by Sophia Henry
“What’s up?” he asks.
“Nothing. Why?” My answer comes out in a rush.
Am I blushing? I brush my fingers across my cheek to see if it’s warm.
“You have this cute little smile on your face. Just wondering what put it there.” He lifts his beer and takes a swig.
I watch every move, taking in details I’ve never had a chance to before. The way his long fingers grip the pint glass. The way his tongue touches the rounded lip of the glass as he drinks. The way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.
How can he be so mean? Sitting there, minding his own business, looking so incredibly sexy as he does normal things like drink his beer.
“There was a conversation about bacon. I love bacon.”
I love bacon? I’m sitting across from the sexiest man alive and all I can say is I love bacon?
I take a pull of my own beer, trying to wash down the embarrassment.
“Noted. Should I make you some tomorrow morning?”
I swallow fast, surprised by his bold question. Thankfully, the liquid doesn’t go down the wrong pipe and make me a coughing mess in front of him and everyone else. “Excuse me?”
“I’m totally crashing at your place tonight. The least I can do is make you breakfast.”
I close my eyes and shake my head. My heart slams under my ribcage. “What are you talking about?” My voice is a gravelly mix of lust and thinly veiled outrage.
“I’m absolutely not letting you go home alone. I have this weird vibe that Trent might be there,” Erik says without a hint of flirtation. He’s all business. “You could come to my place if you want. I’m just up the road.”
“Oh. Yeah, I-I didn’t think about that.” I nod. The butterflies exit stage door left and fly out into the night. “It’s definitely not a good idea for me be alone tonight. But, I mean, I can go to Liz’s.” I reach into my pocketbook and dig around for my phone.
Erik’s arm snakes out and he places his hand on my forearm. “We need to make this relationship look real. You said it yourself.”
“I know. But you can just hold your horses there, because I’m not the kind of girl who goes home with a man on the first date. No matter how long we’ve known each other. I’ll stay with Liz or go to my parents’ house.”
The white lights, draping the branches of the potted tree next to our table, flicker, making it look as if his hazel eyes sparkle. But men only sparkle in paranormal fiction, not real life.
His shoulders drop and he removes his hand from my arm, leaving the skin cold where warmth once pulsed. “Okay. As long as you’re not going home alone. That’s all I care about.”
I swallow back my pride. It’s fake. It’s all fake. Why do I keep getting my hopes up? Why would I ever think Erik wants more than the agreement we’ve established to help each other? He’s had years to make a move or ask me out.
I’m such an idiot.
It shouldn’t be this easy for me to fall back into the childish drama of a boy-crazed teenager. Time to put these ridiculous feelings aside and focus on the reason we’re both doing this. Erik’s entire focus is keeping me safe, and I appreciate that. In turn, I’m going to continue the charade so he can stay here in the U.S.—right where he belongs.
Erik wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to protect me. He followed me to my parents’ house and all the way up their long driveway, then waited until I closed the door behind me before he drove away. I know because I watched him through the window next to the front door, just like I used to do when I was younger.
Once inside, I lean against the door, unable to contain my smile or the tingle of excitement. It’s the seemingly insignificant things—like waiting until I was safe in the house—that make me giddy as a schoolgirl. The few times Trent dropped me off after a date or event, he never waited. He put the pedal of his BMW 6 series to the metal as soon as I shut the passenger door. It annoyed me at the time, but then I got used to it. Funny how something so small makes a such a big difference.
“Madeline, what are you doing here so late?” Mama asks.
My mother is, was, and always will be my role model. She’s smart as a whip, drop-dead gorgeous, and carries herself with class at all times. Even now, in a cozy, black, Cosabella pajama set with her frosted blonde hair, twisted into small spiral buns and pinned against her head. I used to love watching her put them up and take them out. Perfect pin curls every time. It took me awhile to learn, but I finally did.
“Is it okay if I stay here tonight?” I ask, peeling myself off the door. The question is a formality; I know I’m welcome to stay with my parents at any time.
“Of course, sugar.” Mama beckons me over. Once I’m close enough, she reaches out, skimming her hand over the back of my head. “Feels like the bump is gone already.”
I nod. “It’s still a little tender, though.” Just like my nerves—tender, frayed. The physical effects of Trent’s abuse may have faded, but the mental effects are still raw.
“Is something going on Uptown?” Mama asks.
“No, why?” I follow her to the kitchen.
Steam rises from a teacup sitting on the counter. The calming smell of cinnamon wafts through the air when she lifts the string of the tea bag and dips it a few times.
“Why aren’t you staying at your condo tonight?” She rings the remaining water out of the bag by pressing it against a small spoon, then places both on the saucer. She extends the dainty, porcelain cup toward me. “Would you like this one? I can make another.”
“No, thank you.” I shake my head. “Honestly, Mama? I was afraid to go home.”
“Why would you be afraid to go home? What’s wrong?”
“It was an interesting night.” Thankfully, the evening with Erik calmed me down.
“Does this have anything to do with your breakup with Trent?”
I should have known that Mama would already know. It hasn’t even been four hours since it happened. Trent probably called his mama straightaway. Wonder if it was before or after he stormed into Amelia’s?
“Yes. After we spoke, he followed me to a coffee shop, busted through like a wrecking ball, and started calling me a whore in front of God and everyone.”
“Well, I’m not calling the kettle black, Madeline, but what is anyone supposed to think when you were at that coffee shop meeting another man just minutes after breaking up with your long-term boyfriend?” she snaps.
“That’s not fair, Mama. I met up with a friend because I was nervous and upset. It wasn’t a date with another man.”
It wasn’t. Maybe the part where we went to Home on the Range was, but that wasn’t planned.
“Maybe so, but that’s not what it sounds like to anyone else.”
“Instead of talking about what it sounded like through the grapevine, can we address the fact that Trent followed me there and his psychotic outburst? Is there any wonder why I’m afraid to go home right now? He has a key to my condo. He could be there, waiting to do who knows what when I walk in the door.”
“What’s gotten into you, Madeline?”
“Excuse me?” I ask, confused. Mama rarely scolds me. Probably because we see eye-to-eye on most issues. Liz and Emily may have called me, “Mayor Maddie” growing up, but Mama called me “Mini Magnolia,” an offshoot of the nicknames my grandfather on Daddy’s side used to call her—Steel Magnolia—meaning she possessed both femininity and a strong will. I know how cliché it is for a Southern woman to be called a steel magnolia, but I like it. It describes us perfectly.
“Less than a week ago, you and Trent were happier than two pigs in the sun. Suddenly you’re accusing him of horrible things. You’ve even gone so far as to end your relationship. All of this came out of the blue, and I really don’t understand.”
My heart sinks because she’s right. The incident at the pool was frightening and eye-opening, but I haven’t discussed that with anyone, and I kept tight-lipped about Trent’s treatment before that. Liz said she could tell something
was off between him and me, but Liz is my sister, my closest friend, and she disliked Trent from the beginning, so I assume she watched with a critical eye. Erik calling me out about the immensity of what Trent did triggered a string of alarming memories—things I can’t push aside anymore.
Because of my silence on the issue, I can’t expect anyone to understand.
“I told you things hadn’t been going well between us for a while, Mama,” I say quietly, treading lightly into the truth. “I just didn’t say anything. It’s not wise to air our dirty laundry for others to see, right?” I know the code of conduct. The details of what goes on are kept within that relationship. What happens behind closed doors is no one else’s business.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner, but I tried to make it work. I tried my hardest and I lasted as long as I could.”
“As long as you could?” Mama sets her teacup on the saucer. “You’ve haven’t even lived in the same town for a year yet!”
I don’t have the energy to defend my decision any further or argue with her. Especially when I know there’s no winning an argument with Mama. Either she’s right or she makes life hell. “I know it’s disappointing, Mama. I know I’ve let you down. But I’m still young; I’ll find another man to marry.”
At twenty-five, I probably seem like an old maid to her, who married Daddy a few days before her twentieth birthday. Things were different when they were younger. Her mother passed away shortly after she met him. I think that loss made her want to start her own family quickly—to have the family structure back in her life and become a mother herself. But she doesn’t talk about her past, so I can’t say for sure.
Mama scoffs. “I’m not worried about your age, or whether you’ll find another boyfriend, Madeline. I’m concerned about the stores—and how much relies on our relationship with the Andersons. We have how many new sites opening up between this year and next? And Alfred is designing all of them, correct? Maybe we should have had a meeting before you ended things so abruptly with his son.”
A meeting about my love life. Not one of the things I realized I’d be signing up for when I chose to work in the family business.
“Sorry I didn’t reserve the conference room and call you all in before I made a decision about my personal life, Mama.” I roll my eyes.
“Don’t you dare get snippy with me, young lady.” Mama points at me. “You, out of all of my daughters, know how important relationships are. We’re part of a tight-knit circle and word gets around. Whether you like it or not, your decisions—business and personal—affect other people around you. I’m not saying you had to stay with Trent; I’m just asking you to give your Daddy and I a heads-up before you do something so drastic.”
“I did give you a heads-up,” I protest. “I told you I wanted to break up with him.”
“I meant before you actually did it. You blindsided all of us.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t run it by you and Daddy first, Mama. It’s been weighing on me pretty heavily. And, despite what you may think, it wasn’t an easy decision.”
How sad is it that I had to think long and hard about severing ties with a man who has been physically, mentally, and verbally abusive to me for years? I’ve been silent for years so as not to rock the boat. Part of me thought it would be easier to go on with life as I had been, until I remembered how concerned and frightened Erik had looked after he dragged me from the pool.
Finally having someone’s full support gave me the strength to break free.
“Whether it was a difficult decision or not, it’s still something your father and I should have been aware of. We have to do damage control, Madeline. We have to look out for our business interests.”
We’ll go in circles for the rest of the night if I try to get Mama to understand my side—my feelings. It’s all about business and our reputation for her. “I know. I’m sorry, Mama.”
“Why don’t you go upstairs and take a shower?”
I nod. Before I head upstairs, I pause and say, “When I marry someone, I want to be as happy with him as you and Daddy are together. That’s always been my goal. I knew that wouldn’t be the case with Trent Anderson.”
“Good night, Madeline,” Mama dismisses me.
It’s not just me blowing smoke. I’ve always wanted a relationship like the one my parents have. Sure, they argue like any married couple—especially one in business together—but when it comes down to it, they love each other and do right by each other.
But for as much as I love and admire Mama, she has one trait I never want to emulate—how cold she can be.
Chapter Eight
Erik
It’s not like to me to be nervous about taking a girl out, but the reality of picking Madeline Commons up for a date has me feeling like an inexperienced teenager again. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans before I open the door to enter the lobby of her Uptown Charlotte condo building. It’s a huge, bright space with floors that look like white-and-grey swirled marble, and a calming waterfall streaming down a mahogany accent wall.
From behind a massive desk, the concierge greets me with a smile and a nod. He’s on the phone, so I shoot him a quick wave, then pull out my phone and text Maddie to let her know I’m here.
She said she’d be right down, so instead of sitting, I stand behind a gray-and-metal couch that looks straight out of an Ikea catalog, watching sports scores scroll across a huge flat-screen TV. Though I’ve driven or walked by multiple times, I’ve never been in this building. It’s got a clean, modern vibe, which is trendy and interesting, but it doesn’t seem to fit Maddie. She seems warm and traditional, rather than stark and modern. Then again, she didn’t design the building. Her space could have a totally different vibe.
A few minutes later, I’m startled by someone grabbing my hand. I turn quickly and catch Maddie placing her lips on mine. The kiss is a complete surprise, but not an unpleasant one. She pulls back immediately.
“Sorry!” She laughs. “I was going for your cheek, but you turned.”
“I’m not mad about it.”
Maddie smells like nostalgia. The sweet scent of lavender fills my mind with memories. Sitting next to her, with our backs against that huge black walnut in her parents’ yard, surrounded by English lavender plants. The recollection makes me bold. I place my hands behind her ears and drop my head to meet her lips again. This time, it’s deliberate, and she responds by sliding her arms around my waist. That gives me all the permission to intensify the kiss. When I slip my tongue out to part her lips, she opens on contact. Our tongues touch, tangling for a few seconds.
I thought tasting her would calm my nerves, but it has the opposite effect. All I can think about is taking her back upstairs and showing her just how much I want her. It’s not a new feeling. And it’s not fake.
But that’s not in the plan.
During the kiss, her eyes were closed, but when I pull my lips from hers, they pop open with our faces just inches apart.
“That was nice,” she says, looking up at me through lush lashes.
“It really was.” I guide her toward the door, with my hand on the bare skin at her back, courtesy of the long-sleeved sweater she’s wearing that’s cropped at the midriff. Not only does it show off a sliver of her tight stomach, it also hangs off one shoulder, giving me a double shot of warm, bronzed skin. Her dark, skin-tight jeans hug every curve of her hips and ass, and sexy, heeled sandals make her legs look a million miles long. This is what she wears bowling. She’s going to kill me. “You look delicious. I couldn’t help it.”
“Delicious?” Maddie asks, glancing at me over her shoulder while I hold the door for her.
“Absolutely devourable.” I can’t lie. I need to bring it down a notch, because I’ll be walking around with a boner all night, if I don’t. Which is uncomfortable for me and everyone around.
At the corner of Fifth and Church, we turn right. We’re meeting her sister, Liz, and her boyf
riend for “Glow Bowling” at Strike City—a bowling alley a few blocks away in the Epicenter. I don’t hang out in the city center of Charlotte very often, but I do like Strike City. Especially for special nights like Glow Bowling—where the main lights are replaced with blacklights, which makes the balls glow neon. Is there anything more romantic than glowing balls and the creepy, ultra-white smiles that happen when teeth glow under a black light?
All kidding aside, when Maddie chose bowling, with her sister and her boyfriend, as our first official date, I was pretty stoked. To me, that meant she was taking the significance of our fake relationship seriously. We have to be loud and proud about it—photos, family gatherings—the whole she-bang—if we want it to be believable. Hanging out with her sister in public is a great way to start.
“Liz and Austin are on lanes seven and eight.”
I’ve never seen Liz’s boyfriend, so I immediately scan the numbers on the lanes, searching for seven and eight. Once I find them, my gaze travels to the people standing near the ball return.
“Uh, Maddie?” I ask, squinting to get a better look at the man in Liz Commons’s embrace. “Is that Austin Williams from Drowned World?”
“Yeah. It’s Liz’s boyfriend.”
“Liz is dating Austin Williams?”
“Yup.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” We stop at the counter to get our shoes, getting in line behind a family of four. The little boy turns around and shoots me with a finger gun. There’s only one thing to do when that happens. I close my eyes and stagger back, bringing my hands to my heart as if he got me.
Maddie laughs at the interaction. “I told you we were going bowling with Liz and Austin.”
“But you didn’t tell me it was Austin Williams,” I continue, as if I didn’t just get fake-shot. I’m getting good at pretending these days.