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“Guinevere…” His tone is chastening. I roll my eyes and turn away, done with this conversation. “You’re being unreasonable.”
“No, you are.”
“If I have to take them with me, I will. I’m not going to leave you stranded.”
“And what about you?” I pull open the door and descend the stairs, with him following closely behind. “How are you going to get anything done?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“And if you can’t?”
“I will,” he assures me and though he sounds truthful, I don’t have much faith in this right now. Everything is changing, again. I don’t like it. “Aren’t you happy? Another store is more money.”
“I know.” I push open the kitchen door and snag the empty kettle from its base. “It’s great. I’m happy for you, truly. It’s just difficult timing.”
“We’ll make it work.” His arms come around me, resting below my breasts, and his chin touches my shoulder. “We’re strong enough.”
“Are we?” I mumble and he tenses at my back. His arm holds me so tight it’s almost painful.
“What was that?”
Do I dare bring it up now? Maybe this is what he’s been hiding? The fact he has to leave? Am I overreacting?
“Nothing.” I try to pull free but he holds me even tighter.
“What did you mean, Gwen?”
“Nothing!”
“Guinevere.”
“Let go,” I yell and he does, immediately.
“What the hell?” He pants, his hands raised and his eyes wide with horror. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, I just… I need to breathe.”
His lips thin to a white line. “You need to breathe?”
“Yes.”
“Away from me?”
Grunt. “Don’t twist this.”
“Twist what? The fact you don’t think we’re strong enough to make this work? The fact you don’t have faith in me anymore? Or the fact that you just shouted at me to let you go?” He lets out a humourless laugh. “Or am I reading this all wrong?”
“I’m just…” Gah. “You’ve been avoiding me lately.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You’ve been secretive too.”
He doesn’t deny this. “I’ve been busy.”
“What are you hiding from me?”
Licking his lips, he crosses his arms across his chest and raises his chin. “You think I’m hiding something?”
“I know you are.” I prod him in the chest. “Tell me what it is.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Fine, swear it, on our lives, swear that you’re not keeping something from me.”
He laughs again and runs his hands through his hair. It’s a nervous tic; he’s about to lie. “This is ridiculous. Are we ten?”
“Do it. If it’s so silly then what does it matter?”
“After we almost died?”
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t bring that into this.”
“Then stop being silly. Come here; let’s make up and not waste our few hours of freedom on arguing.”
“No.” It’s my turn to fold my arms. “You either tell me or we don’t talk at all.”
“Fuck,” he snaps and turns away from me. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Do what.”
“This.” He presses his forehead against the wall and blows out a heavy breath. “I don’t want to argue.”
“Then tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing!” He hisses and opens the door beside him.
“Don’t walk away from me, Nathan.”
“I’m giving you space to breathe and calm the fuck down,” he shouts, stomping towards the door. “Is that okay? Or would you like me to sit down and allow you to call me a liar some more?”
“I can’t label what can’t be labelled.”
“What does that even mean?”
He grips the metal handle of the front door. “Last chance to stop this nonsense.”
“Chance not taken.” I step into the living room. “Go, run, but I’m not talking to you when you get back.”
“Oh my God,” he whispers and breathes deep, calming breaths. It won’t do him any good. I’m too pissed off now. I’m determined to get this from him. If he chooses not to trust me with the truth then maybe we aren’t right for each other. “Gwen, please. I booked us in at a really nice restaurant around the corner. Please, come and eat with me.”
“I’m not hungry,” I lie. I’m always hungry and he knows it.
“Come on,” he prompts, smiling as though I don’t hate him right now. “You know you get grumpy when you’re hungry.”
“You’re a patronising shit!”
“Fine.” He raises a brow and leans his shoulder against the door jamb. “Suit yourself.”
I sit on the couch and pout at the unresponsive TV. Nathan, after a few more seconds, sits beside me and places his hand on my thigh.
“I hate this. I feel as though there’s no way out of this.” He murmurs and strokes down to my knee and back up again. “I’m worried…”
“Then be honest.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” he whispers solemnly and I wonder if his aversion to telling me is something as simple as the time I caught him sneaking away to watch SpongeBob in his office. Maybe he’s embarrassed?
“Try me.”
“No,” he sighs. “Can’t you just trust me? Can’t I have a secret of my own? Just for a while until I’m ready to tell you?”
