The Devil Wears Black(104)

“Boys.” Mom clutched her pearls, like we were back to being preteens. “Behave.”

“Fine,” Julian said, sulking.

“He started it,” I mumbled. Julian laughed and elbowed my ribs.

Katie looked between us, then began to laugh and cry at the same time. I felt oddly compelled to agree with her mixed emotions. I was thankful Dad had left us like this. With a humorous bang, so to speak.

“And another, general message, directed at all of us.” Katie wiped a tear under her eye. “‘Dear family, please never forget I’ve always been quite resourceful when it comes to taking care of myself. Don’t worry. Wherever I am, I’m okay. I miss you and I love you, and I ask kindly that you take your time in joining me. Love, Dad.’”

“False,” Mom muttered. “He never could take care of himself.”

Another round of chuckles.

“Yeah, he could.” Julian scrubbed his chin. “If heaven turns out to be some sort of Lord of the Flies situation, you know Dad would be Ralph.”

Dad. He was saying Dad again. I smiled.

If we laughed like this less than two weeks after his death, maybe we could survive it after all.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

MADDIE

I was curled into myself on the couch when the doorbell rang. I got up to answer, Daisy at my heel, barking excitedly, as she did when Chase came over. We hadn’t discussed him dropping by, but the hollowness I’d felt at not being with him today, for the first time in weeks, terrified me. I flung the door open. The hallway was empty. I wondered how whoever had gotten in had done it in the first place. The front buzzer hadn’t rung. I just guessed it was Layla. I surveyed the empty hall, frowning.

“Layla? Chase?” My voice bounced on the walls. Daisy whimpered, lowering her head and bumping her nose against something on my doorstep. I looked down. Was that . . . a sewing machine? It looked old school. Heavy. The expensive kind. A vintage Singer in black and gold. I crouched down, picked it up, and carried it into my apartment. There was a note plastered onto it. No sewing machine case. I plucked it off.

Maddie,

When I was a wee lad in Dundee, my mother was the neighborhood’s seamstress. I witnessed firsthand how clothes transform people. Not just visually. But their mood and ability and ambition. When I moved to the States, I decided to incorporate Black & Co., basing my entire business plan on something I’d learned from a poor widow who couldn’t afford to put milk on the table. From my mother.

This is what Gillian Black taught me—if you love what you do, it will never be work for you.

To making many more dresses, and hopefully happy memories with my son.

—Ronan Black

I blinked, desperately trying to get rid of the tears so I could reread the letter again and again. Ronan had left something for me. I didn’t know why it hit me so deeply. Maybe because the circumstances reminded me of my mom, and all she could afford to leave behind were letters. It took me another twenty minutes and two cups of water to calm down. I picked up my phone and texted Chase. I knew a normal person would call, but texting was our safety net. We were still treading carefully, trying not to reveal too much of our hearts. Texts could be deleted. Words spoken would be inked in our memories forever.

Maddie: Thank you for the sewing machine. How was it today?

Chase: Surprisingly not horrible. I think Julian and I are salvageable.

Maddie: I’m so happy to hear that.

Chase: *Read that.

Maddie: Still a jerk, I see.

Chase: Good thing you dumped me, huh?

Maddie: That’s not exactly what happened.

I still hadn’t told him I’d found the azaleas. It seemed like poor timing to talk about us when there was something so big going on in his life. Then again, I felt stuck in a limbo of feelings I couldn’t untangle from one another. The worst part was that there was nothing to talk about, really. I was in love with Chase Black, and he’d friend zoned me because I’d insisted on it. Because even though he had passed the azaleas test and almost fired someone for me and taken care of me in more ways than I could count—than anyone ever had, if I was being honest—I chose to believe the stupid, cowardly thing he said to me over and over again. That he wasn’t ready to fall in love.

Only he hasn’t told you this in weeks.

Chase: Dinner tomorrow?

Maddie: Sure. Burnt chili sound good?

Chase: My favorite.



It was the day of the runway show during Fashion Week, and my nerves were tattered and torn on the floor as I paced from side to side.

“I told you!” I growled at Sven, shaking my finger in his direction. “I told you we couldn’t count on her. What kind of model doesn’t show up to Fashion Week? What agency did she say she was from?”

The model was a no-show. I repeat: We had no one to walk the runway with the Dream Wedding Dress, which I had designed. Which I’d put my heart and soul into.

“I mean, she did get pneumonia. I know you’re no longer Martyr Maddie, but a bit of sympathy would be nice.” Sven winced.

I fell down into a chair, burying my head in my hands. “I can’t believe this is happening. It was a dream come true.”

Sven, Nina, and Layla, who’d taken a day off and tagged along for moral support, all looked at me with a mixture of horrified fascination and pity.