The Devil Wears Black(56)

“What does the fiancée package include?” She yawned. Not a good start.

“Dating, movie nights, restaurants, fucking, meeting your dad.” I let that last one sink in, watching her face, but she remained stoic, focused on the flowers in front of her as she leaned down to sniff the sunflowers.

“I’m serious about this,” I added.

“You cheated on me,” she pointed out for the millionth time.

Not this old tune again. It was time she knew the truth. I touched her arm, making her gaze dart up to mine. “I didn’t cheat on you.”

She groaned, pretending not to care. “I saw you.”

“No, what you saw was me coming into my apartment with someone else. You didn’t see me touch her. You didn’t see me kiss her. I never did.”

“There were lipstick marks on your dress shirt.” She turned around to me fully now. She wasn’t whispering either. A thirtysomething couple who was very clearly looking at flowers for their wedding eyed us curiously.

Keep watching, assholes.

“It wasn’t my shirt.”

“Of course it wasn’t.” Mad threw her head back and laughed. A bitter laugh I never wanted to hear from her mouth again. It sounded foreign. Completely un-Madison-like. The woman next to the man beside us elbowed her beau, cocking her head in our direction. Un-fucking-believable. I gave the husband-to-be a what-the-fuck glare.

He shrugged helplessly. “Sorry, bro. Sounds like you kind of brought this on yourself.” He chuckled.

I turned my attention back to Madison. “The shirt wasn’t mine. It was Grant’s. He hooked up with someone. No, let me amend—he was in the middle of hooking up with someone and got called in for work. Understandably, he couldn’t show up wearing a shirt that suggested he was vacationing in Ho Island.”

“So you volunteered your shirt.” More sarcasm.

“Correct,” I gritted out. “Remember that shirt? It was white. I don’t wear white. I only wear—”

“Black,” she finished for me, her eyes flaring. She had a light bulb moment. I’d worn black that day. Hell, I wore black any day. There was a beat of silence. The couple beside us looked invested in our exchange, and I’d have given them a piece of my mind if I weren’t completely focused on explaining to Madison what she’d really seen that night.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway. So what if it was Grant’s shirt? The woman you brought home was real. I saw her. I guess she just followed you? No”—she held her hand up, smiling, but there was nothing happy about that smile—“she was just running away from an ax murderer, and you gave her shelter, right?”

The woman beside us giggled. Her fiancé tucked his chin down, hiding a grin. I was going to kill someone. Likely myself for coming up with that stupid plan in the first place.

“I brought her home because I knew you’d be there,” I said dryly.

“You couldn’t have.” Mad shook her head. “I told no one other than . . .”

“Katie,” I finished for her. “Katie told me. I mentioned I might spend my birthday weekend in Florida with Grant. She told me I wouldn’t want to do that, then revealed your plan.”

By the look on Madison’s face, I knew the penny had dropped. Caught in an emotional tornado at the restaurant the other day, Mad had forgotten she’d told Katie about the birthday surprise prior to waiting in my apartment. So at the restaurant, she recited her story about the cheating bastard she caught, but she wasn’t privy to the fact Katie had told me about Madison waiting for me in lingerie in my bed.

And she forgot she herself had informed Katie she’d be waiting for me in my bedroom.

Katie wasn’t stupid. She’d done the math but hadn’t said anything. At least one person in my family already knew what Julian was dying to uncover—I’d fucked up.

“And you brought her home so I’d catch you.” Mad’s nostrils flared.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted you to see.”

“Why?”

“Because things were getting too real too fast, and I don’t do real, Madison. I think we both know I don’t do fast either.” I glared at the couple next to us pointedly. The guy blushed. Really? Now I didn’t even care his girl was judging me. She was sentenced to a life with a prematurely ejaculating husband.

“My life will not be disturbed by senseless, messy emotions.” I was mansplaining now. I needed to shut up.

“Okay, RoboCop,” the woman beside us mumbled.

“You could’ve talked to me,” Mad said.

“From experience, women don’t get the message. They say they’ll take it slow, but that just means biding their time. And no offense, but you are the most wedding-obsessed woman I’ve ever met. You design wedding dresses for a living, and between your apartment and office, you have enough flowers to put Holland out of business.”

“You could’ve broken up with me.” Mad’s voice cracked midsentence. She wasn’t wrong, and I hated when she wasn’t wrong. I’d taken the coward’s way out.

“I figured you’d get the message, get mad, then reappear in the form of a fuck buddy.”

“Wow. For a smart person, you’re really dumb.” She sighed. In her defense, her face was full of awe rather than disdain.