I don’t even want to date anymore.
Men are fucking awful.
All of them.
I pocket my phone. “Could you do me a favor and not die looking for a treasure before we get fake married so that I didn’t steal photos of that diary in vain? I have this thing where I feel an absurd amount of guilt and responsibility for things that aren’t my fault, and while I recognize that I was gifted with that guilt and shame in childhood as a control and manipulation tactic, my emotions don’t always get the logic message to overcome the guilt and shame. Also, in this case, since I basically committed a crime for you to get you information that you might use to hurt yourself, I feel premature remorse and shame over your demise while looking for it too.”
“I won’t die.”
Men.
Freakingmenand their egos. And their ability to only comprehend the slightest bit of what a woman says, and only the parts that concern them.
“So you know, if you do die, I’ll be under a ton of pressure all over again to marry Nigel so that he can take care of me since being a widow would turn me into a helpless ninny.”
Flat brown eyes lift to mine once more.
And somehow, he keeps a straight face while also silently asking me if I really just used the wordninny.
I stifle a sigh. “That’s what they’d say. My grandmother and her friends and the people I grew up with.”
“Ever thought about simply disappointing them?”
“Tried that once and have the exorcism videos to show for it.”
I’m joking.
I say it like I’m joking.
But the way he keeps staring at me?—
It’s like he can read my soul, and he knows it has scars, and he knows that me telling them to fuck off and let me live my own life won’t work.
“Nigel fuckingmovedfrom Iowa to try to claim what he thinks is his right. My grandmother and the people who helped her raise me—they view the world one way, and I used to see it the same, but I don’t anymore. They think I’m damning my eternal soul while I’m happier and healthier and more at peace and grateful to just have this life to live than I’ve ever been. I know they think they’re trying to save me, I know they believe they have my best interests at heart, but they’re just…”
I shake my head.
Davis doesn’t care.
This is transactional. He wants my help so he can go find a treasure. I want his help so that I have a buffer between my family and their misplaced worry about me.
You don’t try to control and manipulate people if you don’t care about them, right?
“Anyway. Thank you. Again. Even Nigel won’t try to break the sacred bonds of marriage, so having a fake husband will go a long way toward me continuing to keep my peace. I’ll just send photos every once in a while like I did before, except this time you’ll know it. Yay. Hooray. Everyone will be happy.”
Everyone will not be happy.
Davis glances up at me once more. “Is he coming again before Saturday?”
“That’s not the plan.”
“Does he follow plans?”
I wince. “I mean, lunch wasn’t exactly in the plans today…”
Swear on my old poster of him, Davis looks like he’s considering making some plans of his own that I definitely need to know nothing about.
And his quiet “Call me if he shows up” makes me even more convinced there’s danger simmering beneath his surface.
