First thing I’d noticed about Madison Goldbloom when I’d hit on her in Croquis’s elevator? Her beautiful hazel eyes.
Okay. Fine. It was her tits. Sue me.
To anyone else, they were probably average, pleasant-looking tits. They were even modestly tucked inside a perfectly sensible, albeit visually offensive white turtleneck with a tacky lipstick pattern all over it. But they were so perky—so goddamn erect and round—I couldn’t help but note they were the perfect size for my palms.
In order to test that theory, I had to wine and dine her first. Since nature all but conned me to pursue her, I took Madison to one of Manhattan’s finest restaurants that same evening and spared no expense—nor compliment—for the sake of my palm-to-tit ratio research.
(Which turned out to be a success. Science, baby. Never failed.)
Madison was smaller than the average human being, which was preferable, seeing as I hated people, so the less there was of them, the better. Alas, this specific person was a honey trap. Because what she lacked in size, she made up for with enthusiasm. She was perky and charitable and got breathless when she spoke about things she was passionate about. She cooed at babies and patted dogs on the street and made eye contact with strangers on the subway. She was in-your-face alive in ways I wasn’t accustomed to or comfortable with, and that didn’t sit well with me.
As for her clothes . . . part of me wanted to take them off her because they were horrendous, and it had nothing to do with the sex part.
It was never supposed to be more than a fling. The thought of it exceeding the shelf life of a week hadn’t even crossed my mind. My relationships typically coordinated their expiration dates with my milk cartons. In my thirty-one years of existence prior to meeting her, I’d only had one girlfriend, and it had ended in a farce that reminded me that humans, as a concept, were faulty and unpredictable and, although unavoidable, should be kept at arm’s length.
Then came Madison Goldbloom, and poof! Girlfriend number two materialized. If we were being technical here, she didn’t earn the title. She stole it.
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, getting 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.”
“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.
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 on 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.”
“She will tomorrow,” I said, clipped.
“Thanks for clearing some time in your schedule to see her. I know how busy you are.” More sarcasm.
I raised my glass, pretending to make a toast. “Anything for my niece.”
And nothing for her parents.
“Maddie, I don’t suppose you’ll be in the mood to play Monopoly with us afterward? You must be exhausted.” Mom turned to my fake fiancée, batting her eyelashes. She was laying it on thick. “It’s a tradition the Black women keep every time we’re in the Hamptons.”
Mad perked up. “Really? I don’t remember us doing it during Christmas.”
That’s because Mom just made this tradition up, I refrained from saying. My family went gaga over this woman, and I wasn’t entirely sure why.
“We wanted to give you and Chase some, er, alone time as a new couple.”
It alarmed me that Mom was more invested in Madison than I was in the stock market. Maybe she simply liked the idea of me not dying an old, solitary grinch. Madison was the only woman I’d brought home since She Who Shall Not Be Named.
“I would love to,” Mad exclaimed sunnily. I didn’t doubt her enthusiasm. Knew she’d rather take a bath in a deep fryer than spend a minute with me.
Katie and Mom exchanged the Look. The one they shared whenever they watched Pride and Prejudice and Colin Firth was stuttering something charming onscreen.
I stabbed at my steak like it had tried to stab me first, watching it bleed juicily onto my plate, feeling an impending calamity hanging over my head.
Mad was digging her obnoxiously patterned, colorful roots into the Black family, and my parents and sister were falling hard and fast.
Unlike me. I was the only Black who was immune to her charms. To her smiles. To her heart.
I promised myself that.
