March 1, 2001
Dear Maddie,
Today was not a good day. I know you were upset when we told you we couldn’t afford to pay for your school trip to the Statue of Liberty. Your father and I are struggling financially; that’s not a secret, but I wish it was. I wish we could keep this fact away from you, to afford all the things you want to do.
There is so much I want to give you, but I can’t. My treatments are getting pricier, and ever since your father had to hire an assistant to run the shop while I’m in treatment or recovering, we’ve been treating things we took for granted like luxuries.
What broke my heart today wasn’t even that you were sad about the trip—but that you tried to hide it from us. Your eyes and nose were red after you came back from your room, but you smiled like nothing happened.
Fun fact of the day: Jasmine is called queen of the night in India, because of its strong scent after sunset. I left some in your room. My version of an apology. Remember to tend to them. You can learn a lot about a person’s sense of responsibility and devotion by the way they keep their flowers.
Thank you for tending to us, even when we can’t tend to you in all areas in life.
Love,
Mom. x
“To be honest, I thought you didn’t like us very much.” Katie dragged her thimble over the Monopoly board, her brows furrowed in concentration. The drawing room was bathed in golden light. The rich carpets over exposed wood, Pinterest-worthy fireplace, and handmade crème-and-blue throws made me feel like I was cocooned inside one of those Jen Aniston movies where everything looked perfect all the time.
In the last couple of hours, Katie had purchased all four railroads on the board and was in the process of acquiring over three houses on the orange-colored group. Last I paid attention, she’d been driving Lori and me to the ground, leaving us with measly small sheds in the bad parts of town and the clothes on our backs. Luckily, Lori and I were sharing a bottle of wine and pieces of gossip about the royal family, which, it turned out, we both shared an unhealthy obsession with. We’d spent the last hour dissecting Kate Middleton’s wedding dress before moving to the grave topic of Meghan’s wedding tiara.
“Are you kidding me?” I pressed my wineglass to my blistering cheek, enjoying its cool sensation. I was probably slurring. The four glasses of champagne and one glass of wine on a relatively empty stomach weren’t a good idea, but I had to dull all the Chaseness around me. He was a lot to deal with. “I love you guys. Ronan is, like, a legendary fashion icon, Lori is the mom I wish I still had, and you . . . Katie, you’re . . .” I paused, blinking at the Monopoly board. I hated the idea they thought I wasn’t around because of them. Hated that Chase had kept the truth from them and villainized me in the process. “You’re seriously someone I would be good friends with. The first time we met, at Christmas, my dress tore up across my ass. You didn’t even blink before ushering me to your room and giving me something to wear.” A Prada something, to be exact. It had taken everything in me to send it back with a thank-you note. “You’re amazing, Katie. Like, really amazing.” I leaned forward, putting my hand on her arm. I couldn’t tell through the fog of intoxication if we were having a tender moment or an awkward one.
Her eyes clung to mine. “Really? Because I thought maybe it was me.”
“Why would it be you?” My eyes widened.
“I don’t know,” Katie said, so sweetly shy she looked like a kid, even though she was older than I was. Her voice was like broken glass.
“No, you’re perfect.” I hiccuped. “I love you.”
Had I just declared my love to a relative stranger? That was my cue to retire before Martyr Maddie became Creepy Maddie and passed out over the Monopoly board.
“I think I better head to bed. Who won?” I squinted at the board. It was blurry, the little pieces swimming around it like they were chasing one another. I hiccuped again. “Me?”
“Actually, you owe me two thousand dollars and a house on Tennessee Avenue.” Katie laughed, starting to remove the Scottie dog, top hat, and thimble from the board. I yawned, my eyes flickering shut as I took spontaneous one-second naps between blinks. Somewhere in the back of my head, I realized I was being a mess, not at all the brilliant, responsible fiancée Chase wanted me to be. Screw him. I owed him nothing. As long as his family was having fun.
“I hope you like fixer-uppers and accept coupons, Katie, because I’m broke as all hell,” I snorted out.
“That’s all right. It’s just a game.” Katie folded the board and tucked it back into the box as she hummed to herself. She was so agreeable and docile. The opposite of her older brother. Almost like he’d hogged every drop of ferociousness in their DNA pool before he was born.
“Yeah, well, I’m flat-out broke in real life too.” I snickered.
Time to go to bed, Miss Hot Mess Express.
I stood up on wobbly feet. My knees felt like jelly, and there was a strange pressure behind my eyes. Knowing I’d be coming face-to-face with Chase made me break out in hives. I’d tried to postpone our reunion as much as I could, hoping—praying, really—he’d fall asleep before I got back to the room.
“Not for long.” Lori laughed.
I laughed too. Then paused. Then frowned. “Wait, how do you mean?”
“Well”—Lori offered me a one-shoulder shrug, picking nonexistent lint from her dress pants as Katie put the Monopoly box away—“you’re going to marry Chase, honey. And Chase is . . . well endowed.”
Katie choked on her soda, while I used every ounce of my self-control in order to not break into giggles. “Oh, Lori, you have no idea,” I said.
Now Katie cackled. It was a sight. The willowy, dark-haired beauty with her hair pinned back carefully let it all out and laughed. I grinned. I wondered when the last time she’d actually had fun was. Then resisted the urge to invite her for a night out with Layla and me. Martyr Maddie needed to be switched off this weekend to make sure things wouldn’t get overly complicated.
Lori wasn’t wrong, though. Chase was a billionaire. His level of rich was golden toilet seats and private jets containing sex swings. It was burn-the-money-just-to-see-if-it’d-make-you-feel-anything rich. The scary, jaded type of wealth that seemed wholly untouchable from where I was standing.
It hit me then that I’d never considered Chase’s money as a factor when we were really dating. His wealth was in the backdrop of our relationship, like a massive piece of furniture I learned to overlook, even though it was a part of the view. When he asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I told him I needed a new heating pad. It was twenty-five bucks on Amazon, available on Prime, with a gift-wrap option included for an additional fee. Chase laughed and got me a pair of $10K earrings instead. He couldn’t fathom why I wasn’t enthralled by the lavish gift. The truth of the matter was I was broke post-Christmas and had really been counting on that heating pad.
I didn’t want something expensive and useless. I wanted something not so expensive and useful.
Lori’s comment made me sober up momentarily. I nodded, getting back into delighted-fiancée mode. “Oh yeah. Sure. But I’m going to be very responsible with his money. I mean, our money. Money in general.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. “I don’t spend a lot.”
“Well, we all know I have the opposite problem.” Katie looked down at her feet.
Desperately eager to change the subject, I clapped my hands, standing in the middle of the room. “Where is Amber, by the way? I really wanted to get to know her.”
And by really I meant not really, but it seemed like something I should say.
Katie and Lori exchanged looks. I was drunk but not stupid and could tell they were doing this eye-communication thing Dad and Mom used to do when she was still alive to decide something I wasn’t supposed to know.
“She was tired,” Katie said at the same time Lori mumbled, “I think she came down with something.”
Huh.
So Amber disliked me. For no apparent reason, as far as I could tell.
“That’s unfortunate,” I said.
“Very,” Lori muttered in a tone that conveyed it really wasn’t. Then I remembered Lori and Amber hadn’t really communicated very much during dinner. Then again, Amber had been either busy with her phone or glaring at Chase and me simultaneously, waiting for one of us to spontaneously combust.
I kissed Lori’s and Katie’s cheeks goodbye and turned toward the door. I promised myself not to read into Amber’s reaction to me. I’d done nothing wrong.
Other than deceiving the entire Black family, a little voice inside me said. But Amber wasn’t privy to that, was she? Then I remembered she hadn’t seemed sold on my Brooklyn story. Neither had her husband, Julian. It worried me that I may have blown it. If Ronan knew Chase and I were lying, he’d be devastated, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.
I ascended the stairs barefoot. The velvet carpet pressed between my toes lusciously. Everything was crème and navy and powder blue. Nautically rustic, with big pieces of furniture and white-painted wood. It felt almost unreal to be a part of this place. Like I’d cheated my way in. Which, in a way, I had.
I reached the second floor, holding the banisters for dear life, still buzzing with alcohol. I zigzagged past the hallway doors. One of them was ajar. It was a double door.
A low, gravelly growl seeped through the crack. “Over my dead body.”
I froze, recognizing Chase’s diabolical voice. He sounded ready to murder whoever was with him in that room, and I didn’t want to be there when it happened.
Move along, something inside me whispered. Nothing to see here. Not your business, not your war.
I checked the time on my phone. One a.m. What the hell was he doing up, and who was he arguing with? Curiosity got the better of me. I leaned against the wall, holding my breath, careful not to get caught.
“If that’s what it takes,” Julian drawled sardonically. I recognized his voice too. He had traces of a Scottish accent, littered in his words sparsely. Ronan Black’s family was originally from Edinburgh. Julian, Ronan’s late sister’s son, had been flown from Scotland when he was only six to live with the family after his parents died in a fatal car crash on Christmas Day. The Black couple, Lori and Ronan, once said in an interview Julian was the best Christmas gift they’d ever received. I’d read about it on the Black family Wikipedia page when I was Chase obsessed during the first month of our relationship. Julian and Chase grew up as brothers and, according to Wikipedia, were close. Whoever had written this page had been high, because during my six months with Chase, he’d rarely mentioned his cousin to me and never made an introduction. Now that Julian was here, he and Chase acted like sworn enemies.
“Don’t mistake my devotion to my father for weakness. My focus is on his health and well-being. If something happens to him . . .” Chase left the sentence unfinished.
I stuck my nose in the gap between the doors and peeked through it. They were standing in a darkened library. It was a gorgeous room, with floor-to-ceiling white shelves containing thousands of books seemingly arranged by the color of their spines. Chase was leaning behind a heavy oak desk, his knuckles pressing the exposed wood. Julian was standing in front of him, tall but not as tall as Chase, my fake fiancé’s shadow cast over him like a dark castle.
Julian threw his arms in the air, exasperated. “Something will happen. He is dying, and you’re not a good fit to replace him. Thirty-two and barely out of your corporate diapers. You’ll spook the shareholders and drive the investors away.”
“I’m the COO,” Chase boomed. It was the first time I’d heard him raise his voice to anyone. He was always deadly quiet and in complete control.
“You’re a fucking thief, is what you are,” Julian bit back. “You proved it three years ago, and I still haven’t forgotten.”
Three years ago? What had happened three years ago? Of course, I couldn’t very well walk in there and ask. One of the more unfortunate side effects of eavesdropping.
“He chose me as next in line. He chose you as CIO. Deal with it,” Chase barked, his eyes hooding.
“He chose wrong,” Julian deadpanned.
“You have some nerve talking to me about this bullshit on my engagement-party weekend.” Chase leaned back, opening a drawer and removing a cigar from it. Rather than lighting it, he broke it in two and fingered the material inside.
He was trying not to snap, I realized.
“About that.” Julian took a seat on a chair behind him, crossing his legs. “As soon as I met little Miss Louisa Clark, I realized something was amiss.”
“Louisa Clark?” Chase frowned.
“Me before You. I watched it with Amber. She cried a lot.”
“I would, too, if I had to fuck you on the reg,” Chase muttered. “Is there a point to your little story?”
“Your fiancée. She is a Louisa Clark. You don’t truly expect us to believe you are marrying this . . . this . . .”
“This?” Chase stopped squashing the tobacco between his fingers and cocked an eyebrow, daring him to finish the sentence. I swallowed. My heart was thrashing helplessly against my rib cage. I didn’t want to hear whatever came next but couldn’t unglue myself from my spot either.
“Come on.” Julian snorted. “Before we were enemies, we were brothers. I know you. This eccentric, artsy-fartsy, quirky-but-full-of-depth chick isn’t your type. You like them severely malnourished and personality-free. Your type wears designer clothes and doesn’t get sloppy drunk during family gatherings. I see through you, Chase. You want to show Ronan you’re good for it. That you’re ready to settle down, have kids, the whole enchilada. And with a normal, average girl, no less. Is that who you are now, brother? Grounded? Reliable? An all-around stand-up guy?” Julian threw his head back and laughed. He stood up, shaking his head. “I don’t buy your sudden engagement, and I don’t buy this relationship. You’re just vying for the CEO seat to get back at me by acting all high and mighty. You can play house with a girl who’s a six all you want, but I don’t for one second believe you’ll marry below ten.”
A six. I felt nauseous, so much so the need to throw up almost overwhelmed me. I wanted to slap Julian across the face. How dare he put a number on me? And how dare Chase just stand there and listen to this? I was his fake fiancée. In fact, screw that. I was his ex-girlfriend. A human being. He couldn’t let Julian speak this way.
“You think I want to become CEO to get back at you?” Chase smirked, amused.
“Why else? You didn’t even care for the job when you graduated.”
“Oh, fuck you, Julian.”
“Not if I fuck you first.”
“Well.” Chase let loose a smile so frigid it made my insides twist painfully. “As it happens, the vacancy for CEO is not available just yet, so you’ll have to sit pretty and watch as my so-called fake engagement unfolds.”
Unfolds?
Unfolds into what?
I’d told Chase this was a one-off. I wasn’t going to start playing the dutiful fiancée part like this was some sort of Kate Hudson rom-com. He knew full well whisking me off to the Hamptons was already pushing past my boundaries. Setting them on fire, more like.
He also knows you’re Martyr Maddie and will stop at nothing to please others, no matter who they are or how you feel about them.
It took me a few seconds to realize Chase was stalking to the door. I jerked back, before darting to our room, tripping over my own feet. Once inside the room, I knocked a vase down in my haste to close the door. Not wanting to get caught, I left the shattered glass on the floor, dashing into the bathroom. I locked the door behind me and plastered my back to it, panting.
A few seconds later, I heard the door open, then the sound of crunched glass as Chase stepped over the broken vase. There were jasmines inside. Their scent soaked the air now, filling it with thick sweetness that seeped under the crack of the bathroom door. I felt bad for the flowers, squashed under Chase’s shoe. My heart had once suffered a similar experience.
“Madison!” he roared into the silence. His voice pierced the air.
I winced. I didn’t much care what he thought, but I hated that it was common knowledge I was sloppy drunk tonight and that Julian had thrown it in his face.
“I know you’re in there.” His words got closer, darker. My dinner clogged my throat, begging to purge itself. Knowing the door was firmly locked, I hurried to the toilet, threw the seat up, and lurched into the bowl. My whole body convulsed as my stomach pumped up the little I’d eaten tonight.
“Should’ve hired a sorority girl for the job,” he muttered under his breath behind the door, giving the handle a firm shake. “Fun drunk beats sad drunk every day of the fucking week.”
Fun drunk is not an option when a jerk like you is in the vicinity.
I continued throwing up. Tears ran down my clammy cheeks, snaking into my mouth, their saltiness exploding on my tongue. I never got drunk. I must have been more anxious than I’d realized.
We were supposed to be wide awake and ready to go on a family hike tomorrow at ten a.m. I very much doubted I would be in any shape to get out of bed, if I even made it to it and not straight to the ER tonight.
“Madison!”
“Leave me alone.” I scrambled up to brush my teeth. I got as far as the sink and tumbled back down. The pressure in my head made it impossible to open my eyes. Julian’s words spun inside it, circling like clothes in a washing machine. A six. I was so painfully average and so royally out of my depth here.
I was on my second attempt to hoist myself over the sink and try to brush my teeth when Chase kicked the door down. Unhinged, it flew to the floor, landing with a thump. Luckily, the Jack-and-Jill bathroom was more spacious than my studio, and the door landed a few feet away from me. I looked up and blinked at him, my mouth slack.
Asshole kicked the door down.
“You . . . you stupid . . .” I squinted, trying to find adequate words. And failing. He strode over to me, picked me up from the floor, and righted me against the sink. He turned on the tap and began to wash my face for me, running his big palm over my nose and mouth. He held me by the waist to keep me from falling.
“Finish that thought, Mad. I’ve a feeling it’s going to be amusing,” he said tonelessly, plucking my toothbrush from the silver container by the sink and applying a generous amount of toothpaste onto it.
“Conceited . . . arrogant . . . egotistical . . .”
“Nah-ah. You don’t get to use synonyms. That’s cheating.”
“Bastard!” I roared.
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” He stuck the toothbrush in my mouth, applying gentle pressure as he brushed my teeth for me. He was a thorough brusher. Of course he was. “What else have you got?”
“Stupid . . .”
“You already said ‘stupid.’”
“Okay, dumb . . .”
“How about we continue this tomorrow?” He cut through my stream of insults. “I promise to be convincingly insulted and cry into my pillow the minute you’re done.” He finished brushing my teeth, rinsed the toothbrush, and filled a glass of water for me to gargle.
I was too disoriented to pretend to care he was taking care of me. In all of the six months we’d been dating, I’d been careful not to expose him to any part of my less glamorous side. I’d brushed my teeth before he’d woken up to avoid morning breath, gone number two while the shower was on so he wouldn’t hear (which had also cornered me into taking frequent showers at his place), and categorically pretended my period hadn’t existed, sparing him any mention of Mother Nature’s visits to my body. Now, here I was, letting him clean traces of my puke straight from my mouth with his ring on my finger. Oh, irony really did have a sick sense of humor.
I gargled the water he helped me sip before spitting into the sink and side-eyeing him. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“Thank fuck for that, you’d be a nightmare to tame.” He didn’t spare me a look, picking up my pink bag of toiletries and plucking two sheets from my makeup-removal wipes. He began to scrub my eyes, probably worried my $5 waterproof mascara would stain his $5,000 linens.
“And you’d be a tyrant to work for,” I slurred. He chuckled, tossing the dirty wipes into the trash can, picking me up honeymoon-style, and carrying me back to the bedroom. I was still trying to come up with creative insults, refusing to cave to temptation and wrap my arms around his neck. The aftertaste of puke still lingered on my breath, but I was oddly unbothered when I spoke directly to his face.
“You’re not even that attractive,” I muttered confrontationally as he put me down on the bed. He removed my shoes, then reached for the hidden zipper in the back of my pencil skirt and rolled it down. He was stripping me bare. It felt too good to get rid of my work clothes to care. Anyway, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. And we weren’t exactly seducing one another. I was half-dead, and he’d basically admitted my mediocrity to Julian by not defending me.
Oh, also—I hated his guts.
“And you’re cold and sarcastic and lack basic empathy.” I continued listing his shortcomings. “Just because you’re helping me now doesn’t mean I forgot who you are. The devil incarnate. You’re far from Prince Charming. For one thing, you’re rude. And not the saving-princesses kind. You’d probably send someone over to save them for you. Also, you’d look ridiculous on a horse.”
I was half-sorry I wasn’t still puking. Vomit was favorable to what left my mouth as I tried to insult Chase. That was some second-grade stuff right there.
“Permission to remove your bra,” he said thickly.
“Granted,” I huffed.
He unclasped my bra with one hand, then produced a Yale sweatshirt from his nightstand drawer. He pulled it over my head, then stopped, staring at my breasts for a few good seconds.
“Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”
He tugged the sweatshirt down in one go, his throat bobbing with a swallow. The fabric was warm, soft, well worn. It smelled of Chase.
“And what kind of name is Chase Black, anyway?” I let out an unattractive snort. “It sounds made up.”
“Sorry to break it to you, but it’s as real as your hangover is about to be tomorrow morning. I suggest you chug this.” He unscrewed an Evian bottle that sat on the nightstand and handed it over to me. He rolled his black dress shirtsleeves up his elbows, exposing forearms so veiny and muscular I was surprised I hadn’t humped them months ago, when I’d still had the chance. “I’ll go get you some Advil.”
“Wait!” I called out to him when he was at the door. He stopped but didn’t turn around to face me. His back was so deliciously ripped inside his dress shirt that I was half-mad at myself for never exchanging nudes with him when we were a thing.
“Pick up the jasmines and put them in a vase full of fresh water. They don’t deserve to die,” I croaked. “Please.”
He made a grumbling sound, shaking his head like I was a lost cause.
The last thing I remembered was gulping the two Advil Chase put in my mouth and passing out.
I woke up with a pounding headache the next day. The clock on the nightstand signaled eleven. It was official—the weekend had started off with me being a spectacular failure, as far as my duties as a charming fiancée went. First, I’d gotten accidentally drunk; then I’d missed the Blacks’ family hike. The room was empty, save for a tray with bacon, eggs, fresh bread toasted with butter, and a steaming cup of coffee. There was a new vase full of slightly distressed jasmines on the dresser by the door. A neatly folded blanket and a fluffed-up pillow were sitting on top of one another tidily on the floor.
And a note on the nightstand.
M,
Went hiking. Jasmines are alive. Assuming you are, too, soak up the alcohol with the breakfast I left for you.
PS:
I’d look fantastic on a horse. #Fact.
—C
I spent the rest of the weekend working hard on redeeming myself in the eyes of the Blacks.
At lunch, I was glued to Katie’s and Lori’s sides, making pleasant conversation and helping Lori stitch back a part of her favorite vintage dress that had gotten torn. I then rolled up my sleeves and made scones for everyone, bantering with the family baker (because what kind of family didn’t have a baker on their payroll?) and laughing with Katie, who didn’t participate in the baking but was content to sit on the counter and tell me about the half marathon she was training for.
“It’s the only thing that makes me feel accomplished. My dad gave me a job and threw enough money at my education, but running? No one does it for me. It’s all me.”
When the family went wine tasting, I opted to stay behind, seeing as I’d drunk my own body weight the previous night and was afraid even the scent of alcohol would upset my stomach. I sketched and watched the sunset at Foster Memorial Beach, the ocean crashing ashore tickling my toes with its foam. The air was salty and clean. My heart twisted painfully. Mom would have loved this beach.
My phone pinged with a message.
Layla: Wellllllll?
Maddie: Welllllll?
Layla: What’s going on? Also, I think Sven is onto you. He knows the Blacks are in the Hamptons this weekend. Coincidentally, he dropped by your apartment earlier and I had to tell him you’re out. Anyway, should I be worried for Ethan’s marshmallow heart?
Maddie: Nope. Chase is gross as ever.
Layla: Totally gross. In a want-to-have-his-sociopathic-babies way, right?
Maddie: First of all: I cannot believe they let you work with children. Second: I told you. He is a cheating cheater who cheats and we are not warming up to him (we = me and my body).
Layla: This sounds a lot like you trying to convince yourself.
Layla: Also, I just want to point out, I was voted teacher of the month last July. So HA.
Maddie: You mean during summer break, when kids are not at school?
Layla: Bye, party pooper. Tell the cobwebs on your va-jay-jay I said hi.
I must’ve gotten carried away with my sketching, because when I got back to the Black mansion, the door in our en suite bathroom was back on its hinges, unlike yours truly. Chase was already showered, dressed, and looking like the billion bucks he was worth, ready for dinner. I’d managed to successfully avoid him throughout the entire day by spending time with his family. I refused to thank him for taking care of me last night on the grounds that he cheated on me and was still a jerk, and I decided to continue ignoring his good deed. Chase asked if he could count on me not to spontaneously puke at the table. I flipped him the finger and headed to the still-steaming shower. He went downstairs to spend time with his father and niece while I threw three bath bombs into the hot tub, lay in it until my skin became prune-like and I’d shrunk to the size of a ten-year-old, and chose my outfit for the night (A-line black dress with cat ears on the shoulders paired with an orange cardigan and blue heels).
I did not drink a drop of alcohol through dinner and politely ignored Amber’s death stares. The stainless beauty of her, paired with the fact her husband thought I was subpar, rattled something I hadn’t known existed in me. Luckily, her daughter, Clementine, who looked to be around nine years old, turned out to be an unexpected delight. I hit it off with the little ginger thing immediately. We talked about which princess dresses were the best (Cinderella and Belle, hands down), then about our favorite superheroines. (That was where we agreed to disagree. Clementine exclaimed Wonder Woman was her first choice, while I thought the clear, obvious answer was Hermione Granger. Which led to another subargument about whether Hermione was a superheroine or not.)
(She definitely was.)
Clementine was fantastic. Open and bright and full of humor. It helped that she looked nothing like her grim father and gorgeous mother. A completely fresh entity, with different coloring, a constellation of freckles on her nose, and uneven teeth.
I got into bed early, avoiding all communication with my fake fiancé, and was delighted when I woke up in the morning and not only felt brand new but found Chase sleeping on the floor again. I took a moment to watch the frown between his eyebrows as he slept, the thick slash of his dark eyebrows pinched together. A pang of something warm and unwarranted unfurled in my chest.
Devilishly handsome.
I turned my back to him and slept through the morning, but not before writing him a note and leaving it exactly where he’d left his, on the nightstand.
Thank you for brushing my teeth Friday night.
Next time don’t use all the hot water.
PS:
You’d look ridiculous on a horse.
—M
