairs alone with August. I need to get down there. “Maybe you should be asking her these questions.”
“I have. Diana won’t speak negatively about anyone, but she responds to how she’s treated. Full stop. This town hates her, so she retreats into her shell like a turtle. She’s been nothing but kind, and you’ve never been nice to her.” The words fly out of her fast and heated, but under her breath. How long has she been holding all of this inside?
“Do I need to show you the pictures of what she did to my mailbox?” I tease, but at her warning glare, I hold my hands up and tack on: “Okay, okay. I’ll be nice.”
“You’ll treat her the way you treat everyone else?”
I exhale. “She’s my wife. It’s the least I can do.” I’m serious. I have no interest in being miserable for a year. I consider thenext twelve months of my life and the woman downstairs in an immaculate white dress who’s loading our green refrigerator with caviar. I also don’t want to feel like I’m walking on eggshells for a year. I don’t have terrible manners, but I’d like to wear sweatpants at home, and anything less than a three piece suit feels underdressed around Diana. “Can you talk to her about relaxing a little bit?”
Stevie looks genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”
Is she for real? “You know, how she’s always so—” I don’t know how to say it, so I pantomime a constipated member of the British Royal Family.
She snickers. “Like a butler fromDownton Abbey?”
“You know what I mean.” I bump her shoulder. “If I promise to be nice, can you get her to be ninety percent less stuffy?”
She shakes her head. “You really don’t know her at all.” Then she stands, dragging me back to my feet. “But I’m going to enjoy watching all of this unfold.”
Chapter 10
Diana
My eyes are begging Stevie to stay, but she’s ignoring them.Don’t leave me alone with my husband,I plead telepathically.
But she and August start for the door, eager to beat the rising tide and the setting sun. Stevie spent the afternoon helping me get settled, and when Ike and August arrived she was my buffer. August seems like a good guy, though. When Stevie took Ike for a tour of the house—code for taking him upstairs to threaten him; I know how Stevie rolls—August and I talked. He’s nice enough. He fixed a little issue with the fridge when I couldn’t get it running. He has a handsome face and a kind smile. And he doesn’t get under my skin the way his brother does. Maybe I married the wrong Wentworth.
“I’ll check on you tomorrow.” Stevie leans in for a hug and whispers, barely audible, “You’ll be fine. Ike is a good guy. But you have tochill out, lady. It’s like I’m hugging an electric fence.” She tries to pull away.
I’m not going to let her go. I squeeze tighter. Ultimately, she pries my arms off of her with a snicker. August is already outside. Stevie leaves, and the door closes behind her with a creak of its rusty hinges.
Now it’s quiet. It’s just me, Ike Wentworth, and a kitchen full of comfort food. I have that going for me, at least. I’ll have to run back to the city to fill some suitcases with clothes and get my work computer, but with what I have on hand I can live here happily for a week. Except Ike is sitting on the couch, pretending not to watch me while he scrolls on his phone. Suddenly I’m picturing bars on the windows and I don’t know what to do with my hands.
It’s almost nine p.m. At home I go to sleep around eleven, but this seems like a good time to call it a day. I make for the stairs like I’m darting across a bed of hot coals.
“Running away?” Ike asks before I get there.
The salty accusation brings me to an abrupt halt out of pride. “Yes, obviously.”
“Don’t you think we should talk?” He’s lounging on the brown leather cushion of our new couch, totally at ease. It’s unfair that he is so calm about all of this, but he’s right. We do need to talk.
“Yes.” I take the cushion at the opposite end of the sofa. “Why don’t you start?”
He looks surprised. “Okay.” He sits up, propping his elbows on his knees. “Let’s start with the sleeping arrangement—”
“I am not sleeping with you,” I gush in a panic and immediately wish I could reverse the clock. Heat washes over my face.
“I know.” He nods, letting my craziness slide. He’s going way too easy on me. I don’t trust it. “I figured you’d get the bedroom. I’ll take the couch.” He pauses for a beat, and with a slight wince, adds, “But we’ll have to figure out the bathroom.”
He’s right. The only bathroom isn’t conveniently located, but I’ve already thought this through. “Since I work remotely, I’ll shower later. The bathroom is yours in the morning.” But I wantto be out of the bedroom before he comes through. “What time do you usually leave for work?”
“That’s going to depend on the tide.” His warm eyes find mine, and I look away. “I try to be in my office by eight. And I’m going to get us a rowboat.”
