Geraldine snorts. Never had a queen sleep here.
A Swedish princess slept here once, though. I think it was back in the fifties, Marjorie remarks casually.
Cleo whistles. Impressive. Is this my room?
Both women turn to us and smile. We’re not old-fashioned fuddy-duddies, Marjorie says with a wink. It’s fine for you and Roy to share. After all, it’s our biggest guest room.
I look at the bed again. It’s not that big, and besides, there’s no bed big enough for both of us to sleep in. I steal a glance at Cleo, who is wide-eyed and silent.
It’s tough to know what to do here. If I insist on my own room, it’s going to blow up our whole fake-couple deal. Maybe we could claim a vow of premarital chastity? Though that seems very out of keeping with Cleo’s earthy character. Or mine, for that matter.
As I’m vacillating, the chance to protest slips away.
Geraldine motions behind her. There’s a bathroom right across the hall. I put out fresh towels for you.
I mutter my thanks, since Cleo’s still stunned silent.
Well, good night. Marjorie’s voice is cheerful as she makes her way across the landing to her own bedroom, which seems to be an entire wing of the house.
Sleep tight, Geraldine adds. She lives here too, although I’m not sure exactly where.
We enter the bedroom and I shut the door. Cleo finally regains her power of speech. She turns to me, with her hands on her hips. Her whole body sparks with anger.
What the actual fuck are we going to do? she asks in a whisper-hiss.
Seems pretty obvious. If there was a viable option, like a couch or even a softer floor, I would volunteer to sleep elsewhere, but there’s not. And I need a good night’s sleep.
Both of us? Here? She motions towards the bed.
It’s not ideal… I begin.
Cleo interrupts me. There’s no way I’m sleeping in the same bed as you. Who knows what will happen?
Her words spark a heated anger that rises in me. I’ve tried to be accommodating because of how awkward our situation is. But she must know what kind of person I am by now. All I’ve ever been is respectful and accommodating to the women in my life, and I still get tarred with the reputation of all men; or, rather, the worst of men.
You know what, Cleo? I’ve taken your insults, your complaints, and—worst of all—this insane idea that I’m solely responsible for every bad thing that’s happened to your brother. This is the limit, though. Obviously neither one of us wants to share a bed. But if you’re implying that I’d force myself on you, you can just fuck off.
Cleo stares at me, her blue eyes wide and her forehead furrowed. I don’t even bother waiting for her reply. I head out of the room and go downstairs.
11
CLOSE TO YOU
CLEO
I BLINK AT THE DOOR THAT MATS CLOSED QUIETLY BEHIND HIM. THEN I RELEASE THE BREATH I didn’t even know I was holding and flop down on the bed.
As I stare up at the canopy, I can hear my mother scolding me: You always go too far, Cleo. Extremes aren’t a bad thing when it comes to training or game effort. But when it comes to people, maybe not so much.
I’ve been pushing Mats’s limits. So far, he’s tolerated all the crap I’ve thrown at him with good nature, from the early insults to my recent hot-and-cold behaviour. But he just hit his breaking point, and it’s my fault.
Of course, nobody wants to sleep in the same bed as someone they’re not going out with. But if I plunk anyone else from the men’s team into the other half of this bed, would it bother me? With the exception of a couple of horny creeps, it would be fine. I would never be as rude about the situation as I was with Mats. I’ve shared tents with guys I wasn’t dating and it was no big deal. So, what is it about sleeping with Mats that bothers me so much?
It only takes two seconds to figure it out. It’s the conflict inside me.
I enjoy spending time with Mats. I’d like to spend more time with him. He’s interesting because he thinks so differently from me. From his long-term career plans to his philosophy studies, he’s full of unexpected insights. And am I attracted to him? Well, no shit.
But how can I enjoy hanging out with my brother’s enemy? For over a year, I’ve believed that Mats is the person responsible for Jordan getting kicked off the Mustangs. I’ve disliked him and resented him. So, it’s almost embarrassing how quickly I’ve allowed myself to be charmed by him and forget everything that Jordan told me.
