MARRIED TO MY ENEMY

Chapter 9

I spent the next twenty minutes wiping up my mess and pretending I wasn't listening for the shower to turn off.

I cleaned the red sauce off the black counter, swept the cheese off the floor, tried to dab the pink stain on my dress which just made it bigger. I kept telling myself my lasagna looked good. Lumpy, but full. Proud.

Then I smelled it.

Not good, buttery, Italian food smell. Burning smell. Like plastic and tomatoes.

I looked at the oven. A thin line of grey smoke was sneaking out the side seal. Then more. Then a lot, pouring out in a thick cloud.

Then the smoke alarm on the ceiling started screaming. That loud, high-pitched beeping that filled the whole suite and made my heart stop.

Smoke was pouring out of the oven door.

I just stood there frozen in the middle of the kitchen, holding a dirty red spatula, staring at my burning lasagna, unable to move.

The bathroom door slammed open so hard it hit the wall.

Diego stormed out in nothing but a white towel wrapped low around his hips, his hair dripping wet, water still running down his chest and shoulders and stomach. His eyes were wild.

He looked at the smoke, then at me, then at the oven.

"ARE YOU CRAZY?!" he shouted over the alarm, his voice raw.

I couldn't answer. I just stared.

He didn't wait. He grabbed the oven mitt off the counter, yanked the oven door open. A huge cloud of black smoke hit him right in the face and he coughed hard. Inside was my glass dish. My beautiful lasagna was now just a black, bubbling brick.

He turned the oven off and slammed the door shut with his hip. The alarm was still screaming.

"You trying to burn the whole place down?!" he yelled at me, water dripping off his hair onto the floor.

And that snapped me out of it.

"Stop shouting at me, okay?" I shouted back, my voice shaking. I was trying to sound tough but I could hear how small I sounded. "It was an accident!"

"An accident?" He waved his arm at the smoke everywhere. "Look at this! Look at this kitchen! What were you even trying to do?"

"It was my mistake, I know!" I yelled, and I hated that my eyes were stinging and it wasn't just from the smoke. "I'm not happy about it, but you don't get to shout at me like I'm a child!"

"A child would have more sense!" he shot back, and he was breathing hard and I was trying so hard not to look at the fact that he was standing there in nothing but a towel. "I came here for quiet, not to get smoked out by a spoiled princess who thinks a kitchen is a playground!"

"Spoiled princess?" My hands clenched around the spatula. "You have no idea who I am! And for your information, I wasn't playing! I was trying!"

"Trying to do what? Blow us up?" He ran a wet hand through his hair, frustrated. "That's it. I'm done. I'm going to the manager. I'm getting the other room. I'm not spending another night under the same roof as you."

"Good!" I screamed, and threw the spatula into the sink so hard it clattered. "Me too! I'm going to tell him I refuse to share with an arrogant,and judgmental man”

We just stood there staring at each other across the destroyed kitchen. Smoke everywhere. Him half-naked and dripping. Me in my stained white dress with flour on my cheek. Both of us furious and breathing hard.

He looked me up and down, then looked down at himself like he just remembered he was in a towel. He scowled.

"I'm taking a shower," he said coldly, turning his back on me. "Clean up your own mess."

He stomped back into the bathroom and slammed the door. The shower turned back on a second later.

I stood there for a minute just listening to the water run, the alarm finally stopping, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I cleaned because I didn't know what else to do. I wiped the counters even though they were still streaky. I threw the black brick lasagna, dish and all, into a trash bag. I opened the balcony doors to let the smoke out. My hands were shaking the whole time.

I changed out of the ruined white dress and put on grey shorts and a big t-shirt. I pulled my hair up. I didn't want him to see me looking messy again.

When he finally came out twenty minutes later, the smoke was mostly gone. He was dressed all black,black shirt, black pants. Not for me. He looked like he was going to a business meeting. Or a funeral. His hair was damp and he smelled like soap, not smoke.

I was sitting at the breakfast bar eating a bowl of dry cereal straight from the box because I was starving and too embarrassed to try cooking again. I felt about five years old.

He walked past me without looking at me and grabbed his wallet and key card off the entry table. The keys jingled loud in the quiet.

I looked up. My eyes were still red from the smoke.

"I'm going to see the manager now," he said flatly.

Something stubborn and angry flared up in my chest again. He didn't get to decide.

I pushed the cereal bowl away, stood up, and my jaw set in that same line my father always hated.

I walked right past him, grabbed my little purse off the couch, slipped my feet into my sandals by the door.

I turned to face him. I gave him the exact same cold look he was giving me.

"I'm going too."