“Stella,” Roman yips. “No. No way. Way above average. Like A+ average.” His jaw flexes. “Next subject, Doctor. Something a little simpler, maybe?”
“Okay, well, it’s the end of November. Christmas is less than a month away. What are the two of you doing for the holiday?”
My head hurts and my stomach rolls with this whole messy interview. I can’t seem to muster a happy word for this woman. “Not a thing. My family’s in Canada. Roman hasn’t seen his in years. We are doing natta.Nothing.” My eyes water, suddenly filled with emotion. “It doesn’t even look like Christmas here.”
“What do you mean?” Dr. Tregear says.
“There’s no tree. No wreaths. No gifts. Nothing. I’m not sure Roman celebrates Christmas anymore.”
“Of course I celebrate Christmas,” he says.
“Really?” I ask, finally looking at him.
“Yes. I’ve been alone a long time, but we can decorate. We can get a tree, if that’s what you want?—”
“I’m not feeling very well,” I say, because all at once, instead of avoiding conversations, instead of losing my cool, I want to cry. “Maybe we can analyze Roman’s manhood next week.”
Twenty-Five
The doorto my bedroom lurches open. No knocking. Rude.
“Stella,” Roman growls. “What was that?”
“That was me unprepared for marriage counseling.” I lay on my bed, and I don’t bother lifting my head to look at him. “Why in the world would you think that was a good idea?”
“At least I’m trying! We have to be interviewed soon. We’ll have to take a green card test. We have paperwork to fill out. We need to move forward so that you don’t get in trouble.”
“You mean, so thatyoudon’t get in trouble.” It’s cruel. To Roman’s knowledge, we could both get in a lot of trouble. Can I blame the man for wanting to stay out of jail?
I hear his footsteps plod into the room. “Both of us. Stella, do you have any idea what will happen if?—”
“I’m a citizen!” I blurt. Lifting up on my elbows, I look Roman in the face. It might not be the best time to make eye contact. There is confusion and a flash of something else behind those eyes. Anger or hurt, I’m not sure.
“No. You’ve always had a visa. You’ve always lived back and forth. But?—”
“Roman,” I groan, so tired. “I think I’d know if I’m a citizen or not. My parents are Canadian. Brice was Canadian. We lived back and forth. But I was born here. I have dual citizenship.”
“But Willow?—”
“Willow was talking about my family. She never meant to confuse you. Then you went and announced our marriage to the world,” I say, throwing the blame back on him.
“And you let me go along with it. You never said anything?”
I cross my arms. “You said you couldn’t get this cabin without me! You said?—”
“I also thought I was committing a crime!”
“You’re the one who announced our wedding in an interview. You didn’t even talk to me about it, Roman!” My heart hammers in my chest. “Clearly this was as much for you as it was for me.”
“Bu-but,” he stammers, his face red. “How in the world did this arrangement help you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it!”
“Shocker! Gah!” The man drags both hands down his face. “I’m going out!”
“Good. Go!” I throw one of my pillows at him, but it’s a poor aim and hits the wall beside the door.
Roman jerks. Startling him is almost as satisfying as smacking him. Turning, he backs out of my doorway. “And when I get back, you can let me know if your bachelor’s in ceramics is legit too. Or if that was a fabrication as well.”
