The Devil Wears Black

by Shen, L. J.

  Mad and I went out the evening I’d met her (the no-fraternization rule didn’t apply since we technically didn’t work in the same company). She had very big, very brown-green-whatever eyes rimmed by brown and gold speckles, a pixie haircut that gave her a dramatic, will-slowly-steal-your-heart-if-you’re-not-careful Daisy Buchanan look, and lips so full and pillowy I got a semi every time they moved.

  Which was every time she spoke.

  Which was a whole fucking lot.

  After I slept with Mad on the first date, we texted back and forth. She told me she didn’t normally sleep with first dates and that she would like to take it slow. Which, of course, made me want to sleep with her again almost immediately. I did just that. The third time we texted, she threw her rules out the window and began to play according to mine. Before I knew it, we got into a comfortable arrangement of eating dinner together, followed by having sex. This arrangement occurred frequently during the week. In hindsight, too frequently. It was the tits, and the fact that underneath her (I cannot stress this enough) truly horrid clothes, she wore sexy chemises and matching lingerie.

  Perhaps I was not entirely without fault when it came to setting the tone for our extended fling. At some point, I made a strategic error. It made logistical sense Madison would have access to my apartment. Having her at my disposal was convenient, and buzzing her up constantly grated on my nerves. No emotions were involved while making the decision to give Mad a spare key. My housekeeper and PA had one, too, and I was not in danger of proposing to either of them. In fact, I changed PAs as often as I did underwear.

  And just for clarification, I was a highly hygienic person.

  As for occasionally taking Madison to the movies—I genuinely wanted to watch whatever we went to see. Sue me for being a Guillermo del Toro and Tarantino fan. It wasn’t like we cuddled in the theater or even shared popcorn (she poured a bag of M&M’S into her bucket of popcorn on our first outing to the movies. That should have been my first clue the woman was raised in the wilderness).

  It took me five months to find out I was in a relationship. Mad was the person to point it out to me. She did it in a sly, adorable way. Not unlike a Care Bear with a butcher’s knife. Said her father was in town the week after the next and asked if I wanted to meet him.

  “Why would I want to meet him?” I asked conversationally. Why, in-fucking-deed. Her answer made my whiskey go down the wrong pipe. The same Scottish single malt I’d been sipping at a friend’s party I’d taken her to, not because we were dating but because it was less hassle than making the journey to her place when I was done.

  “Well, because you’re my boyfriend.” She batted her eyelashes, cradling her cosmo cocktail like she was a tourist trying to live her best Carrie Bradshaw life.

  (Note to self: She was a tourist. She’d grown up in Pennsylvania. I should have checked if I could deport her back there, although at this stage, it had been way past fourteen business days.)

  It was in that come-meet-my-dad moment that I realized I hadn’t screwed anyone else since I’d met Madison, and I didn’t have any desire to do so in the near future (voodoo vagina). And that we spoke regularly on the phone (even when we didn’t, technically, have much to say to each other). And that we had sex all the time (I was attached to a dick; enough said). And that I naturally assumed my weekend plans included her (again—I was attached to a dick).

  That, coupled with the fact I brought her over to see my parents at Christmas, was how things started getting serious and not at all fling-like.

  More specifically—how they crashed and burned, setting my entire life philosophy on dumpster fire. I was now officially taken and with a girlfriend, two things I’d promised myself would never happen again. So I did what I had to do to remove Madison Goldbloom from my life. Got rid of her Band-Aid-style, once and for all.

  I thought we were over.

  Done for good.

  I wanted to be done with the little, mouthy, sex-on-atrocious-Babette-shoes woman who thought wearing petticoats at twenty-six was adorable, as opposed to deranged.

  Then my father had thrown a burning curveball straight into my hands, and here I was, tossing it from side to side, actively spending time with Madison. Doing the very thing I’d vowed not to do.

  “You’re here!” Mom pounced on my windshield like a frenzied kangaroo as I parked the Tesla by the Hamptons estate. Madison jolted awake from her slumber beside me. She patted her chin to see if she was drooling—she was—and sat up, rearranging her pearl headband.

  Rather than offering her a few seconds to get ready, I did what any other world-class dick would do and shoved my door open and rounded the car to hug my mother.

  “How was traffic?” Mom’s french-manicured nails dug into my shoulders. She peppered kisses across my face, thinly concealing her eager peeks into the car. She was quivering with barely restrained excitement.

  “Bearable.”

  “I hope Madison didn’t mind the traffic.”

  “She loves traffic jams. They’re her favorite hobby.”

  Right after trapping innocent men into relationships.

  Anyway, since when was Madison above trivial inconveniences such as traffic? That was what happened when you never brought anyone home. The first so-called partner I had, and my parents treated her like the Second Coming of Jesus.

  I opened Madison’s door, helping her out of the car but really thrusting her right into reality’s arms. She shimmied her pencil skirt down, trying to make a graceful exit.

  Mom tackled Madison like a professional linebacker, plastering her to the car. To her credit, Mad played the part of a happy fiancée semiconvincingly. Meaning she was awkward but not above her usual gracelessness. After they squealed at each other, Mom examined her engagement ring from all angles, oohing and aahing like it was the first time she’d seen a diamond in her life. It was a nice piece from the Black & Co. exclusive line. I’d asked for the most stupidly expensive, generic thing they had. Something that said the fiancé is rich but also and knows nothing about his bride-to-be. Something perfect for the two of us.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but it’ll be a smaller event. We haven’t had much time to prepare since Ronan . . .” My mother trailed off, apologizing to Madison.

  Madison shook her head almost hysterically. “No, no. I totally get it. The fact that you’re doing anything at all considering the circumstances is . . . ah . . .” She looked around herself. “Amazing, really.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll still be the belle of the ball.” I patted Madison’s shoulder, looking down at her with the warmth of a butter knife. I might or might not have watched several Hallmark movies in order to mimic a loving fiancé. As I’d been jogging on the treadmill. Real talk, the cardio was the only reason I hadn’t fallen asleep during the BS overload.

  “You’re too kind.” Madison put her hand over mine on her shoulder, squeezing it in the hopes of breaking a few bones.

  I bit back a smirk. “Never too kind for you.”

  “Oh, stop it.” She smiled tightly. “Really,” she stressed.

  Mom looked between us, basking in whatever she thought she was witnessing and clapping her hands together. “Look at you two!”

  Although Madison did not do anything overtly bad to fuck things up, she was far from Oscar-worthy in the loving-fiancée department. She tucked her head down whenever she was asked a question that needed to be answered with a lie. Her cheeks were so beetroot red I thought her head was about to explode. And she regarded me with polite, fake enthusiasm, like I was bad macaroni art made by a particularly distracted child.

  “Katie is dying to see you, and I don’t think you’ve met Julian, Chase’s older brother, and his wife, Amber, yet. They weren’t with us last Christmas. They celebrated with Amber’s family in Wisconsin,” Mom blabbed, snatching Madison’s hand and leading her into the house after ten painful minutes. “Clementine, their daughter, is such a peach.”

  “Sounds fruity,” Mad squeaked, ge
tting whisked away by Mom without sparing me another glance.

  Sounds fruity. She’d actually said that. I’d been inside this woman at some point. What in the holy fuck had I been thinking?

  Two uniformed employees materialized from the entrance, rushing to carry Madison’s suitcase. I directed them to the room we were going to share—yes, share—glancing at the golf cart by the Tesla. I entertained the idea of heading straight to the golf course to interrupt Julian and Dad, then thought better of it. I wasn’t some hysterical preteen begging to be included. Besides, I had to go upstairs and work the Madison angle. Prep her before she met the rest of the Black clan.

  My father had the uncanny ability to see past bullshit and dissect situations and dynamics successfully. I wouldn’t put it past him to call me out on this engagement if he noticed my bride was contemplating murdering me with a steak knife. Yes, I decided. The crap with Julian could wait. It wasn’t like we were going to go for each other’s throat near Dad, anyway.

  Reluctantly, I headed to our room on the left wing of the estate. The side reserved for immediate family. Julian and his family resided in the right wing. The official reason was because they needed more space. If it were three years ago, I’d have bought it. Not now, though. Now, Julian felt like an outsider through and through.

  I found Madison caught in a mindless conversation with Katie and Mom in our room. Amber was probably taking a bubble bath somewhere in the mansion, trying the latest skin-care fad. Koala blood or turtle shit or whatever it was she smeared on her face to appear younger. The women in my family were still holding Madison’s hand hostage in turns, cooing at the engagement ring like it was a newborn. Clearing my throat, I stepped inside and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

  The gesture didn’t feel familiar or pleasant. I’d never done it before, even when we were seeing each other. Madison had slim, narrow shoulders, something I’d never truly noticed before. It didn’t feel right, the weight of my entire arm on this woman. Other men obviously didn’t have partners Mad’s size, or they’d bury them completely. How I’d been able to be on top of this girl several times a week was a mystery to me. She looked so fragile standing next to me in that moment. I decided not to put the full weight of my arm on her shoulders, which resulted in my arm sort of hanging in the air an inch from her body. It was inconvenient, but she was tiny.

  So tiny she couldn’t possibly count as an entire person.

  I technically only had half an ex-girlfriend.

  Just admit you had a fucking girlfriend, you full-size piece of shit.

  “I was just asking Maddie how come we haven’t seen her for so long.” Katie turned to face me, fiddling with the pearls on her neck. She was tall for a woman, with long dark hair and an impeccably malnourished figure she liked to wrap in elegant dresses. She was the type of person to blend in with the furniture and take up as little space as possible. The opposite of small, olive-skinned, chatterbox Madison.

  “You mean grilling her,” I corrected. I didn’t want my fake fiancée to be under unnecessary scrutiny. Her lying game was probably as weak as her fashion sense. Katie recoiled visibly, insulted by my dig, and I immediately felt like a douchebag. For all my resentment of romantic relationships, I was usually a decent human to my family.

  “Thank you, Chase. I can take care of myself.” Madison smiled tightly.

  And you might need to with the asexual fool you’re dating.

  “You’re right, sweetheart. I know firsthand how good you are at taking care of yourself.” I elevated a suggestive eyebrow, referring to the arsenal of sex toys I’d once found in her kitchen drawer while looking for a spoon for my coffee. (“I’m space efficient, okay?” she’d yelled. “This is a studio apartment!”) Madison, as predicted, turned crimson in a second.

  “Self-care is important.” She looked up at the ceiling, presumably trying not to combust.

  “Preach, sister.” Katie sighed, our innuendos flying over her head. “I’m thinking of going back to therapy now that we found out about Dad.”

  Mad’s eyes dropped back to Katie, her face crumpling from horrified to sad. “Oh, honey.” She touched my sister’s arm. “You should do whatever it takes to put yourself in the best state of mind. I think it’s a great idea.”

  “Did you go to therapy? During . . . ? After . . . ?” Katie asked hopefully. My sister was a little older than Madison and yet ten times more naive. I chalked it up to a sheltered upbringing, combined with the luxury of never knowing true hardship.

  “Well, I couldn’t really afford it.” Madison scrunched her nose, making Katie’s eyes bulge out with horror. Yeah. She forgot shrinks were a perk not everyone could afford. “But I had my dad. And anyway, lots of family, so . . .” She shrugged.

  There was an awkward pause in which Katie probably felt like dying, I felt like killing someone, and Madison . . . who the heck knew what she felt at that moment?

  “Well”—Mom clapped with a cheerful smile, snapping us out of our reverie—“let’s leave you lovebirds alone to settle in. We’re having a late snack at ten. Nothing formal, just a bit of food and a chat. We’d love to have you, if you are not too tired.”

  Mom gave Madison one last hand squeeze before dragging my sister out of the room and closing the door behind us.

  I removed my arm from Mad’s shoulders at the same time she swiveled toward me, stomping on my foot with all her might. It took a second to register her foot was on mine. She weighed practically nothing. Most of it was fabric and accessories she’d probably found in a Claire’s discount basket.

  “We’re not staying in the same room.” She wiggled her finger in my face. I began to loosen my tie, sauntering into the walk-in closet, in which a full-blown wardrobe was waiting for me, appropriate for all seasons. I knew she’d follow.

  “Fact-check that statement, Madison, because it looks like we are.”

  “This place has like three hundred rooms.” She was at my heels, waving her arm around.

  “Twelve,” I corrected, opening the watch drawer. Rolex or Cartier? The least heavy one was the right answer, in case there was more shoulder hugging. I knew I’d have to at least pretend to like her in front of my old man, and touching her was, unfortunately, a part of the charade. If he’d be half as happy as Mom and Katie were to see her, my place in heaven was secure.

  God, I hope they serve booze there.

  “Still enough for me to sleep elsewhere.” Madison jutted a hip against the shelves in my periphery. Narrow waist. Wide hips. Not disproportionately so, like that reality-TV family of human clones. She was deliciously feminine. Everything about her delicate and small and round. I wondered if that Dr. Goody Two-Shoes appreciated that about her.

  “Why would two lovebirds like us sleep in separate bedrooms?” I closed the drawer, beginning to undress. I trusted Mad could turn around if she felt offended by my partial nudity. Not that it was something she hadn’t seen before. Up close.

  “Lots of reasons,” she said breathlessly, snapping her fingers together. “Celibacy. Let’s pretend I’m saving myself for marriage.”

  “Sweetheart, you sang your carols in the pantry, Jacuzzi, three of the bedrooms, and the pool when we stayed here last Christmas. Your virtue couldn’t find its way back to your body with a map, a compass, and a GPS.”

  “They heard us?” Her eyes widened, and she blushed again. Admittedly, she was a cute blusher. She had apple cheeks and a soft jawline. Too bad she also had the ability to trick me into commitment when I wasn’t paying attention.

  “Yes, my family heard us. People in Maine did too.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “Now, now, we celebrated JC’s birthday, but it was me who did all the dirty work.”

  “I don’t recall you complaining.”

  “A bit hard, since my mouth was strategically placed between your legs.”

  She swatted my bare chest before turning around and pacing back and forth. She linked her fingers behind her neck as I continued to
strip down to my briefs, flexing every muscle in my body. I was not above vanity (in truth, I was not above most things).

  “I’m not sharing a bed with you.” She shook her head. Stopped. Pointed at the floor. “You’re welcome to the carpet.”

  Resisting the urge to ask her if she meant another round with the one between her legs, I bowed my head. “Not sure you are aware, Mad, but it is possible for two people to sleep in the same bed without having sex. Cases of that have been recorded throughout history.”

  “Not where you are concerned.” She gave me the stink eye, ignoring my state of undress. Fair point. I wasn’t used to her calling the shots or refusing me in general. Back when we were dating, Madison went with the flow and danced to my tune.

  She definitely wasn’t doing that now, and I didn’t know what to make of it.

  I was going to launch into another counterargument when she began to unzip her suitcase and fling her clothes out of it. They landed on the floor in a heap of patterned fabrics. Perfect to start a bonfire.

  “You’re not going to convince me otherwise, Chase, so I suggest you just make yourself comfortable on the floor with a pillow and a blanket. I will not hesitate to go back home if you don’t respect my boundaries.”

  “With what car, exactly?”

  “Uber, if need be. Don’t test me, Chase. I am not your prisoner.”

  “Nor was I yours,” I muttered.

  “Excuse me?” She snapped her head up.

  “Funny, I didn’t know you were into that.”

  “Into what?”

  “Respecting boundaries.”

  “When did I not respect your boundaries?” Her eyes were so wide I could see my entire reflection in them.

  When you made me your boyfriend without my consent.

  I realized, even as I said that internally, how carnally pussy it sounded. I could have walked out of my relationship with Madison at any given moment. I’d chosen to stay. I chose her superior baking skills and the excellent fucks and the comfort of deleting hookup apps over my principles.