Love the One You Hate

“But she was upset you changed your mind?”

She cringes. “I know that paints her in a bad light, but you have to understand. Mary Anne has been openly proud of her sexuality for years. She flaunts it with pride, and she can’t understand why I’m dragging my feet about it.”

“If it makes you feel better, I certainly don’t care.”

Tori laughs. “I knew you wouldn’t.”

I stare at her for a moment, thinking back on the times when I thought she was reserved, now realizing how hard it must be for her to live two lives, pulled in opposite directions.

“Do you think your family won’t approve?”

We reach a pair of pool chairs and she dumps her bag down onto one. “Honestly, I have no idea. My grandmother can be conservative at times, but I know she loves me. And well, my parents have both been divorced so many times, I don’t think they have a leg to stand on when it comes to lecturing anyone about who they can and cannot love.”

“Barrett will make a crass joke, I’m sure. Just prepare yourself now.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles nonetheless. “I wouldn’t expect anything less of him.”

“And Nicholas?” I prod, curious to hear how she thinks he’ll handle the news.

She smiles then. “Oh, Nicky has always known. He’s the first person I told, actually, and he’s kept my secret for me. I’m not sure what I would have done if I didn’t have him to confide in for all these years.”

She called him loyal weeks ago, and now it makes sense.

I frown in confusion, unsure of where to place this newfound knowledge about Nicholas. It doesn’t exactly fit in the “I hate him” column I’ve been constructing so carefully, but it certainly doesn’t make me like him either—or if it does, I don’t admit it to myself. Opening my heart to a man like him feels like a dangerous game I’m not quite ready to play.

That day, Tori and I transition from acquaintances to real friends, ones with a secret bonding them together. We sit at the pool, sunbathing beneath the blue and white striped umbrellas, ordering drinks, and working through scenarios for how she could win Mary Anne back.* * *On Friday afternoon, I carry a tea tray toward the blue drawing room, surveying the careful arrangement. Patricia helped me set everything up down in the kitchen: cucumber sandwiches and bite-sized blueberry tarts on one side, the tea set on the other. In the middle, I placed a small bouquet of pale green hydrangeas from Cornelia’s garden.

I think it looks nice, and I’m proud to carry it into the drawing room and share it with Cornelia. We have plans to continue reading A Room With a View. I hadn’t read Forster before, but I’ve enjoyed his writing so much that I’m practically giddy with anticipation to pick up where we left off yesterday.

In the hall outside the drawing room, I hear Cornelia speaking, and then a beat later, Nicholas answers. My heart lurches in my chest.

I didn’t witness his arrival at Rosethorn, and I curse myself for not keeping a better eye out. I glance down at my clothes and scrunch my nose. My loose cotton sundress, while extremely comfortable, isn’t what I would have chosen for facing Nicholas again after two long weeks. The pale pink color makes me feel girlish and silly viewed through his eyes. I’m tempted to turn around, run up to my room, and change, but I don’t want the tea to get cold and have Cornelia ask me questions about what took me so long. I wouldn’t want to lie to her, even about something as trivial as this.

So, with a resigned sigh, I approach the doors and balance the tea tray on one hand so I can turn the door handle with the other, but then Cornelia speaks again, sharp and clear.

“Don’t bother bringing it up again. I won’t listen to you slander Maren. You’re wasting your breath.”

I frown, wounded that we’re still on this same carousel, looping around and around as I continue to try to prove myself to Nicholas and he continues to think the worst of me. I’ve been here for over a month. I have two paychecks sitting uncashed in my bedside table. I’ve done nothing wrong except enter his world without his permission. Apparently, I’ll never live down that crime.

With a newfound resentment for him, I push into the drawing room and pretend I haven’t heard a thing.

Nicholas’ response is cut off so I don’t hear what he was about to say, but I have no doubt it would have been rude. I don’t feign surprise at seeing him sitting on the couch across from Cornelia. Instead, I give him a curt nod and look away as quickly as possible, not that it helps. His image is burned in my memory instantly. He’s sitting in tailored dark gray pants and a white button-down, the color contrasting sharply against his tan skin and midnight hair. He’s frowning in consternation, but that’s nothing new. It’s the expression I’m most used to seeing from him.