“Seriously, Rath, let’s go to the emergency room, you look terrible.”
“And after I just called you beautiful.” He shakes his balloon of a head. “How’s that fair?”
“Please?” I practically beg.
But he doesn’t budge. “Let’s get some coffee; it will calm down.”
Unable to convince him, we get into his car—thankful we’re using his driver today—and get some coffee. Well, I get some coffee for the both of us and we drink it in the car while we wait outside of the dance studio.
“Is the swelling going down?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“It will.”
Facing him, one leg crossed over the other, I ask, “Has this happened to you before? Is that why you’re so calm?”
He nods and sips from his coffee. “Yeah. Two other times. I’ll be fine. It will just take a while for the swelling to go down. My mom used Benadryl when I was a kid too. I know it works.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, getting upset. “If you knew you were allergic to eucalyptus, you should have said something.”
“Didn’t really think about it.”
Growing more upset, I look out the window. “Should I ring your mom and find out what else I should look out for?” Silence. I look back at Rath. “Your mom and dad know about us, don’t they? I know you said there hasn’t been time to visit them, but they do know about . . . me . . . don’t they?”
“Not yet. I haven’t had a chance to call them. We’ll call them soon.”
“Rath, the wedding is only a few weeks away.” As I’ve spent time with Rath, I’ve learned his many expressions. The one I’m looking at now says, Don’t push me. I’m doing this my way. Yeah, I’ve seen that a few times. “Are you embarrassed about me? About them knowing me?”
“No, Charlee, don’t be stupid. It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal? I’m your fiancée, and you’ve asked me to date you. You’ve FaceTimed with my parents, shared meals with my grandma.”
He shrugs. “It’s not a big deal, Char—”
“Not a big deal? That you could have died from this allergic reaction? That I can’t call your mom and ask for more insight, because she’d have no idea who I am? I’m still a hidden secret at work . . . I should have met my future mother-in-law by now . . . I want to ask if she wants a corsage for her son’s wedding. This is exactly what I’m talking about, Rath. I need to know these things about you.”
“You need to know my allergies?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“Then what’s relevant to you?” I ask, my voice coming out sharp. “Because the only thing you seem to care about is what kind of underwear I’m wearing.”
“Hey.” His brow furrows. “You know I care about other things.”
Growing frustrated and really not in the mood for dancing, I unbuckle my seatbelt and say, “You know, I think I need a second, okay? I’m going to go to my apartment.”
“Charlee, wait, what the fuck is going on? You’re mad at me because I had an allergic reaction?”
“No, Rath, I’m not mad at you for that. I’m just irritated, and I don’t feel like getting into it right now, right before we’re supposed to dance together.” I motion to his face. “And I really don’t want to dance with you when you’re having an allergic reaction. You should take it easy. Have Patrick take you back to your apartment. I’ll take the subway to mine.”
“You’re not taking the subway.”
I open the door and say, “Before you, I took the subway all the time. I’ll be fine.”
I step out of the car and Rath calls out my name, but I shut the door before he can stop me and head to the corner of the street where there’s a subway entrance, coffee in hand, purse in the other.
I don’t see how that’s relevant.
How could he not see that being relevant? He could have easily harmed himself more than just a puffy face. He could have choked. He could have stopped breathing. Then what?
Shaking my head and muttering to myself, I take out my unused metro card, swipe it, and walk down the steps to the trains. I have no idea what trains will meet me, but what I do know is, a good ride to clear my mind will help.
Note to self: don’t storm off to the subway without any thought or ability to make a rational decision about where I’m going. I ended up riding the Q line all the way to Coney Island, an hour and fifteen minutes away. When I got back on the subway to Manhattan, we stopped on the rails for forty-five minutes because of engine problems. After another hour and fifteen minutes, I made it home.
At the time it was a good idea. Over three hours later, I’m riding the elevator to my apartment, starving, and ready to be out of these heels.
Honestly, I thought the ride was going to clear my mind, cool me down, but all it did was make me angrier and angrier. We’re only a few weeks out from the wedding. A few weeks before I say I do to my boss so my grandma can watch me walk down the aisle in her dress, and somewhere along the way, this entire thing has become so complicated. Will his parents even come to the wedding? If they don’t know about it now, will they actually be available? And wouldn’t Julia tell them about me, if her brother hasn’t? Why the radio silence?
Does he actually plan to go through with the wedding?
We’re dating . . .
We’re boss and assistant . . . and fiancée and fiancé.
We’re sexual maniacs—because, yes, he’s an incredible lover. But what do we know about each other?
What do I know about him?
I have no idea what I’m supposed to feel at this point.
He said we’re more than just fucking . . . but is that what all his other relationships have been? Honesty, I have no clue because he’s never talked about them. I know he had a relationship with his assistant before and that’s pretty much it. What about college? Any serious girlfriends there? Am I the only girl he’s fake proposed to before? Has he ever been in love?
If we were just casually doing this fake marriage thing, I wouldn’t be asking these questions, but we’re dating. We’re just not going through the motions, we’re actually connected to one another, so why won’t he talk?
When the elevator doors part, I stomp toward my apartment, unlock the door, and sling it open, only to find my grandma and Rath sitting at the counter bar together, looking worried and stressed.
“Jesus fuck,” Rath says, standing from his chair and coming toward me. He scoops me up in his arms and holds on to me tightly. His face is back to normal, his suit jacket is off, and his sleeves are rolled up. “You scared us.”
I push him away and the hurt look on his face doesn’t go unnoticed. “I got stuck on the subway, on the way home from Coney Island. I’m fine.”
“You left your phone in my car. You left before I could give it back to you.”
Damn it. I was too busy reading on my Kindle to even address my phone. It’s because I didn’t want to see any correspondence from Rath. I wanted time to myself, and boy, did I get it.