“It’s not a natural color.”
“Oh? One would never have guessed.” They were both quiet the rest of the way home.
“You must pardon me,” Aria said when they were home. “I am most tired and think I’ll go to bed. I wish you a pleasant good night.”
“Damn!” J.T. said when she was upstairs. Did the woman have no feelings? How many times had he made a fool of himself out of jealousy over her? But tonight he had allowed Heather to make the most outrageous remarks and Aria had said nothing. He went into the backyard to smoke a cigarette and drink a strong gin and tonic. Perhaps she was looking forward to getting rid of him. Perhaps she was too cold-blooded to feel such an emotion as jealousy.
As usual in Key West, it was starting to rain. He crushed his cigarette out and downed his drink as he glanced up and saw the light go out in the window above. It looked like she was sleeping in her single bed tonight. Good, he thought, it was better to start breaking apart now.
The upstairs was dark and he made no effort to be quiet as he stumbled about and undressed.
He went to Aria’s end of the room to close the windows. A bolt of lightning showed her to be lying with her face buried in the pillow.
“Damn,” he said under his breath, and went to stand over her bed. “Look, it’s almost over. You’ll be home soon. You’ll be back in your castle and you’ll never have to wash a dish again and you’ll never have to look at my ugly mug again.”
“Or see Dolly,” she said into the pillow.
“Are you okay?” He sat down on the bed. “You and Dolly get into it?”
She whirled around like a tornado and came up with fists clenched, pummeling at his bare chest and arms. “You humiliated me,” she yelled. “You embarrassed me before people who have become my friends.”
He grabbed her fists. “Look who’s talking! You with your ‘Chica Chica’ in front of my commanding officers.”
“But you deserved that! You insinuated that I wasn’t good enough for your mother.”
“I never did such a thing in my life.” He was aghast.
“Then what was that ‘Do you know how to act at a formal ball?’ ‘My mother hates chewing gum so don’t blow bubbles in her face.’ ‘You are to be courteous and respectful to my mother. Treat her as if she were a queen so don’t go telling her she does or does not have permission to speak.’ ‘And she can sit wherever she wants’? What was all that?”
J.T. grinned in the darkness. “Maybe I did go a little overboard.”
“You deserved ‘Chica Chica.’ I did not deserve Heather. I’ve been very good the last few days.”
J.T. moved his hands to her back. “You sure have, honey,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her.
She drew back. “How can you have the audacity to touch me? Get away from me.”
J.T. stopped abruptly. “Sure. Fine. I’ll leave you alone. You can lie there and dream about the time when you never have to see me again.”
He went to his own bed but he was too angry to sleep. He kept thinking of the injustice of it all, how he had saved her life and married her and taught her to be an American, and she screamed at him and told him to leave her alone. He flopped about in the bed and the sheets began to stick to him. He punched the pillow but sleep wasn’t anywhere near.
Maybe he shouldn’t have let Heather act like that. She always was a bit of a pest. She had wanted to get married and he acted as if he had no idea what she had in mind, but all along he had suspected that Heather wanted Warbrooke Shipping more than she wanted him.
Cursing women, cursing the army for marrying them, cursing his love of seafood that had made him want to go to that island where he had first met her, J.T. got out of bed and went to her end of the room. She still had her face buried in the pillow. He sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Look, maybe I shouldn’t have behaved like I did. I know Heather can be a little cat and I’m sorry I embarrassed you.”
She didn’t say a word.
“You hear me?” He held out his hand to touch her temple. “You’re crying,” he said as if he didn’t believe it. He pulled her into his arms. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I didn’t even know you could cry.”
“Of course I can cry,” she said angrily, sniffing. “A princess just doesn’t cry in public, that’s all.”
“I’m not public,” he said, sounding hurt. “I’m your husband.”
“You didn’t act like it tonight. You acted as if Heather were your wife.”
“Well, maybe she will be.”