by Penny Reid
The promised talking-to wasn’t happening, so I opened my eyes. He was standing over me, staring at me. I swallowed hard.
And then he kissed me.
To say I was relieved seriously understates the situation. I was so relieved I let myself relax completely, only he wasn’t exactly holding on tight to me, so I started to actually fall down before he caught me and then we were both laughing except I was crying a little too, and—well, it was a classic Madison moment.
“Good lord, you can ruin almost anything, can’t you?” He led me over to the couch.
“Don’t sound so surprised about it.” I sat down and grinned hugely at him. “Should I pour us some wine, or…?”
“It seems fitting.” I used the time to gather myself, so by the time I brought our glasses over to the coffee table, I wasn’t even shaking at all anymore. The wine, by the way, came out of a box. I couldn’t face bottles and labels and tasting notes without Marc, and yet I also couldn’t stop remembering his taste when I sipped a glass or three of merlot, so boxes it was.
“I don’t even know where to start. You are the most infuriating woman I’ve met since my freshman comp professor, but I never wanted to have a sex thing with her.”
I was quiet. Was I supposed to talk? I sipped instead.
“And I’m still kind of mad, you know, because you really crossed a line. Several, even. And that’s really hurtful. You knew full well how I’d feel about being cartoonized. Is that a word?”
“I don’t think so. And actually, I had no idea how you’d feel about it. So I just glossed over that little detail.” Typical me, sketching around that section. “But I didn’t mean to hurt you. And if I’d had any idea how upset you’d be, I wouldn’t have done that.”
I really wouldn’t have, either. Speculating about my humiliation was a whole different thing compared to the betrayal on Marc’s face that morning in our kitchen. Oh thank Odin, it was still “our” kitchen. Anyway, I’d have done the sitcomic all differently if I’d known it would lead to this. I’d have used Crimson as my main character, and then fan-fictioned what I’d like to see happen in Scarlet’s sex life instead. Tastefully, of course.
“That was the thing. You are a lot of things, but you aren’t mean. And when I weighed how pissed I was against the idea of never seeing you again, well… I spent a lot of time working my anger off on the farm chores so that I wouldn’t have any left when I came home to you.” He snaked his arm around me, and I leaned in for another kiss. Now that I was allowed to kiss him again, I didn’t know how I would ever get enough.
Although I still had a lot of questions. For one thing, forgiving me and renewing the sex thing still didn’t tell me exactly where I stood with him in general. I took another large swallow of wine, and considered how to phrase “but do you love me” without sounding desperate or pathetic.
“Madison—” my name sounded sweet in his mouth again— “I had no idea how lonely I was until you showed up. And just your presence in the house alone was enough at first, but after we spent our first evening on this couch together, it was like I realized everything I’d been missing during my non-stop studying life.”
“Like I colorized your sepia existence?” I supplied helpfully.
“Exactly! How did you know?”
“Perhaps I remember more of that evening than you do.” He blushed, which was exactly as adorable as it sounds.
“I kept telling myself it was just having anyone new around that would make me feel that way. And that I’d been doing the right thing all my life with no reward; the idea that French women would be the unexpected and exciting thing to do was on a loop in my brain. Settling down with the first girl I’d slept with in a year was the exact opposite of my plan. And I really like plans.” He took a deep breath, and gulped a little wine.
“But what’s the point of Paris without you? I don’t want to share the trip of a lifetime with strangers. I still want to bang my way across the country. I just want you to be the bangee.” He breathed out, and smiled. “Madison, I want to buy you a ticket to France.”
I stared at him.
“No,” I said.
“No?” he asked, clearly shocked.
“No. Definitely not.” I got up and refilled my glass.
“But—why? Are you worried about work? Because I thought—I mean, I’ve already booked all the hotels and everything, so it really won’t cost too much extra for you to come, and I can cover your rent while we’re there, too.” He stood up and grabbed me by the upper arms, his eyes searching mine.
“Say something!” He demanded. I smiled at him.
“Well. I haven’t been pining for you the entire time you’ve been gone,” I told him. “I’ve also been working very hard.”
“I know, I saw all the things you did online,” he said, still holding me. I relished each fingerprint pressed into my skin.
“I mean, I don’t want to upset you, but I definitely sold the whole thing to a publisher, and I don’t want to piss you off again, so you’d have to say yes, but I already cashed the check, so.”
“What are you saying, exactly?” I stood up on my tiptoes and kissed him on each cheek, like a Frenchwoman.
“I’m saying that I’m buying my own damn ticket to France.” After that, we basically retreated to his room to celebrate our bangcation. The first order of business—trying the upside-down thing. After all, the Kama Sutra offers several variations on the position. It went exactly as well as I’d predicted in the sex shop, so after that we celebrated a bit more tastefully.
I slam my laptop shut, and close my eyes. The air smells like lavender, and it isn’t even coming from Marc, but the scent will always remind me of him. As if the thought itself summons him, I feel his presence behind me. I wonder if I’ll ever stop being so hyperaware of the way the air moves around him, and I fervently hope I don’t.
“If you’ve finished the ending of your smutty graphic novel, I’ve arranged a vineyard tour for us,” he whispers in my ear.
“It’s very tasteful,” I whisper back, “And I’ll never turn down wine.”
Although it is strange—for all our success at the wine tasting with Brandon, we seem to have bungled every single vintage in Paris. Surely now that we’ve moved into the Loire Valley, the country air will sharpen our senses.
I still can’t freaking believe I funded a semester’s worth of French travels with my freaking Tumblr page.
Did I once say life is hell? Life is just a real surprise, is all. Surprises around every corner. I stand and stretch, rolling my shoulders to relieve the tension of typing for so long. Yeah, I know, cry me a river, right? I was typing the end of my book at a little café in France while my boyfriend arranged outings and wandered through bookshops.
I scrape my hair, now faded to the most appropriate shade of lavender, up into a ponytail and toss my computer in my bag. It’s only a short drive to the vineyard, and I share my concern with Marc on the way.
“I mean, have we gotten bad at wine? Do we get worse at wine the better we get at sex?” I feel that these are legit concerns.
“Oh. No, I slipped that wine guy a twenty to give me the tasting notes. You didn’t guess I was cheating? We are really, really bad at wine.” He laughs, and merrily slides into a parking space. “Ready?”
I burst out laughing, and open my door. In retrospect, it makes way more sense that an afternoon of reading books didn’t magically teach us how to taste. The point is that we just enjoy it, I suppose. An extremely stereotypical Frenchman greets us with the expected air kisses and glasses of something crisp and white, then begins to lead us around. I’m only half paying attention to him, because who can listen to a lecture when the sun is shining and you’re stepping through grapevines and you’re turning a corner and someone is presenting you with a diamond, and—
Wait. What?
“Look. We already share an address. I think it would be very economical if we shared a last name as well,” Marc says, grinning as widely as I�
��ve ever seen. I slosh my wine over the edge of my glass in my haste to get it on my finger. Holy cats! I accept, of course, because I may have brought the color, but Marc is the frame to my life. He is the solid thing, the path forward, the constant in my days that brings meaning.
He’s also really not poetic, so when I add an epilogue to Screwmates, I’ll change his wording.
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Welcome to Hollywood, where wet dreams come true.
I fell for Marlee the second I met her- gorgeous smile, unimpressed by my stardom… bendy.
Not even remotely interested in me.
Of course the girl of my dreams has to be engaged to her hometown high-school sweetheart. Nothing’s ever easy, right?
Until they break up.
And she moves in with me.
The only person who can help her practice for her next role is me.
Because Marlee isn’t just new to Hollywood.
She’s a virgin.
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~THE END~
Truth or Beard Copyright © 2015, 2016 by Penny Reid; All rights reserved
Pucked Copyright © 2015 by Helena Hunting
Wrong Copyright © 2015 by Jana Aston
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Fiancee Copyright © 2015 by Julia Kent
Sweet on the Greek Copyright © 2018 by Nixon House
Miss Fix-it Copyright © Emma Hart, 2017
Screwmates Copyright © Kayti McGee, 2018
Most Eligible Billionaire © Annika Martin, 2017
REMEDIAL ROCKET SCIENCE Copyright © 2017 by Susannah Nix
Thank you for reading Hilariously Ever After!