Beautiful Malice by Rebecca James Page B

“Drop dead.”
    “At least let me ask the question first.”
    “Sorry. Ask away.”
    He looks back at the house before he speaks again. “Does Alice ever confide in you? About me? You know, tell you how she feels?”
    “No, not really.”
    “Not really?” Robbie looks at me expectantly, as if hoping I’ll elaborate.
    But the truth is that when we’re alone together, Alice very rarely mentions Robbie. Of course, if we have plans to do something together she mentions him, but she has never really talked about her feelings for him. I asked her once if she loved him, if she considered him her boyfriend, but she just laughed dismissively, shook her head, and said that she wasn’t girlfriend material. And although it’s obvious that Robbie doesn’t feel so casually about Alice—he’s quite clearly head over heels in love with her—I’d always assumed they had some kind of understanding.
    But Robbie wouldn’t be asking me these questions if he knew exactly where he stood. Clearly he’s hoping for more from his relationship with Alice than she’s willing to give. I have a sudden urge to tell him to protect himself, to steel his heart, to look for another girlfriend if he wants something serious. But I don’t. I can’t. I really don’t know what Alice thinks of her relationship with Robbie—perhaps she does love him but is reluctant to admit it, perhaps she’s just afraid of being hurt—and I don’t have the right to give advice or make warnings when I’m just as much in the dark as he is.
    “I’ve only known her for three months, Robbie,” I remind him.
    “But you two have become pretty close, you spend so much time together,” he answers. “You must have some idea what she thinks. Even if she doesn’t come right out and say it.”
    “But she hasn’t said anything, honest. And so no, I don’t know any more than you do.” I look at him, puzzled. “Anyway, didn’t you say that Alice was bad for you? You compared her to some kind of unhealthy addiction. I thought you were”—I hesitate, trying to think of the right word—“um, I don’t know, in this with your eyes wide open?”
    “More like my heart wide open, I think.” He smiles sadly. “Sometimes I can be rational about it and be happy just to take whatever she’s willing to give. Sometimes I can concentrate on all the bad stuff about our relationship and convince myself that anything serious with Alice would only make me miserable. But the reality is that I want more.” He sighs. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have interrogated you like that. It’s really boring when people try and talk about their relationships with a third person, isn’t it? I hate it when people do it to me.”
    “Don’t worry. I’m not bored. Not at all. I just don’t have any answers.”
    “Maybe I should go and see one of those people who can tell you the future. What are they called?”
    “A psychic?”
    “That’s it. A psychic.”
    “Why don’t you just ask Alice? Talk to her seriously. Ask her what she wants.”
    “I’ve tried. I ask her what she feels, what she wants, all the time. She’s an absolute master at avoiding questions—haven’t you noticed that about her? I tell her I love her and she laughs and changes the subject. If I get too serious, she gets annoyed and tells me to be quiet.”
    “Maybe you need to be more forceful?” I smile and put my hand on his knee and squeeze affectionately. “Ask her if she wants to marry you and have your babies and live happily ever after,” I joke.
    “I would marry her, that’s the sad part. The truth is that I’d marry her and get her pregnant and have six beautiful kids and buy a house and get a stupid, boring job and support them all forever. I’d do it in a heartbeat. I’d love to.” He sighs again. “I love her. There’s just no one else like Alice, is there? She’s beautiful, funny, smart … and she’s got so much passion for life. So much enthusiasm. She can make the most boring