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She chuckles, her eyes dancing with affection. “He’s got more energy than me. And he’s not afraid to ask for what he needs. Look how he got you to pitch in.”
I groan. “I walked right into his trap, didn’t I?” He talked me not only into buying a ticket for the grand opening event, and before I even knew it, I was agreeing to teaching a six week long art workshop to children ranging in age from twelve to eighteen.
“Thank you for saying yes. I know you came out here to be a bum.”
“Only for you,” I tease.
She sighs and shakes her head woefully. “Which is a shame because I remember how happy your art made you.”
“Makes me,” I correct her. “And now that I’m unemployed, I can spend more time on it.”
Her jaw drops and leans toward the door, eyeing me with exaggerated disbelief.
I laugh but point a stern finger at the road. “Uh, did you forget you’re driving?”
She jerks up and turns her eyes back to the road. “Uh, that’s kind of a bombshell.”
“I know. It’s strange for me, too.”
She lets out a low whistle. “So, you’ve really quit Wolfe? Like for good.”
“I really quit.” Three months have passed since the day I dropped off my resignation, and my stomach still swoops with surprise, then tightens with anxiety every time I think about the gamble I made.
“So, you’re giving your art a shot? Oh my God, maybe I was too hasty to judge your engagement to Duke. If this is happening, then maybe it’s a good thing. “
“Eventually. As soon as I can figure out how to make it work.”
“Hello? Instagram. Or do you still hate social media?”
I give a mock shudder. “I have an account, and I’ve put one post up for Bethany's birthday. If I shared my art online, I’d want to do it anonymously, like the way that poet Atticus does. With my dad’s obsession with running for governor, and Duke thinking about it too, I don’t know that I can.”
She doesn’t speak for a long minute, but the grinding of her mental gears is louder than the road noise. “Just say it.”
“It’s just…you’re like a whole new person. I barely recognize you.”
I shift self-consciously in my seat and smooth my hands over my jean clad thighs. “I admit my wardrobe is a lot less eclectic than it used to be. And my hair’s longer—”
“I’m not talking about the way you look,” she snaps. “For as long as I’ve known you there was one goal—to get the hell out of Winsome. You stayed for ten years so you could save up. Now, instead of starting your dream job in New York, you’re engaged to Duke Tremaine and living on an allowance you used to donate to your aunt’s shelter. What’s going on with you?”
I’m hurt by her judgement, but it’s how close she is to the truth that stings. I’ve grappled with the same dissonance. But how do I even begin to explain? I trust Dina, if I could make sense of it myself, the NDA I signed wouldn’t stop me from telling her everything. It’s the fact that I can’t which worries me. “Things change, Dina. You’ve been gone a long time.”
She smacks her lips in dismissal. “There’s not enough time in the world to make Duke Tremaine the kind of man you’d willingly spend the rest of your life with.”
“He’s changed.” It sounds even more hollow and less sincere than it did the first time I said it.
She sits up straight, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, and sets her jaw. “He’s fucking a girl in East Winsome, at least according to the girl who did my hair.”
I groan and close my eyes. I should have known Duke couldn’t be discrete.
“Aren’t you going to react?”
The only emotion I feel is annoyance, but I try for pained resignation. “Women throw themselves at him…” I want to punch myself in the face and kick him in the balls for putting me in a position to defend him.
“And he just falls into their vaginas because it’s too hard to say no? That’s the kind of bullshit I’d expect Fiona to say about your dad. Not you.”
“I’m not excusing him.”
She blinks at me. “What do you call wearing his ring, then?”
