by Shen, L. J.
I also chose to screw it all up.
I made a rough calculation. If I cheated on her, she’d go away, then come back eventually (they all did), and we’d fall into a more casual, no-strings-attached arrangement. I wasn’t a total pig. I’d move her into a nicer place, get her nice things. I just didn’t want to settle down. The mere term bothered me. Settle. You settled for an ugly car to make sure it was secure enough for your family. You settled for a boring date so you could fuck her at the end of the night. You did not settle when it came to your entire goddamn existence.
Thing was, Mad never came back. She blew up, broke up with me, and left for good. She did end up sending me a birthday present, though, in the form of a bag of Daisy’s hair balls and her latest vet bill (which, let it be known, I was enough of a good sport to pay). I still remembered the note she’d added to the invoice.
Chase,
I got Daisy spayed. I think we can both agree nothing that comes from you should ever reproduce. Feel free to pay this at your earliest convenience.
—Madison
Back in reality—in our shared room—I felt my jaw tightening. I answered Madison through clenched teeth. “Fine. If you are so worried about grinding your ass against my crotch at night, I’ll sleep on the carpet.”
“Thank you.” Her lips puckered. She was fighting a smile, I realized. Why would she smile? I noticed my ears felt hot. I resisted the urge to touch them. I wasn’t blushing. This was a fact. I never blushed.
“Stop looking at me.” I tapered my eyes, throwing a bath towel over my shoulder.
“Stop pointing at me.” She went back to tossing her horrendous dresses out of her suitcase, biting down a smile. Point at her? Was she crazy?
I looked down.
Oh.
Oh.
I turned around, rearranging myself through my Armani briefs, thinking, Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Yeah, I know.” She sighed behind my back. “That’s usually what you think about when your body reacts this way.”
I’d said that aloud? What in the ever-loving hell was wrong with me?
“Go make yourself presentable,” I muttered, stomping my way to the shower before I did more female things. Like blushing again, or maybe fucking swooning in her arms. “And for the love of God, try not to wear anything patterned.”
She wore a patterned outfit, head to toe.
Her black heels had little white cross prints, her dress was flowery, and she had a checkered headband. She’d done that thing I fucking loved with her hair. Her bangs were iron straight, but the rest of her short hair was messily wavy and falling over her face and neck like a waterfall.
Her style reminded me of her apartment. A crowded, color-clashing mess that looked like a piñata full of secondhand furniture and bad decisions had exploded inside. I wouldn’t call her a hoarder per se, but her apartment didn’t look pretty. It was possible Madison Goldbloom was the most sentimental person on planet Earth. She collected everything, including—but not limited to—flowerpots, fabrics, sketches, postcards, wedding invitations, hair elastics, touristy knickknacks, a poodle-shaped mannequin made solely from wine bottle caps, and even a Prince-shaped Chia Pet.
Clutter. Clutter. Clutter.
I had no idea what I found appealing about this girl, other than her talent to offend any pair of working eyes in a two-hundred-mile radius. She designed wedding dresses for an exclusive bridal company that didn’t suck. I knew that for a fact—their designs sold like hotcakes; that was why we were in partnership with them. Sven said she was his most valuable employee. I did not question that at the time we were dating.
I should have.
Mad descended the stairway while the rest of us were seated in the dining room. The staff sprang into action, serving the food as soon as she slipped into the seat next to me, smiling at everyone and waving hello. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you guys were waiting.”
Madison had the ability to be a shy wallflower to the world and a little nymph in the bedroom. I used my foot to pull her chair closer to me so our arms and legs were touching. It dragged along the marble floor noisily, making everyone in the room chuckle.
“He already misses you. That’s so sweet.” Katie put her hand to her chest, her voice hoarse with emotion. Madison let out a hysterical, nervous laugh. I gritted my teeth silently.
Don’t screw it up, Goldbloom.
“Caja-China-roasted Mecox farm pig, bacon cake, buttermilk coleslaw, scallion on a bed of pretzel rods,” one of the hostesses explained to Madison, pointing at the different dishes on the table. As far as ten o’clock snack went, this was a full-blown feast. My parents couldn’t help themselves. It irked me that I’d have to break it to my mother and Katie that Madison and I weren’t together. Although I wouldn’t have to deal with it until after Dad . . . after Dad.
I couldn’t get past that sentence.
My father was dying, and there was nothing within my power to help him. I’d grown so accustomed to throwing money at my problems; the idea I was defenseless against something so profound, that would alter my life in such a radical way, made me irrationally angry.
Madison smiled and nodded dutifully where appropriate. She leaned forward at the long table, addressing my father, who sat at the head, looking smaller than he had before we’d found out. “Thank you so much for inviting me, Mr. Black.”
“Well, I didn’t really know how much time I’d have to get to know you.” He awarded her one of his rare real smiles. Her throat worked. “Chase and you must’ve really taken to one another. Marriage is an important decision after less than a year together, and with your busy work schedules, that didn’t allow us to get to know you.”
I was beginning to feel marginally sorry for Madison. My family had a way of cross-examining her, and everybody seemed to be playing the bad cop.
“May I just say how sorry I am that you’re . . . well, that you . . . ,” Mad started.
“Are dying?” He finished the sentence for her, his tone dry. “Yes, sweetheart, I am not too happy about that either.”
She blushed, looking down at her lap. “I’m sorry. Words fail me at times like these.”
“Not your fault.” He took a sip of his whiskey, his movements slow and measured. He was an older version of me, with a headful of white hair, a tall frame, and arctic eyes. “I doubt anyone is good at talking to a dying person about their state. At least I know Chase has someone to lean on. He is not as tough as he always seems, you know.” He arched an eyebrow.
“He is also right fucking here”—I pointed at my own head, knowing he’d find my annoyance amusing—“and a part of this conversation.”
“Trust me, I know Chase has a fragile side.” Madison patted my shoulder, still smiling at my father. An obvious dig at me. One–zero to the away team.
“Fragile is a bit of a stretch.” I smiled good-naturedly.
“Delicate, then?” She whipped her head around, blinking at me with a bright grin.
Two–zero.
“Touchy is the word you are looking for.” Julian clucked his tongue, his Cheshire cat grin on full display, at the same time that Mom snort-laughed. “Nice to meet you. I’m Julian.”
He extended his hand over the table. Mad shook it. A sudden urge to flip the table upside down struck me.
“Touchy.” Mad tasted the word on her tongue, smiling at my cousin. “I like that. He is like a porcupine on Shark Week.”
That made Katie, Mom, Dad, Julian, and Amber burst into laughter. It was such a normal family moment that I wasn’t even overtly annoyed with Madison for making fun of me or with Julian for existing. It was the first we’d had since we’d found out about Dad and the first time I’d seen Julian looking pleased in years.
Everyone began to dig into their food. Other than Amber, but skipping meals in favor of alcohol was just another Tuesday for her. Mad shrank into her seat, downing her glass of champagne like it was water. At first, I didn’t pay much attention to what she was doing. I hadn’t
eaten since breakfast. But when ten minutes had passed and her plate was still empty, I felt my teeth gritting in annoyance.
“What’s wrong?” I hissed sideways at her.
The food was fine. More than fine. A Michelin-star culinary phenomenon had cooked it, not some asshole sous-chef who’d made his way from Brooklyn to make a fast weekend buck.
“Nothing,” she said, just as her stomach began to growl. It wasn’t a feminine rumble either. It sounded like her intestines were trying to pick a fight with the rest of her body.
I leaned toward her, brushing my lips along the shell of her ear so it appeared that we were sharing an intimate conversation, one that didn’t include the subject of her stomach making Freddy Krueger sounds. “You’re a terrible liar, and I’m an impatient bastard. Spill it, Madison.”
“I have no idea what any of the things the waitress said mean,” she whispered under her breath, her blush making another guest appearance. “Some of these things are unrecognizable to me. I’m sorry, Chase, but bacon cake sounds like something that should be outlawed in all fifty states.”
I pressed my lips together, resisting a chuckle. Taking her plate, I started filling it with food, knowing it earned me brownie points in the fake-fiancé department. Mom quietly glowed as I slid the plate back to Madison, smiling at her with what I hoped looked like warmth (inspiration: Jesse Metcalfe in A Country Wedding).
“You’ll like these . . .” Don’t say sweetheart. Don’t be that cliché. “Baby.”
Baby? Could I sound like any more of a douchebag?
“How are you so sure . . .” She hesitated, too, aware of how all eyes were on her. “Darling?”
Amber nearly spat out her wine, laughing.
“I know your taste.”
“Doubtful.”
“Trust me,” I gritted out through my fake smile.
“Never,” she whispered.
Still, she took her fork and stabbed at a sautéed brussels sprout coated with bread crumbs, herbs, and cream. Her eyes rolled inside their sockets after the third chew. The sound that followed, coming from the back of her throat, made my dick jerk in appreciation.
“Now I see the light.” She sighed. I wanted to show her other things. To drag her into my dark side for a little while, then spit her back out to her sunshine existence.
“So. Madison,” Amber purred from across the table, running her long, pointy fingernail along her champagne glass in a comically wicked manner. I braced myself. Amber was, without doubt, the most dangerous person at the table. “How did our Chase propose?”
Our Chase. Like I was a fucking vase. She wished.
Amber had witchlike acrylic pointy nails, enough hair extensions to make three wigs, fake eyelashes, and cleavage that left nothing to the imagination. Smugness hung around her like a cloud of perfume. She was my age—thirty-two—and her hobbies were limited to plastic surgery, finding the new workout/diet craze celebrities were fawning over, and having public arguments with her husband. Julian put his arm around his wife’s shoulder, wiggling his brows, as if to say it was showtime.
Brace yourself for an Oscar-worthy performance, coz.
“How did he propose?” Mad repeated, her smile more frozen than Amber’s forehead. All eyes were on her. I supposed Madison wanted something a bit more romantic than the story of how we’d met. One morning, we’d walked into the same elevator, the one Black & Co. and Croquis shared, and instead of continuing my way up to the last floor in our high-rise building—a.k.a. management floor—I’d slipped into Croquis’s studio with her, leaned against her drawing table, and asked her what it’d take to get into her pants, though in not so many words. Madison chugged her second flute of champagne before putting it down and lifting her eyes to meet Amber’s.
“The proposal was actually really romantic,” she said breathlessly.
Is she drunk? I needed her sober. She was swimming with the sharks, bleeding in the fucking water. No, she was just being New Maddie again, meaning she was about to rip me a new one.
“It was?” Julian’s eyes hooded skeptically. I didn’t like his eyes on her. Let me rephrase—I didn’t like him these days, period. But I especially didn’t like the way he looked at Madison. There was something sinister about the obsidian quality his eyes took on. I wasn’t the possessive type, but punching a hole through his face seemed inevitable if he continued staring at Madison like this. Like he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to have sex with her, mock her for how socially unpolished she was, or both.
“Yes.” Mad munched on the side of her lip, stealing glances at me. God dammit. “We were at the Brooklyn Heights promenade, enjoying the romantic view—”
“Chase went to Brooklyn?” Amber cut into her words, raising a microbladed eyebrow. Rookie mistake. Everybody knew anything south of the East Village and north of Washington Heights was dead to me in the city. Hell, I considered Inwood fucking abroad.
Madison made a mm-hmmm sound, taking another sip of champagne. She looked like a trapped animal, cornered and frightened. But helping her out would look suspicious. I felt like a turtle mother watching her wonky-ass hatchling wobbling offshore to the ocean, knowing it had a 5 percent chance to survive.
Then, lo and behold, a Christmas-in-July miracle happened. Madison cleared her throat, straightened her back, and found her voice.
“I was leaning on the banisters, taking in the sights. Before I knew what was happening, he was on one knee before me, a sweaty, blabbering mess. I thought he was going through a mental breakdown. He was so nervous. But then he said the sweetest thing. Remember what you told me, honey?” She turned to me, blinking angelically. I gave her a curt smile. She wanted something along the lines of You’re the love of my life, my moon and my stars or I can’t live without you and frankly don’t see the point in trying to or even [insert any other Hallmark cliché I’d listened to during my research, which had triggered my gag reflex].
“Of course.” I took her hand, brought her knuckles to my lips, and brushed them along her flesh. Goose bumps rose on her arms, and I grinned into the back of her hand, knowing we still shared enough sexual tension to make the mansion explode. “I told you you had a mustard mustache, then wiped your pretty face clean.”
Mad’s smile dropped. Amber let out a metallic chuckle. My parents and Katie smiled. Julian narrowed his eyes, his gaze ping-ponging between us.
“Carry on.” He rested his chin on his knuckles. Julian was a decade older than yours truly. A Saturn-looking man. Tall, surrounded by rings of fat, with a shiny, bald head that made you want to rub it and see if a genie would come out of his ear.
Mad looked between us, picking up on the murderous vibes. “He helped me clean my, uh, mustard stain, then told me he originally wanted to wait a bit longer—a year is nothing in the grand scheme of things—but his love for me was just too much. That I was his entire world. I think the word he used was obsessed. He began to gush. It was kind of embarrassing, actually.” She pressed her foot over mine under the table, daring me to defy her story. “Like, really going at it. To the point he started crying—”
“Chase? Crying?” Amber wrinkled her nose, visibly appalled now. It was sixty-nine steps too far, and I was eager to drag Madison back to our room and spank her for every lie she’d spat out at dinner.
“I wouldn’t go as far as weeping, but . . .” Madison turned to me, doing that auntie arm pat again, giving me a three-nil-for-the-away-team look. I couldn’t contradict her version of our proposal story. Not publicly, anyway, when we were supposed to sell ourselves as a loving couple. I was, however, going to retaliate for this little stunt.
“It was emotional,” I concluded, taking a small sip of my whiskey. “Although, truth be told, the mist in my eyes was mostly due to your brown-and-green-checked dress with the blue dots, sweetheart. It was a lot to take in.”
“But a pleasure to take off, I assume.” Julian was baiting me, a cold smile playing on his lips.
My father dropped his utensils o
n his plate, clearing his throat deliberately. Julian looked up and waved away the discomfort at the table. Sometimes riling me up trumped acting like an actual human being in company. It was a recent development and one I didn’t appreciate at all. “That was highly inappropriate of me. I apologize, Madison. Brotherly banter gone too far.”
Brotherly, my ass. I wouldn’t trust him with a plastic spoon.
“Please, call me Maddie.” She bowed her head.
“Maddie,” my father repeated, sitting back. I made a mental note to remind Julian I was not above hurling him out of an open window if he were to sexually harass my fake fiancée.
“I must admit we were having our doubts since we haven’t seen you since Christmas. We thought Chase might’ve gotten cold feet,” Dad piped, pinning me with a glare.
“Nothing cold about this man.” Madison smiled big at Dad, pinching my cheek. Christ, I was glad this was going to be over in a couple of days. The woman was bound to drive me to alcoholism. “The hottest man I’ve met.”
She blurted the sentence out before she realized what she was saying. I turned my head and stared at her with a smug smile. Her cheeks turned pink. Her neck and ears were quick to follow.
“Thank you for marrying this savage of a man.” Dad smiled.
“You owe me one,” she joked. Everyone laughed. Again.
We fell into pleasant conversation as more courses were served. Thirty minutes later, Katie’s back straightened, and she frowned.
“Where is Clementine?” She stabbed a berry swimming in her club soda with a toothpick and tossed it into her mouth. I hoped the lack of alcohol in her glass was a telltale sign that she was back on her meds. That was an encouraging development. Katie’s anxiety brought everything else in her life out of focus, and even though she was great at what she did, marketing, I knew she wanted to meet a nice guy and settle down. She couldn’t do that as long as she was mentally frail.
“Asleep upstairs.” Amber flipped her platinum-blonde hair, cutting her gaze to mine pointedly. “She didn’t even get to see her favorite uncle.”