I took her to the biggest flower shop in New York City. A Midtown florist by the Empire State Building.
Mad dragged her feet and scowled the entire time like a pouty teenager, throwing looks over her shoulder to make sure we weren’t seen together. Most women I knew would pay good money to be seen with me. Not this one. Having her around felt liberating. Like taking a vacation from the chaos in my head. True, I was never going to offer her marriage, but I could still offer her a hell of a good time. This time, I was serious about making her mine.
Temporarily mine.
Hell, she could even reclaim her girlfriend title.
Bonus points: I’d get to keep Julian off my fucking case.
The plan was bulletproof.
We passed the florist’s display window. Bouquets of colorful flowers and a sign that said LOVE IS A BIG DEAL stared back at us. No wonder she was so obsessed with marriage and love—her parents had crammed it down her throat since the day she was born. I pushed the door open, waiting for her to walk in. Once inside, Madison turned to me, crossing her arms over her chest. She wore a yellow chick-patterned dress with a darling collar and a black velvet necktie and a youthful blush. Which, unfortunately, made me look like her perverted older uncle.
“What now? You’re going to buy me all the roses in the shop and proclaim your undying love for me?” She rolled her eyes.
“Not quite. I’m buying Ethan flowers.”
“You’re buying Ethan flowers?” Madison echoed, letting her mouth drop into a perfect O shape.
“Yes. And myself.”
“And yourself.”
“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” I inquired politely.
“Yes, until you make some sort of sense to me.”
“Very well.” I took her hand in mine—the second time we’d held hands in a week—dragging her deeper into the store. The scent of pollen was so thickly sweet I almost gagged. I didn’t know how Mad could like it. But of course she could. It smelled like her childhood and nostalgia and her mother. I didn’t know how I hadn’t thought of it before. Kudos to Ethan for figuring it out before me. Flowers. Simply fucking genius.
“I understand you have some reservations regarding our relationship and would like to tweak the fine print of our arrangement. Remember I told you I want to keep doing this until my father passes away?” I asked, ignoring how bitter the words felt in my mouth.
Dad was feeling like shit, but he continued coming to work every day. Julian was running around dropping hints about the state of Dad’s health to shareholders and investors, anonymously tipping the media about a major change coming on the board. Grant had caught him in the act, after Julian had checked into a hotel room twenty minutes before a Wall Street reporter was directed into the same room. My best friend had been at the restaurant in the lobby of the hotel, having lunch with his mother.
My cousin was definitely going for what we called in chess “the double attack.”
“By ‘doing this,’ you mean ‘doing me,’ right?” Madison frowned, her eyes roaming the place like it was a candy shop. She couldn’t help herself. She touched an orange-purple flower, fingering its velvety petal between her fingers and shivering with pleasure. That was all it took to make my cock jerk in my pants.
“Yes,” I said. “But I decided to give you the whole fiancée package at the discount price of just having your company.”
“What does the fiancée package include?” She yawned. Not a good start.
“Dating, movie nights, restaurants, fucking, meeting your dad.” I let that last one sink in, watching her face, but she remained stoic, focused on the flowers in front of her as she leaned down to sniff the sunflowers.
“I’m serious about this,” I added.
“You cheated on me,” she pointed out for the millionth time.
Not this old tune again. It was time she knew the truth. I touched her arm, making her gaze dart up to mine. “I didn’t cheat on you.”
She groaned, pretending not to care. “I saw you.”
“No, what you saw was me coming into my apartment with someone else. You didn’t see me touch her. You didn’t see me kiss her. I never did.”
“There were lipstick marks on your dress shirt.” She turned around to me fully now. She wasn’t whispering either. A thirtysomething couple who was very clearly looking at flowers for their wedding eyed us curiously.
Keep watching, assholes.
“It wasn’t my shirt.”
“Of course it wasn’t.” Mad threw her head back and laughed. A bitter laugh I never wanted to hear from her mouth again. It sounded foreign. Completely un-Madison-like. The woman next to the man beside us elbowed her beau, cocking her head in our direction. Un-fucking-believable. I gave the husband-to-be a what-the-fuck glare.
He shrugged helplessly. “Sorry, bro. Sounds like you kind of brought this on yourself.” He chuckled.
I turned my attention back to Madison. “The shirt wasn’t mine. It was Grant’s. He hooked up with someone. No, let me amend—he was in the middle of hooking up with someone and got called in for work. Understandably, he couldn’t show up wearing a shirt that suggested he was vacationing in Ho Island.”
“So you volunteered your shirt.” More sarcasm.
“Correct,” I gritted out. “Remember that shirt? It was white. I don’t wear white. I only wear—”
“Black,” she finished for me, her eyes flaring. She had a light bulb moment. I’d worn black that day. Hell, I wore black any day. There was a beat of silence. The couple beside us looked invested in our exchange, and I’d have given them a piece of my mind if I weren’t completely focused on explaining to Madison what she’d really seen that night.
“It doesn’t matter, anyway. So what if it was Grant’s shirt? The woman you brought home was real. I saw her. I guess she just followed you? No”—she held her hand up, smiling, but there was nothing happy about that smile—“she was just running away from an ax murderer, and you gave her shelter, right?”
The woman beside us giggled. Her fiancé tucked his chin down, hiding a grin. I was going to kill someone. Likely myself for coming up with that stupid plan in the first place.
“I brought her home because I knew you’d be there,” I said dryly.
“You couldn’t have.” Mad shook her head. “I told no one other than . . .”
“Katie,” I finished for her. “Katie told me. I mentioned I might spend my birthday weekend in Florida with Grant. She told me I wouldn’t want to do that, then revealed your plan.”
By the look on Madison’s face, I knew the penny had dropped. Caught in an emotional tornado at the restaurant the other day, Mad had forgotten she’d told Katie about the birthday surprise prior to waiting in my apartment. So at the restaurant, she recited her story about the cheating bastard she caught, but she wasn’t privy to the fact Katie had told me about Madison waiting for me in lingerie in my bed.
And she forgot she herself had informed Katie she’d be waiting for me in my bedroom.
Katie wasn’t stupid. She’d done the math but hadn’t said anything. At least one person in my family already knew what Julian was dying to uncover—I’d fucked up.
“And you brought her home so I’d catch you.” Mad’s nostrils flared.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted you to see.”
“Why?”
“Because things were getting too real too fast, and I don’t do real, Madison. I think we both know I don’t do fast either.” I glared at the couple next to us pointedly. The guy blushed. Really? Now I didn’t even care his girl was judging me. She was sentenced to a life with a prematurely ejaculating husband.
“My life will not be disturbed by senseless, messy emotions.” I was mansplaining now. I needed to shut up.
“Okay, RoboCop,” the woman beside us mumbled.
“You could’ve talked to me,” Mad said.
“From experience, women don’t get the message. They say they’ll take it slow, but that just means biding their time. And no offense, but you are the most wedding-obsessed woman I’ve ever met. You design wedding dresses for a living, and between your apartment and office, you have enough flowers to put Holland out of business.”
“You could’ve broken up with me.” Mad’s voice cracked midsentence. She wasn’t wrong, and I hated when she wasn’t wrong. I’d taken the coward’s way out.
“I figured you’d get the message, get mad, then reappear in the form of a fuck buddy.”
“Wow. For a smart person, you’re really dumb.” She sighed. In her defense, her face was full of awe rather than disdain.
“I concur.” The woman beside us lifted her arm. “Super dumb move.”
“Thanks for the input. I was anxious to know what a complete fucking stranger makes of my character.” I threw her a polite smile before turning my gaze back to Madison and gathering her palms in mine. “I can’t promise you forever, but I can promise you right now, and it’s more than I’ve ever offered a woman before.”
“Well, I appreciate your twisted, bizarre, backward-logic truth,” Madison said, plucking her hands from mine and smoothing her dress over her thighs. “But even if you haven’t cheated on me, the fact is you still hurt me. The answer is no.”
“I figured you’d say this. Hence why I came here to buy Ethan and me flowers.” I motioned around the flower shop like she didn’t know where we were. It was not my brightest move, but the success of my plan was in jeopardy. “You know your flowers, right? I’m going to get an identical plant for both Ethan and me. The one that’s most difficult to keep alive indoors—your pick. If Ethan really is Mr. Perfect and I’m such a shitbag, surely he can show his commitment by keeping the plant alive.”
She blinked at me. “Not following your logic.”
“The jasmines.” I worked hard on not baring my teeth like an animal. “You said you care when flowers die, right? Gave me a whole goddamn speech about it, if I recall correctly. You’re obsessed with flowers and keeping them alive.” I took a breath, realizing that she associated the flowers at her desk with her mother, and her mother was dead, and flowers really meant a whole fucking lot to her. “You’re rabid about the subject.”
“You’re really selling this grand gesture to me.” Madison scrunched her forehead. “But can you turn the asshole in you down a notch while explaining this so I can see past the fog of wanting to punch you in the face? Thank you.”
I suppressed a smile. Real Maddie really was much better than the light, fat-free, gluten-free version who’d entered my life some months ago. Yeah, she was a do-gooder, but she was no pushover, I’d learned.
“You said you care about plants. That how people take care of them is a testament of their character. Well, I think Ethan doesn’t care. Not enough. Not about you, at least. Not as much as me.”
There was silence. When I looked up from her face, I noticed that the entire store was watching us, not just that thirtysomething couple. We’d had a very vocal argument, consisting of my (not so) cheating past and a declaration of intent, and now people knew there was another man in the game. I was one plastic surgery and nude scandal away from being a guest on The Real Housewives of Whereverthefuck.
“Azaleas,” she whispered, looking deep in thought. Her legs carried her to the far end of the store. I followed her, spellbound. The couple choosing wedding flowers followed me. I turned around to stop them, holding a hand up.
“That’s it for you, Mr. and Mrs. Peepson.”
“But I want to know how it ends,” the woman whined.
“Spoiler alert: I get the girl. Move along now.”
I caught up with Madison standing in front of a bunch of blooming pink, red, and purple azaleas. Her eyes shone.
“They like cool, humid spaces and are considered to be almost impossible to make bloom. They’ll be a headache to keep alive in New York in August. The task is nearly undoable. Only one in eleven azalea plants survives. I remember my dad hated keeping azaleas in their shop. He listed all the reasons why his customers needed to choose another flower when men bought them for their wives.” Pause. “But my mom . . .” She trailed off. “They were her favorite. So every Friday, no matter what, rain or shine, he brought her azaleas.”
“I’ll keep my azaleas alive,” I clipped.
She tore her gaze from the flowers, frowning at me. “How do I know you won’t task your housekeeper with keeping them? Or hire a gardener?”
“Because I’m not an immoral bastard,” I said simply. She gave me a disbelieving look. I supposed she had a point.
“I won’t be an immoral bastard about this,” I amended, and I let her pick two plants of her choosing. We walked to the cashier. Mad asked for a Sharpie, told me to turn around, and marked both plants in a way that would make her recognize them in case I got a replacement. I would ask her where the trust was, but considering everything we’d gone through together, I guessed the answer to that question was the bottom of a fucking trash can. There was no trust between us whatsoever.
I paid for the flowers, then told the cashier to put whatever the nosy couple ordered for their wedding on my tab. Madison stared at me like I’d lost my mind. I shrugged. “I’ll see your Martyr Maddie and raise you Charity Chase with a side of Blissful Black.”
She laughed. I wasn’t ready for that laugh. It came out throaty and genuine, her eyes crinkling at the corners. My dick wasn’t the first responder this time around. It was another organ. One that had sat dormant for years. One that had no business waking up.
“Afraid I’m going to beat your little boyfriend at his own flower game?” I raised an eyebrow, all nonchalant and shit.
“He is not my boyfr—” she started, then clapped her mouth shut. I flashed her a smile full of triumph.
It was on.
