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20
If Harriet was hopingfor a tale of declarations of love and romance, she was sorely disappointed.
We worked nonstop for the next six hours. When Arya came back from her birding, she was so rumpled and downtrodden looking that I decided not to bother her with the details of Declan’s visit.
We had a late dinner of steak and kidney pie, which I will never, ever eat again, and then called it a night.
Now, it’s two in the morning, and I still, still can’t sleep. I might blame it on the brightness of the full moon shining through the window, or the hissing and popping of the radiator, or the squeaking of the old mattress every time I flip over. I could easily blame it on any of those things. But the truth is, I can’t sleep because I can’t stop rewinding through all the times I was with Declan, and rewriting the script with the new knowledge that he loved me.
Loved me.
Unwilling or not, he loved me.
That pompous, arrogantly rude man at the Valentine’s Day brunch? It was a man who fell in love at first sight and then heard he’d fallen for a “gold digger.”
The conversation on the plane, my attempt to get him to kayak with me to the island. All of it is colored differently when I look at it from his perspective.
I remember what I said that day on the beach before we kayaked out to the little island. “You’ve already fallen for me. It’s just sad, because you don’t know it yet. Your itty bitty wittle brain is having trouble assimilating what your stone-cold heart already knows. That you looove me.”
He scoffed and said, “That’ll be the day.” But he was hiding the truth that he knew he loved me, that apparently he’d fallen for me from the first.
And I replied, “Don’t worry Declan, someday you’ll beg me to marry you. It’ll be grand.”
Well, he did. And it wasn’t grand. Not at all.
I think about how he held me on the island during the storm, let me sleep on him, how he jealously asked me to dance at the gala, how he jumped in after me when I fell off the sailboat, how he floated with me in the bioluminescence pool, and then fixed my grandpa’s bookshelf.
All of it is colored differently and reframed.
I tug at the quilted duvet and pull it over my chin. The window of the little dormer guest room I’m in constantly leaks in the chill spring air. The mattress springs squeak as I pull the duvet higher.
Declan loved me.
And I suppose, he hated that he fell in love at first sight, because I was a possible gold digger, and I wasn’t at all like the women he usually dated. His mind chose one type of woman, but his heart chose another. I can see that being difficult for someone like him.
I frown at the milky light filtering past the toile curtains. I can see the moon hovering over the trees of the nearby woods.
“Maybe he has a point,” I say.
The moon doesn’t have an answer. So I reply for it, “No. He doesn’t.”
Perhaps he did keep me warm on the island, and try to rescue me after I fell off the sailboat, and he did fix my grandpa’s shelf and he was sweet when I made him dinner…but, and this is a big but, he ruined Mr. Sherman’s life, he ruined Michael’s relationship, and he ruined Arya and Percy’s chances.
So it doesn’t matter how the past is reframed. It doesn’t matter that my skin goes itchy and uncomfortable when he’s around and my subconscious dreams up fantasies. It doesn’t matter if he loved me at first sight. He can fall out of love.
I sigh and punch my pillow, trying for the nine thousandth time to get comfortable. It’s quiet in the wrong way here. I need the island’s evening chorus of whistling frogs, like crickets but sweeter, droning on through the night. The “Declan movie” as I’ve dubbed it starts to play again. The tape of our first meeting begins.
I fling the duvet back. “No thank you.”
I step onto the chilly wood floor and scrunch my toes back. There’s no helping it. I get out of bed and walk over to the little secretary desk where my laptop is. It’s nearly three now, I’m not any closer to sleep, so I may as well work. I have hours and hours of Harriet’s interview notes to organize.
Roman artifacts are certain to distract me. The blue light of my laptop screen glows as I open my email. Harriet promised to scan and send me some documents.
I pause.
There at the top of my inbox is an email from Declan.
He sent it only ten minutes ago.
He can’t sleep either?
My skin tingles and I look around the room. Why do I feel like he’s here watching me? I take a deep breath and slowly blow it out. It doesn’t make me feel any better.
My hand hovers above the keyboard. There isn’t a subject line to the email and for some reason I’m scared to open it. What could he have to say? Wasn’t this afternoon goodbye?
But I’m not a coward. So I hold my breath and open his letter.
It’s long.
That’s the first thing I notice.
Then I read the first sentence.
Isla,
I’m not writing to reiterate what I said today, or ask you to reconsider, there’s no need to be concerned.
I let out my breath.“I’m not concerned,” I say. I keep reading.
I also won’t defend my actions separating Percy from Arya. I acted with the best intentions, and with the knowledge that I have I wouldn’t act differently, even now. I wouldn’t be a true friend if I let Percy pursue a woman who spoke of “bagging the white whale” without voicing my opposition.
“That’s because you’re horrible,”I say. “Odious, and arrogant and prideful and…” I scroll down and keep reading.
But in regard to Mr. Sherman and Michael, I cannot, will not, continue to accept your blame and derision.
“Why not?You admitted to having done it,” I say. It’s like he hears me, because he writes:
I did admit that I was sorry for having entered into a partnership with Mr. Sherman. But not because of any wrong on my part, only for the lesson I learned. That those we trust as friends are not always friends, and they don’t always have the best intentions.
I frown at his words.I’m not sure what he means.
Shortly into our venture, I learned Mr. Sherman was funneling all the business profits into high-risk ventures, gambling, and other habits. The profits I believed we had were in fact debts. Needless to say, I discontinued our partnership, paying Mr. Sherman his initial investment back. Then I worked tirelessly to come back up from the deep hole my misplaced trust put me in. I never shared the circumstances of our dissolved partnership, out of respect for an old family friend.
I stareat Declan’s words, trying to assimilate what he’s saying.
“You’re not a pension thief,” I say. My cheeks go hot when I realize how many times I judgmentally accused him of being one. Did Michael not know? I lean forward in my desk chair and scroll down the email.
In regard to Michael’s fiancée.
“Right. Explain that,”I say, as if Declan’s here in front of me. Michael’s situation is just like Arya’s. Declan ruined true love because of his weird fixation on thwarting gold diggers.
Michael never had a fiancée.
“What?”I quickly cover my mouth, because it came out as a loud, surprised squeak.
Vicky was my fiancée.
Oh my gosh.Holy unbelievable. Vicky. The Vicky. The Vicky that Percy was cajoling Declan to get over.
After Mr. Sherman’s funeral, Michael attempted to exhort more funds from my business. His reasoning was that I wouldn’t be where I was without his father. When I disagreed, Michael decided to find funds another way, by seducing my fiancée. He is known to seduce well-connected, wealthy women for money and advancement. I paid him the amount he asked in exchange for leaving my fiancée alone and out of the tabloids. I hadn’t seen him again, not until the night of the gala.
“That’s…that’s…”The details of that night run past me. Declan’s cold anger. Michael’s charming smile. His smirk when I denied Declan a dance and he led me away. Then I remember Declan telling me to be careful on the sailboat. Maybe he wasn’t talking about the edge of the platform. Maybe he was talking about Michael.
I didn’t write this letter to change your mind or your feelings toward me. I understand that door is closed. I merely wanted to correct a misunderstanding. I hold you in high regard, and I admit, it hurt my pride that you think so little of me.
For some reasonmy heartbeat thumps loudly in my ears and I suddenly feel ill. Like that steak and kidney pie has gone bad in my stomach.
I wish you the best in your endeavors. Please don’t be concerned, I won’t bother you again.
I sit for five minutes,ten, just staring at the computer screen. I can’t believe it. He wasn’t…he wasn’t ever the arrogant, prideful, pension-stealing, love-ruining villain I painted him to be.
I told him that he ruined relationships by refusing to see people as they really were. But isn’t that what I did to Declan? And Michael too? I painted Michael as a charming, saintly, potential love interest. I misjudged him as well.
My nausea has passed. Now I just feel numb.
I was prejudiced against Declan from the very start and I never gave him a fair chance. Even when he was telling me that he loved me, I saw his declaration through a lens of prejudice. I know he’s right. I’m certain I’m not as connected as the women he typically dates, nor am I a model, nor the CEO of a company, nor the daughter of an aristocrat. He could easily have any of those women. But he loved me.
My pride, my ego just got in the way of seeing that.
