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“I’m going to call the police and report you both.”
“Call them then,” Frida and I say in unison.
That idiot takes out her cell phone and shrieks in frustration, “Why is there no service here?”
Frida and I laugh.
“Get out of here. I’m sure you’ll have service outside. Go on ... Call the police. It’ll be great for your future in-laws and your little husband to know you were here.”
Andrés comes in, holds on to his wife, and scolds her. Frida protests and leaves the restroom angrily. She can’t stand Betta. Björn, who had been standing to one side of the door, murmurs when he sees his friend so angry.
“This is over. Come on, let’s go back in,” Björn says.
Eric isn’t saying a word when he leaves the restroom. Betta smiles. Incapable of keeping myself in check, I give her a shove that puts her back against the sinks.
“I swear to God this won’t end here.”
Once I stomp angrily out of the restroom, Björn grabs me by the arm and makes me look into his eyes. “That’s not how you fix things, precious,” he says.
“What are you talking about? I don’t want to fix anything with that bitch!”
“Never mind,” he says after I fill him in on what she did to me in Madrid and the split she caused between Eric and me. “Hell, I’m about to walk in there and slap her myself.”
That makes me laugh. When he sees my face, Björn gives me a hug. Eric comes up, fury in his eyes, and hisses, “I’m going home. Are you coming with me, or are you staying with Björn to keep playing?”
Surprised, I stare at him.
“You asshole.”
“Jude ... ,” Eric says.
“Don’t Jude me. What are you trying to insinuate when you say that?”
Eric doesn’t answer. Björn, amused, pushes me toward Eric.
“C’mon, lovebirds, finish the argument at home in bed!”
We don’t speak in the car.
We’re both irate, but I can’t understand his anger. Betta deserved it. And on top of that, she had the gall to touch him. To touch us.
Damn that woman!
On the way, our phones go off. We’ve received several messages. Neither of us looks at them. I’m sure it’s Frida and Björn making sure we’re all right. When we get home and put the car in the garage, I slam the car door so loud, Eric looks at me. Now in the mood for a fight, I shout, “What’s wrong?”
“Could you not be so rude and close the door more carefully?”
“No.”
He raises an eyebrow, surprised.
“No?”
“No, I don’t want to be careful! I’m so angry with you. First, for shouting at me in front of that bitch, Betta, and second for the bullshit you said about Björn.”
Eric closes his eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Betta?”