“There are three bedrooms, all with en suites, for you to choose from.” She bows slightly, like she forgot but remembered last minute. “I hope you will be comfortable and let me know if you require anything at all.”
I smile and watch her walk away. Dash passes her, looking spicy, so I quickly close the door and head for the bedrooms. He bursts through the door, instantly shouting in a lowered but not less angry tone, “Jane!”
I close the door to a bedroom and pause there, hoping he will just give up and go back to his kind in the house that’s the size of an urban high school.
But he doesn’t.
He rushes through this door as well, just as I’m pretending to admire the general splendor of the oversized rooms. And looking for things to knock him out with so I can make my escape.
“This is the guesthouse for people with children. It’s not suitable for my fiancée.” His face is red and weird.
I back up slowly, lifting a finger. “You lied! You are a liar! Mr. Perfect Doctor is a liar! Who knew?” It isn’t even strong enough or what I am feeling, but I don’t know how to get it all out. I feel like I might explode, but if I do he might end up dead.
He slumps, and my Dash comes sailing back in. “You never would have come. And I desperately needed you to come. Why can’t you see that? You aren’t easy to introduce because you like your routine and you hate everyone.”
“What! I don’t hate everyone.” He’s blaming me? I fling my arms, suddenly angrier than I have ever been. He’s blaming me, which infuriates me, but I am far more pissed because he’s admitted to lying, which is petty since we both already knew he was. “You are an asshole! You—”
“Stop shouting, please.”
I lean in, not shouting but my tone getting much sharper. “You lied. You said your family was country-club wealthy. This is something else. She mocked my eyes, and your dad said I might die early from it. And the whole Asian thing was weird. It was like being with Angie during one of her Klan moments. Here in Virginia, I actually believe there still are some Klan.”
He starts to make a motion toward me but stops himself, maybe realizing where it will get him.
“Your mother hates me. She called me an orphan and told me she would help me fit in! Who even says that?” I stomp to my bed and lift the silk and fluffy gowns from the bed. “She left these here for me—picked my clothes for me! This one doesn’t even have a back. Maybe I’ll wear that one, and we can talk about my scars all night long.” I am on the verge of tears.
He lifts his hands like he might choke me and walks toward me. He doesn’t choke me but takes the dresses and tosses them into the pile of fluff and lace and silk. “Baby, she means well. I swear. They aren’t racist. You do look a little ethnic in some lights, but I like that about you. You’re beautiful. I love every scar and flaw on you. And your eyes make you look unique.”
“No girl, even an emotionally disabled one like me, likes to be called unique or flawed! I’m a hobbit here! A little circus freak with the weird eyes and the birth defects and the scars. Your mom isn’t even human. No older woman can walk in those shoes. Did you see her heels? They’re four inches, and she’s already probably five eight! She doesn’t even need them.”
“Nine, she’s five foot nine, but it doesn’t matter. I love you. I love that you’re short and sort of different from anyone else I’ve ever dated. I did leave here, Jane, you will recall. I don’t live the way they do; I don’t need it. I never did.”
“You sound like them too! You sound weird here. You said befouled before and now you’re all,” I mimic him. “ ‘You will recall.’ ”
He wraps his huge hands around my face and kisses my cheek. “Stop! You are overreacting.”
I pull back. “Really? After the circus freak comments and the birth defects and the ‘oh, you must be Asian,’ that’s where you want to go right now—overreacting? That’s the choice you’re making here?”
“No.” He thinks for a second. He looks scared, and not because I’m a sniper. He’s never seen me flip out about things that are not work related. He’s never seen me act like a girl. I’ve never really seen it either, but I can’t stop. “Where is my super-cool unemotional fiancée who never gets worked up or fazed by anything? You never have the right response, I always have to remind you how to be or when to hug. Now you’re emotional and crazy? When old you returns, let her know I miss her.”