"A gentleman never tells," he said, with a flourish. He was in a playful mood, and he probably expected a little stress-relieving quickie, but I was in no mood - a fact that he quickly noticed, as I brushed past him to rummage aimlessly in the fridge.
"What's wrong, sunshine?" He followed me, slowly, letting me keep my distance.
"I wish you wouldn't call me that all the time," I muttered.
He leaned against the counter. "Sorry," he said. "I'll try to save it for more special occasions."
I sighed, wanting to apologize, but not knowing where to start. My encounter with Daria was just too damn weird. I needed to process it first myself, before I foisted it on him.
"Nothing," I insisted.
"You know," he said, with a hint of a smile, "there's a little something they call stress relief spankings. I could..."
"No," I said, flatly. "Thanks. I appreciate it, really. But no."
"Come on, Jenna." He leaned forward, earnestly. "Just tell me what's wrong. It's been ever since the Finger Lakes trip, and I thought you just didn't want to leave. But something's eating at you."
I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling too raw and vulnerable to keep hiding it.
"I saw your paperwork," I said. "The Huntington's. It was your mom, wasn't it?"
His lips drew into a tight line.
"There's a reason I don't talk about it," he said. "And I think it's actually a pretty obvious one."
"Sorry," I said, well aware that I didn't sound sorry. "But I thought it's something you would have told me. Even if we weren't..." I shook my head, vigorously. "I know it's none of my business. I know that. I really, really do. But you wanted to know what's been bothering me, well, that's it. I hate the thought of you getting sick. I hate the thought of not knowing. I hate the thought of you not knowing."
"I took the test," he said. "If the outcome had any effect on you, I would've shared it. But it doesn't, either way. So drop it."
I'd never heard him sound so harsh. Instantly, guilt pooled in my belly. I had no right to pry, no right to ask invasive questions about his illness. Or lack thereof. He was right, it had no effect on me. I had no right to be upset.
Because it wasn't real. I just had to try and remember that.
"I'm sorry," I said, softly, unsure if he was even hearing me. He was lost in his own world, absorbed in some kind of deep anger and resentment that I'd triggered with my stupid nosiness. "You're right. It doesn't have any effect on me. I was just worried about you, but I should've kept my mouth shut. It's just..."
He still showed no sign that he even knew I was talking.
"...it's just that I really care about you," I said, at last, instantly regretting the words as they left my mouth.
Ben let out a bark of laughter. "And this is how you show it?" Raking his hands through his hair, he finally looked at me. "Look. I understand it's upsetting and overwhelming. It's hard to deal with. Right? You don't really know how to wrap your head around it. So just imagine how I felt, watching my mother die. Imagine how I felt, wondering if I'd go the same way. Imagine how upsetting and overwhelming that was. Imagine how hard that was to deal with. There's a reason I don't talk about it, and it's not because I'm afraid of my feelings, or trying to be mysterious, or brooding, or whatever fucked-up reason you think it is. It's because I don't want to. I don't want to think about it. I've dealt with it already, and I'm done."
Tears were trickling down my cheeks, and I couldn't hope to stop them.
"I'm sorry," I whispered again. "I didn't mean to upset you, I just..."
I just love you. That's all.
Fucking stupid. What was wrong with me? Why wouldn't I just let it go?
Because it's real. Even if he doesn't see it...
"I know," he said, finally, his voice a little quieter. "I know. I know you didn't mean it. It's just, everybody thinks it's their business. And I hate that. I can't stand it. That's why I kept the research quiet. I knew it would be obvious if I made it public, that there was some kind of personal connection. Because it's true: there's no money in a cure. Especially not for such a rare disease. I'm doing it because it's a tiny drop in the bucket, but it's something I can do. It's people I can help, that nobody else is going to bother helping. It's something. It's not for me."
In spite of everything, my heart leapt a little bit in my chest. "It's not?"
He sighed. "I don't have it, Jenna. I don't have the gene. I've known that since I was ten years old. My father knows. I never told anybody else, because it's none of their business. I'm not dying. At least, not any faster than anybody else."
Relief flooded my system. I struggled not to show it, unsure of how he'd react.
"We don't have to talk about this anymore," I said, fighting to keep my voice from trembling.
"Of course we don't," he said, with a sarcastic smile. "You got the information you wanted, right? Now you can sleep easy at night. Because you'll never have to go through what I went through. Now, you can just move on and forget that people die horrible deaths before their time." He roughly finger-combed his hair again. "I'm sorry. This is just something I've been living with for as long as I can remember. It's hard to have any kind of normal perspective on it."
"You don't have to apologize," I insisted, even as I shivered at the chilliness of his attitude. I understood, or thought I did - as much as anyone possibly could. But I couldn't really know what was going through his head. I couldn't know what it was like to be ten years old, and see your mother die.
"I know I don't," he said. "But you're not going to calm down unless I say I'm sorry, so, I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm sorry for. I'm sorry I didn't share every painful part of my life with you. I'm sorry I didn't want to talk about it. I'm sorry."
"Daria found me," I blurted out.
He stopped, and stared. All the blood drained from his face.
"God," he said. "Jenna, I'm..." he exhaled tightly. "I'm so sorry. I really am sorry. I didn't think she'd..." His eyes darted wildly around the room. "What did she say to you?"
"Nothing important," I lied. "Nothing you need to worry about. She just wanted to wish us well."
He could tell that I was lying, but he didn't know what to say to make me tell him the truth.
"I'm sorry," he said, again. "If you want to talk about it - if you need to ask me anything, I..."
"No, it's fine," I said. "You're right. You should probably just go."
Shutting the door after him, I gave myself a moment to breathe before I started crying.
Chapter Thirty-One
Jenna
My wedding day went by in a blur.
Not the happy kind of blur I think you're supposed to have, where it's just so joyful you can't find the place in your mind to hold the memories. More like the kind of blur that leaves you feeling like you've got some kind of flu, or a brain fever, or you've just been spun around in one of those astronaut training machines and you're no longer sure which way is up.
I finally saw my parents at the theater, a few hours before I was whisked away to start the insanely complex process of transforming me into a bride. I didn't understand why it had to take so long, but apparently, it was very important that I look exactly like a living, breathing wedding topper.
"Hi, honey. "My mom hugged me tightly, smiling, a little apprehensive. "We're so happy for you."
"This must be the lucky guy," my dad said, with forced joviality.
"Very lucky," Ben agreed, turning on the charm.
I saw my parents sitting there in the first row, my father clasping my mother's hand. Confused, apprehensive, but happy.
Happy for me.
We spent some time on meaningless chit-chat, and I learned all about what they'd been doing. Their eyes were filled with unasked questions at first, but as time passed, I saw them begin to relax. They noticed something between Ben and me, probably the same thing that Daria noticed. They weren't so suspicious anymore. The worry began to fade.
Everyone knows it, ex
cept for us.
It was a funny thought, except it wasn't funny at all.
***
Looking back, I could hardly remember walking down the aisle. I knew I did it, because I had to assume no one carried me. But the specifics, the vows, none of it registered, except for the way Ben looked at me.
That was all I could see, standing there, as the officiant droned on. It looked so real. It looked so much like he really wanted to be spending the rest of his life with me.
My guess about his gift was right. It was a dark blue lingerie set, simple enough, just panties and a bra. But I wore it, for him, because I wanted to. I wanted to see his face when he finally undressed me on our fake wedding night.
I had to focus on that, because I couldn't wrap my head around anything else.
Finally, the ceremony ended. I only had a few minutes to compose myself before I had to appear at the real party.
The reception was teeming with faces, strangers and friends, family I hadn't seen in years and people who might just be crashing the party, for all I knew. I didn't manage to spot my parents, which was probably just as well. I needed to gather my thoughts.
I sidled over to Maddy and Daniel, as Ben seemed to have been drawn into the tractor beam of some work acquaintances I wasn't particularly anxious to meet. Daniel was talking to a tall, elegantly-dressed woman who shared his clever eyes and unruly hair.
"Jenna, this is my sister, Lindsay," he said.
"Congratulations, it was a beautiful ceremony." She was giving me a gently appraising look as she shook my hand. "I hear Ben's quite a catch."
I nodded, smiling in a way that felt appropriate for the situation.
Maddy drifted over, grabbing me by the elbow. "Sorry, I just have to borrow the bride for a second. If anyone asks where she is, just tell them to wait for the ransom note."
"Got it." Lindsay's knowing look was starting to unnerve me.
I let Maddy steer me into one of the endless side-rooms, sitting me down in a chair and handing me a bottle of water. "Drink," she said. "You look like you're about to keel over."
"Thanks." I sagged with my elbows resting on my knees. Heart racing, head pounding, stomach churning - it was no wonder I looked like hell.
"I know the feeling," she said. "It's overwhelming, especially when things move this fast." She patted me on the shoulder. "You want me to leave you alone?"
"Actually, could you get my mom?" I didn't know why, but I felt like seeing her face would help me somehow.
"Of course." Maddy disappeared, and a few minutes later, my mom rushed into the room.
"Oh, honey," she said. "Are you okay?"
"I'm great, Mom," I said, forcing a smile. "It's just been a really, really long day, and I didn't get enough sleep, and I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by everything. It'll pass. I just wanted to have a chance to talk to one one more time, before I go back out into the craziness."
"Of course." She sat down next to me and covered her hand with mine. "I'll admit, I was pretty confused when you told me and your dad about this guy, and how you'd apparently fallen in love with him at the drop of a hat. But I see it now. I don't get it, but then again, your dad and I only knew each other for six weeks."
She laughed.
"Six weeks?" I repeated. "I never knew that."
"Well, we didn't want you to think it was a good idea." She smiled. "The good old 'do as I say, not as I do.' But obviously, it works out okay sometimes."
We sat in companionable silence for a while.
"So, where are you going on your honeymoon?" she asked me, suddenly.
"I don't know," I said. "He won't tell me."
"Oh." My mom smiled. "That's so romantic. Just call me when you land, okay?"
***
Sitting with Ben in the back of the limousine, as we waved goodbye, I didn't know what the hell to say to him.
"I'm sorry about everything," I blurted out, finally.
He sighed. "Me too, Jenna." Reaching for my hand, he clasped it tightly, stroking his thumb in little circles the way he always did. "You don't have to talk about Daria if you don't want to, but I'll be happy to listen. I'll be happy to explain anything you want to know."
I shrugged. "I don't think any of the specifics matter that much," I said. "Except, we don't really have to be afraid of her."
"I was never afraid," he insisted.
"Okay," I said, quietly. I didn't believe him, but I was going to let him pretend.
A small silence passed.
"So," I said, with the beginnings of mischievous smile. "Where are we going?"
His eyes darkened. "What did I tell you about asking me that?" he growled. "Just wait until we're alone, Mrs. Chase."
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jenna
"I thought you liked surprises."
"Whatever gave you that impression?" I twisted around in my seat, as if that could somehow help me see through the blindfold. "This better be worth it, Mr. Chase."
"Oh, trust me, Mrs. Chase - you'll be thanking me later."
I could hear his wicked grin. It made something twist in my chest - longing, confusion, and that overwhelming desire to just ask him. To lay all of my cards on the table, so I could find out how he really felt about me. We'd been playing this game so long. I just wanted to know if it had become a tiny bit real for him, too.
The sex was one thing. Obviously, our connection in the bedroom was electric. I couldn't deny that, but I needed more. I didn't know how I was going to survive the next two years if I had to pretend it was just about spanking and hair-pulling and explosive encounters driven purely by lust.
All this time, he'd been so secretive about the honeymoon destination. I'd pleaded, cajoled, and earned myself more than a few punishments in the hopes that he'd crack. Just once. But he'd stood firm, right until this very moment, after we landed in some airport and he put on my blindfold and led me into a car.
It was a short flight, but I didn't think he'd be taking me to wine country again. That was too obvious. He had something amazing planned. Maybe we were just catching a connecting flight to Paris or Japan or something. There were so many corners of the world I'd never seen.
I felt the momentum slowly decrease, and then the car shut off.
"We're here," he said.
So, not a connecting flight then. I frowned, waiting for him to open my door for me. Like so many things that started out as totally unnatural to me, it had become a habit. It was a small thing, but it made him happy. I could compromise. Even if I thought it was a little too caveman, I knew enough of his real personality to understand it wasn't about that.
The door popped open, and he took my hand, leading me out into the fresh sea air.
Instantly, the smell brought me back.
He could have left the blindfold on for the rest of our honeymoon, and there would be no question in mind. I was back home.
Back in Cape Cod.
I took in a deep breath and let it out, slowly. The memories rushed back, powerful and heavy. Tears threatened at the corners of my eyes.
Whisper-soft, his fingers untied the blindfold and pulled it away. I blinked rapidly, trying to conceal my feelings, hoping that my watering eyes would pass for shock at adjusting to the sunlight.
I whirled around, taking it all in. This wasn't just any beach, this was my beach. I would recognize it anywhere. Some of the houses had changed, the landscape, but not enough to fool me. This place was everything that had made me who I was.
My forehead crinkled as I stared at him. He was beaming at me, hands thrust deep in his pockets, just enjoying the fruits of his labors. And I couldn't really blame him for that.
"How did you..." I took another deep breath, letting it out slowly. "How did you find out? Did you ask my parents?"
He shook his head, extending his hand to me. "Come on," he said. "I want to show you something."
We walked up the beach, slowly, my heart hammering in my chest. There were so many things I wanted to
say, but I couldn't possibly find the words. I never would have guessed this would be the perfect honeymoon, but somehow, he'd just known. This was the place I needed to go back to.
For a moment, I was struck by the strangeness of it - returning back here, not as a townie, but as one of the tourists I'd resented so much. It was hard not to imagine how they'd think of me - whoever was in my parents' place now, in mine, cleaning up after people like me, not understanding that I used to be one of them.
Because now, it didn't matter. I'd married into enough money to keep them at my beck and call.
Something like regret twisted in my chest, then I glanced at Ben. The sunlight gleamed through his hair, and my heart thumped even faster.
I didn't care about the money. All I cared about was him - and that was dangerous.
All along, I'd grown up knowing that a rich boy could break my heart. I had to stay away. I knew better. I'd done so well, on my mother's warning. And then, I went ahead and fell in love with one anyway.
How monumentally stupid was I?
"Come on," he said, leading me towards a little copse of trees. Some long-forgotten memory stirred, deep inside my mind, but I couldn't quite reach it. The details were too hazy, and if I tried to put it into words, it slipped even further away, like a dream after hours of waking.
All that was left was the feeling itself. Something poignant and bittersweet.
My heels were sinking into the sand. "Wait," I said, letting go of Ben's hand. "My shoes."
He waited as I took them off, carrying them in my other hand as he grasped mine again and kept on urging me forward. I laughed a little as my toes sank into the sand. "What's so important?"
"You'll see," he promised.
We'd almost reached the trees. I looked over my shoulder, grasping again for the memory.
It's gonna be the biggest best sandcastle in the world
My throat constricted. This was where it happened - this was the exact spot where I first learned that very important lesson about rich boys. Of course, Ben couldn't know that. He just thought he was doing something very sweet and thoughtful, and he was. But I felt that same wave of loneliness wash over me again, bringing the tears back to my eyes.
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