It was the same studio.
Of course it was the same fucking studio.
An industrial loft on Broadway.
I wasn’t surprised. Mom had one assistant on her payroll—Berta—who was approximately eighty years old (not an exaggeration for the sake of making a point). She should’ve retired about three decades ago, but Berta was a widow, no kids, and Mom said the job kept her busy. Berta had a personal, ongoing feud with technology and used the Yellow Pages whenever she had to book anything outside the usual service providers the family used. Which meant that the studio—Events4U—was the same one she’d booked for every family occasion in the last century, including engagement shoots, Christmas cards, condolences, virtually every official picture taken of Booger Face, my college graduation pictures, and Katie’s Himalayan cat’s funeral photos (more on that never; I still hadn’t forgiven her for wasting everyone’s time while providing the feline with a proper burial).
I opened the door for Mad, dangerously close to crawling out of my own skin and bolting to the other side of the planet, thinking about the last time I’d been in this studio. Who I’d been with in this studio. It wasn’t that my family hadn’t visited here afterward, but I’d flat-out refused to set foot in this studio ever again on the grounds of I WASN’T A FUCKING MASOCHIST.
Until now.
Madison breezed in, her movements, like her being, swift and sunny. She leaned her entire upper body against the counter, greeting the person at the reception like she’d known her her entire life. Her pixie hair was growing a little longer than usual, sticking out playfully. It was fuck hot, and I wondered if she was going to let her hair grow and if that meant hair yanking during sex was in the cards for me.
Madison laughed at something the receptionist said, then fished her phone out of her bag and showed her something. The receptionist, I realized, was the same woman who’d taken my picture all those years ago. The memory slammed into me like a truck in a busy intersection. This was a one-person-operation business. The woman had been the one cooing at my (real) ex-fiancée and me—two nervous postgrads who’d made a fatal decision to get married before they’d known who they really were—to smile at the camera.
She won’t recognize you. She owns a studio on Broadway. She sees hundreds of people every week, some of them remarkably ugly, some of them remarkably beautiful. Your face doesn’t chart.
“Oh goodness.” The woman, who introduced herself as Becky, pushed her glasses up her nose, blinking up at me. She was fiftysomething, athletic looking, with a gray, conservative dress, hair the same color as her dress, and enough jewelry to sink the Titanic. “It is you again, Mr. Black.”
For fuck’s sake.
“Again?” Madison smiled politely, her gaze ping-ponging from Becky to me. “Is this your second engagement shoot here?” she inquired, processing as her suspicions received validation.
I wanted to pull Becky’s, Berta’s, and Mom’s guts out of their a-holes and make trendy scarves out of them. Rather than physically assaulting women triple my age, I took Mad’s hand in mine (third time, and it was growing on me—kind of) and let the comment roll off my shoulders.
“This one’s gonna stick,” I clipped.
“Don’t be so sure,” Mad muttered.
“Oh, it will. The girl before”—Becky shook her head, rounding the counter to show us to the studio—“she was no good for him. I knew it wasn’t meant to be. I have a feeling about those kinds of things. I do.” She stopped in front of a white screen that had been heavily lit by projectors. A stool and camera equipment sat across from it in the darkened corner of the room. Becky flicked the camera on the tripod alive, squinting as she adjusted it. “I wasn’t at all surprised seeing her back with someone else. You two, I just couldn’t see it. When a couple walks in, I don’t even have to talk to them. I see their body language and know if they’re going to make it or not. Never fails.” She tapped her manicured fingernail to her temple. I flashed her a polite, can’t-fucking-wait-to-get-out-of-here smirk. I’d have dodged this entire shoot if it weren’t for the fact it put a smile on Dad’s face.
When Mom had told me she’d booked us an engagement shoot as a present, I’d initially turned it down, but then Dad had looked so disappointed I’d had to say yes.
“And what do you make of our relationship?” Mad asked, standing with the white background behind her. She had a gray blouse, pearled neckline, and pink, peach-patterned pencil skirt I wanted very badly to rip off her body.
“You are definitely in it for the long run. This is your happily ever after.” The woman smiled behind the camera. Madison flashed me a pshhh look. She was amused by her. Off-base Becky wasn’t. I didn’t think it was all that funny.
Becky instructed us to stand close to each other, using excessive hand movements to make her point. She asked me to drape a hand over Madison’s shoulder while standing behind her (“Look at that height difference, whoa!”) and then asked me to put both hands on her shoulders and look into her eyes. It was cornier than popcorn, and every sarcastic bone in my body wanted to snap with rage, but I did it, knowing my parents would take great pleasure in seeing the final products and keeping in mind what Mad had told me about showing Dad how I felt.
We did as we were instructed, smiling painfully wide to the camera as Becky clicked away. Both our gazes were locked on the black eye of the camera as it flashed. Realizing we could be there for a while, Madison struck up a conversation.
“So. You’re here . . . again?” she asked through a teeth-closed smile.
“Lean over and kiss her cheek, Mr. Black!” Becky yelled behind the camera. I did as I was told, pressing my lips to Madison’s apple cheek. A jolt of something hot and unfamiliar ran between us when we made contact. Like her body swelled in my arms, becoming rounder and hotter and more alive, somehow.
“Drop it,” I murmured into her skin.
“You said you’d tell me about Amber if I did this shoot with you. Spill it,” she hissed, her smile still bright.
“Madison, turn around! Hug him! Look like you mean it. No, this is all wrong. It looks like you are trying to tackle him in a football game.” Becky continued her commentary. Mad turned around and circled her arms around me, placing her cheek against my heart. I stared at the top of her head, and sure enough, there were two grays. They glittered against her otherwise-brown hair.
“Are you nervous?” she whispered.
“No.” I scoffed.
“Your heart rate is through the roof.”
“Coffee.”
“When’s the last time you had coffee?”
Noon, probably. Still, I was allowed to have a goddamn heartbeat, especially when I had a gorgeous woman pressed against me. “Right before I picked you up. Two shots of the good stuff.”
“Liar.” I could feel her grinning through my shirt. “So, Amber.”
I wanted to shove her tiny frame into my pocket and zip it. She was infuriating.
“Mr. Black! Hug her back. I don’t remember you so frozen your first round.”
“Which you may want to stop mentioning for the sake of my current relationship,” I countered loudly.
She waved me off. “I’m too old not to be blunt.”
“I’m too hotheaded to have this conversation without a stiff drink,” I growled. Madison laughed. I put my arms around her, my lips brushing her hair. She smelled of flowers and coconut and my potential demise. I needed to rethink the whole pretend-real-girlfriend idea before she caved to it.
“So. You dated Amber,” she started, her warm breath tickling my chest.
“Was engaged to Amber,” I corrected.
“Get out.” She swatted my chest, looking up at me with shock.
“Madison! No battery in the studio. That’s why I don’t allow couples to drink before photo shoots. Things can get rowdy,” Becky shrieked, unplugging the camera from the tripod and circling us with it. “Whisper sweet nothings to her, Mr. Black.”
I put my lips to the shell of Madison’s ear, feeling her shivering in my arms. “We were fresh out of college. Amber was different back then. Pretty, natural, sane. Believe it or not, she wasn’t completely superficial. We took some classes together and always ended up on the same side of the argument. Although in retrospect, she’d have agreed that drowning babies as a form of contraception was a good idea if I’d promoted it. She was riding a full scholarship and wanted to marry up. That she did.” I chuckled bitterly.
“Did she cheat?” The air around Madison crackled with fury and surprise and delight, and fuck, fuck, fuck, why was everything about her so expressive? I wanted to lean down and bite her lower lip until she moaned, but I doubted that was what my parents had in mind when they asked for formal engagement pictures.
“Not that I’m aware of.” I ran my thumb across her cheek, knowing she was too engrossed in our conversation to push me away.
“What happened, then?”
“I was taking a few minutes to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Julian was a fully formed person. He bragged about becoming the next CEO of Black & Co. Said he’d been groomed and prepped for the job. Julian and Amber got close. I drifted apart from them.”
I brushed my thumb along her lower lip. She let me do that. I continued talking, but my mind was far away from the Julian-and-Amber story.
“I never corrected his assumption. Amber wanted to be at the top of the food chain. She asked me if I could promise her I’d be the CEO. That I’d give her the life of luxury she was after. I said I couldn’t. I also mentioned I might want to become a teacher. Julian made her believe he was calling the shots.”
“Was he? Is he?” Her eyes implored me.
I shook my head.
“Did you really want to become a teacher?” She sounded surprised and delighted by that. I couldn’t blame her.
I shrugged. “I thought about it, for half a minute. I was a bit of an idealist back in the day. Anyway, Amber broke off the engagement. I took a few months off. Traveled the world. By the time I came back, I knew I wanted to join Black & Co. Realized becoming a teacher wasn’t my calling. Amber was already engaged to Julian and heavily pregnant with Clementine. Having their son bring an out-of-wedlock baby into the world was going to kill my parents, so Julian and Amber tied the knot as soon as I landed back in the US.”
I could see her doing the math in her head, arching an eyebrow. “The pregnancy. It was a close call between you and Julian.”
I nodded. “That’s why I said I don’t know if she cheated.”
“You never asked?”
“I didn’t want to know the answer. Julian was my brother, and we’ve always had this bond. I let it go, but I stopped believing in marital love as a concept.”
“Did you go to the wedding?” she asked quietly. She looked destroyed on my behalf, and I wanted to slap my own face. Because to me, it didn’t really matter. It was water under the bridge. The Amber-Julian blow was nothing more than a faded scar these days.
“I was the best man.” I smirked. “Showing them I gave a fuck wasn’t on the menu for me.”
“Mr. Black! Miss Goldbloom! Would you mind?” Becky yelled in the background, and I realized, albeit belatedly, that we’d been having the last ten seconds of conversation with our lips hovering against one another. I pulled back, feeling flushed like a middle schooler who had been caught trying to figure out the ins and outs of masturbation. Madison looked down at her feet, turning deep red.
“Sweet nothings,” Becky repeated sternly, waving her camera in her hand. “Save the PDA for the honeymoon. Where is your honeymoon, by the way?”
“Malta,” Madison said.
“Fiji,” I said at the same time.
We both frowned at each other. I fought a smile. “Malta?”
“I want to take the Game of Thrones tour. You know, where they filmed big portions of the show. Fiji?”
“Yeah, I want to get a tan, get drunk, and bury myself inside you on the sand.”
“Oh, Lordy.” Becky looked like she was about to faint. “Focus! Sweet nothings. Not dirty nothings. Sweet.”
I moved my lips back to Mad’s ear. The thing about us, Madison and me, was that our bodies seemed to be in complete sync with one another. She turned around again and pressed against me, the curve of her ass touching my erection, and I stifled a curse, breathing through my nose and trying to think about sad things to stop myself from grinding all over her.
Children living below the poverty line.
Climate change.
Starving bears.
Dad.
The last one did it. Becky returned to her place beyond the bright light aimed at the white screen, click-clicking her camera from the shadows.
“So Amber broke you,” Mad whispered.
“I think I was already broken, but yeah, she was definitely the final hammer to smash any romantic bone I had in my body.”
“I hate her,” Mad said.
I didn’t. I felt nothing toward my ex-fiancée, whom I’d spent the majority of my college years with.
I had to do something to take the Amber edge off. I didn’t want to talk about her or Julian. It wasn’t even the heartbreak that had made me swear off love. It was the embarrassing aftermath. The gossip mill. The humiliation.
Poor Chase got dumped.
Never was quite as hardworking and hungry as Julian.
They say Amber had to make it official with his brother because he impregnated her while she was still engaged to Chase.
Maybe Chase didn’t deliver you-know-where.
Chase might’ve cheated first. She just did what was best for her.
I forgave Julian when he asked for forgiveness. He was the older brother I looked up to, and I was determined to let it slide and work things out between us. It was Amber I had the issue with. The fickleness of love, of what I thought love was, rubbed me the wrong way. I was infatuated with Amber in the way thirteen-year-old boys were crushing over the biggest pop star in the world. She had the looks and the lust for life, and I had the funds and ability to yank her out of her small town, thrusting her into the glamorous life she’d always dreamed of. After a brush with the four-letter word with Amber, I’d decided I wasn’t a huge fan of letting someone into my life, not when the risk of watching them go was possible. All Amber had needed was the faintest hint that the horse she’d bet on wasn’t going to win, that Julian was going to make it to the CEO finish line before me, and she’d dumped my ass to the curb.
Dad’s illness was a bitter reminder that love was not on the menu for me.
Love = pain.
Pain = suffering.
Suffering = not today, Satan. Not today.
I pressed my lips to Madison’s ear. She was staring at the camera, still smiling, but from my vantage point five hundred feet above her (she really was that small), I could see the horror of being stuck here for eternity in her eyes.
“I want to do very dirty things to you.”
She quivered, and I smiled, my teeth tracing the shell of her ear.
“In the shower,” I continued. “You could sit on my shower bench while I eat you out.”
“God”—she closed her eyes on a soft moan—“that’s so . . . hygienic.”
We both burst out into spontaneous laughter, making Becky scowl at us. “Too much teeth. Please, let’s keep it regal and classy.”
I peered into Madison’s face, curious to see what her next step would be.
“So now when you’re about to become the CEO, is Amber trying to win you back?” Mad asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Not particularly.”
“Does Julian know that Amber might be after you?”
Another shrug. “If he does, he doesn’t mind.”
“Why?”
“Because Amber was never his endgame. She was collateral in a more elaborate chess game I didn’t know I was playing. What he truly wanted was affirmation that he was better than me. More of a son to Ronan than I am. He wants to become CEO. He wants to be the blackest Black in the clan.”
“So why did Amber do it? Go with Julian? You’re so much more . . .” Mad trailed off.
“Fuckable?” I helped her.
“I was going to say tolerable. But even that sounds generous sometimes. He just seems like a weasel, you know.”
I said nothing. Becky yelled that it was a wrap, and I let go of Madison, taking a step back like she was made out of fire. But Mad was still stuck in the moment, staring at me with a vulnerable look I couldn’t stand.
“It just seems unfair that you don’t want to fall in love, get engaged, have kids . . . because your brother-cousin stole your fiancée. Not all women care about money and status.”
“But you can never be sure.” I smiled grimly. She wanted to continue this line of conversation, but I followed Becky to the reception area, choosing to put an end to it. There was nothing I wanted more than to escape the scrutiny of those green-rimmed hazel eyes. Mad trailed behind me, refusing to drop the subject.
“That’s all it took? One bad experience with love?”
“Yup.”
“That is so cowardly. It’s like hating all carbs because you had a slice of pizza you didn’t like.”
“I don’t like pizza either,” I said breezily. Technically, it was true. I didn’t like what pizza did to my hard-earned abs and wasn’t planning on eating it anytime soon.
“The blasphemy!” Madison cried behind me, trying—and failing—to catch up with my footsteps. “So that’s it? You sentenced yourself to a life of loneliness because of that?”
Had she listened to my story? Did she know many people who’d lost their brides to their siblings?
“Not loneliness,” I amended. “I have hookups all the time and a great family that I love, aside from my brousin and his wife.”
“But if you don’t fall in love, the bad guys win,” Madison insisted.
“Really?” I swiveled, pinning her with a sarcastic look. “Because they sure as fuck don’t look like they’re winning. They seem positively miserable, much to my delight.”
There was a pause. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said Mad was on the verge of tears. But that couldn’t be true. Why would she give enough fucks?
“You gonna grow out your hair?” I snapped, changing the subject all of a sudden.
“I don’t know.” She blinked, taken aback. “Maybe.”
“I like it short.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Really?” I asked.
“No,” she deadpanned.
I stalled back in the reception to go over the pictures with Becky just to put some space between me and Madison. When my pulse no longer jackrabbited against my eyelid, I joined Madison outside on the curb. Her back was to me. She looked on edge, bouncing on the balls of her feet, hugging her midriff. I stared at her, not making myself known. She took her phone out of her purse and began texting someone. Pediatric Dude? The thought of her seeing him, flirting with him, after taking engagement pictures with me made me murderous. I stepped forward, putting a hand on her shoulder. “How about we grab a bite?” I asked.
She twisted around, sucking in a surprised breath like I’d caught her doing things she wasn’t supposed to do. And for the most part, it felt that way too. Not that she owed me jack shit, but ever since this whole fake-engagement thing had started, I hadn’t been seeing other people. It didn’t even make any sense. I just didn’t feel like making the effort with someone brand new, when Mad was right there. I channeled all my energy into getting her back into my bed.
And I’d barely even kissed her.
I needed to rectify the situation. Fast.
“I have some leftovers at home.” She smiled politely. “I don’t want to be wasteful.”
I frowned. “That sounds a lot like rejection.”
She sighed, rubbing at her eyes tiredly. “Look, Chase, you’re a nice guy—”
“No, I’m not,” I said, cutting her off. She faltered.
“True. But you are a real catch. Not because of your money or status but because you are funny, quick witted, smart, fun, and—yes—look like you’re the product of an orgy consisting of all the Greek gods, Chris Hemsworth, and James Dean.”
“Thank you for the mental image I cannot bleach from my memory. By the way, which one of them got pregnant?”
She blinked at me.
“Which god?”
“Ah . . . Chris. I think he’d rock the hell out of a baby bump.”
Silence. People bypassed us on the busy street. I was officially the bastard I hated who blocked pedestrians’ way.
“Anyway”—she rubbed her temple—“that’s not the point. The point is, you’re a catch, and spending time with you is not a good idea, because I don’t want to catch feelings for you again, okay? So I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be your fake-real girlfriend. Or fiancée. Or anything. Goodbye, Chase.”
She turned around, walking to the subway. She bumped into a businessman. He cursed. Martyr Maddie apologized.
“Wait.” I chased her, hand encircling her elbow. It dawned on me that, ironically, even though my name was Chase, I’d never done any chasing. It was always the other way around. Until now. Until Mad.
She stopped, spun on her heel, and stared at me warily. Her eyes were so full I thought they were going to overflow with emotion. I couldn’t tell what it was she was full of. Intensity? Pain? Whatever it was, it made me feel like shit.
“If you care about me,” she said slowly through a ragged breath, “then you will stop pursuing me. Let me live my life. Let me get over you. You confuse and infuriate and delight me. You make me feel all those emotions that I have no business feeling, and I’m desperate to move on. I want to want Ethan. Let one of us find their happiness. Because it is so painfully clear you don’t want to ever find yours.”
Now there were definitely tears in her eyes. I swallowed hard. For all my loose morals and even looser principles, I didn’t consider myself a top-notch dick. I always made sure women knew where they stood with me (with the exception of Madison, apparently). I never promised anything I wasn’t ready to deliver. And Maddie was obviously not on board with my offer for her. Which meant that now it really was time to let go.
I took a step back. Then another one, still holding her gaze. The world shrank around her, blurring at the edges like a faded picture.
Turn the fuck around and start walking, you tool.
Still, I stood, waiting for her to make the first move. Wondering if she’d change her mind at the last minute.
“Maybe in another life.” Mad smiled sadly, her eyes shining.
She turned around, disappearing into the subway. I stood there for ten minutes, then spun on my heel and stomped three blocks until I found an alleyway full of trash cans and privacy. I slumped against the wall, my forehead to the red bricks, and stood there for a half hour, waiting for my heart to stop galloping.
