The Unhoneymooners(50)

My jaw tightens, and I feel the storm build in my chest. This is good. Anger is good. I can do angry at Ethan. It’s so much easier than feeling the tickling edges of smitten. “No, Ethan, your ex-girlfriend was not at breakfast. Neither was her fiancé, or any of the new friends you made in the lobby last night.”

“The what?” he asks.

“Never mind.” Obviously he doesn’t remember. Excellent. We can pretend the rest didn’t happen, either.

“Are you in a bad mood?” he asks, and a dry, sardonic laugh bursts out of me.

“Am I in a bad mood? Is that a serious question?”

“You seem upset or something.”

“I seem—?” I take a deep breath, pulling myself to my full height. Do I seem upset? He kissed me last night, said sweet things implying that maybe he’d wanted to do that for a while, and then passed out. Now he’s grilling me about who might have seen me getting food alone in the hotel. I don’t think my reaction is overblown.

“I’m great.”

He mumbles something and then reaches for the fruit, opening the lid and peering in. “Was this from the—”

“No, Ethan, it’s not from the buffet. I ordered a freshly made fruit plate. I brought it up to spare us the twelve-dollar room service delivery charge.” My palm is itchy to smack him for the first time in two days, and it feels glorious.

He grunts out a “Thanks,” and then picks up a piece of mango with his fingers. He stares at it, and then bursts out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“Just remembering that girlfriend of Dane’s who had a mango tattoo on her ass.”

“What?”

He chews, and swallows before speaking. “Trinity. The one he was dating like two years ago?”

I frown; discomfort worms through me. “Couldn’t have been two years ago. He was with Ami three and a half years ago.”

He waves this away. “Yeah, but I mean before he and Ami were exclusive.”

At these words, I drop the sugar spoon I’m holding and it clatters dissonantly on the counter. Ami met Dane at a bar, and by her account, they went home that night, had sex, and never looked back. As far as I know, there was never a time they weren’t exclusive.

“How long was it again that they were seeing other people?” I ask, with as much control as possible.

Ethan pops a blackberry into his mouth. He’s not looking at my face now, which is probably good, because I’m sure I look like I’m ready to do a murder. “Like the first couple years they were together, right?”

Bending, I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to channel Professional Olive, who can keep her cool even when being challenged by condescending physicians. “Right. Right.” I can either freak out, or milk this moment for information. “They met at that bar but it wasn’t until . . . when did they decide to be exclusive again?”

Ethan looks up at me, catching something in my tone. “Um . . .”

“Was it right before they got engaged?” I don’t know what I’ll do with myself if he agrees with this shot in the dark, but it suddenly makes sense that Dane would refuse to commit until he was impulsively ready to enter holy matrimony.

My brain is nothing but fantasies of fire and brimstone.

Ethan nods slowly, and his eyes scan my face like he’s trying to read my mood, and can’t. “Remember? He ended it with the other women right around the time Ami had her appendix out, and then he proposed?”

I slam my hand down on the counter. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Ethan bolts to stand, pointing a finger at me. “You played me! Don’t even pretend like Ami didn’t know all this!”

“Ami never thought they were seeing other people, Ethan!”

“Then she lied to you, because Dane tells her everything!”

I am already shaking my head, and I really want to hurt Dane but Ethan is closer and it’ll be a fantastic rehearsal. “You’re telling me that Dane was sleeping around for the first two years they were together, and he let you think Ami was okay with it? She started cutting out wedding dresses she liked in magazines after a few months of dating him. She treated her wedding like a game show challenge to win as much as she could—and it consumed her. She has an apron specifically for baking cupcakes, for crying out loud, and has already picked out names for their future children. Does Ami seem like the kind of chill gal who would be fine with an open relationship?”

“I . . .” He seems less certain now. “Maybe I’m wrong . . .”

“I need to call her.” I turn to head to the bedroom to find my phone.

“Don’t!” he shouts. “Look, if that’s what he told me, then I’m telling you this in confidence.”

“You have got to be joking. There is no way I’m not talking to my sister about this.”

“Jesus Christ, Dane was right.”

I go very still. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He laughs, but it’s not a happy sound.

“Seriously, Ethan? What does that mean?”

He looks up at me, and with a pang I miss the sweet adoration in his expression last night, because the anger here is painful.

“Tell me,” I say, more quietly now.