: Chapter 25

“Are you okay?” Sven asked as he tugged and smoothed the dress on my body.

I wasn’t.

I was absolutely not okay.

The model for the Dream Wedding Dress was MIA, again, and I had to fill in for her. At this point, I was furious. It was one thing to give him my measurements. It was another completely to model the frigging thing, especially when she was at least eight inches taller than me. How unprofessional.

“I’m fine,” I clipped. “You should talk to this girl’s agency. She’s stood us up twice in a row now. Maybe you should just get a size zero replacement.”

Phew, now I really was a long cry from Martyr Maddie. The old me would never say anything remotely negative about someone. The new me, however, wanted to hold people accountable for their actions. Living with the new me, I realized, was much more convenient than sharing a body with my previous version.

“Nah, too late for that.” Sven crouched forward, pinning needles around the fabric bunched at my waist. He had another row of needles in his mouth as he spoke. “Besides, even if I could get another model, I want the one that looks like a real woman. She’s worth it. Trust me.”

“Supermodels are real women too. In fact, women come in all shapes and sizes and colors and heights, and none of their physical characteristics make them any less of a woman.” Nina raised her arm in the air as if asking for permission as they both inspected me in my work of art.

“Amen.” I high-fived Nina before giving the customary bride-to-be twirl in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror we kept in the studio mostly for Sven’s daily angle check. Designers and interns and administrative assistants gathered around me to look at the dress. Crimson marred my neck and cheeks, and my skin became blotchy with embarrassment. I wasn’t used to everyone’s eyes on me.

“Fine. I’ll amend. The model is worth it because she looks like she was born for that dress, and I don’t care that she is busy. Now, Maddie, would you do me a favor and straighten your back? You look like you’re about to hide inside this dress.”

I did as I was told, smoothing my hand across the lush fabric of the Moonflower. I’d named the dress design after the white flower, which looked like a long dress midtwirl when it opened. But there was a catch that made me insist on the name—the moonflower only opened at night. It blossomed in the dark. Sven had said to call it something that reminded me of myself.

Nothing reminded me of myself more than blossoming in the arms of darkness.

I’d lost my mother in the midst of my awkward swing into adulthood. Only guided by my widower father, who’d been busy saving my late mother’s other legacy—her flower shop.

I’d fallen in love with Chase Black when his father was dying.

And I’d fallen in love with myself, too, once I’d realized I was worthy of a man like Chase Black. Frankly, that I was worthy of anyone.

I bit my lower lip as I stared in the mirror, thinking about all the women who would hopefully walk down the aisle wearing the dress. Then about the lives they were going to have with their husbands (or wives) afterward. I thought about the children they would have. The positive pregnancy tests. The promotions. The Christmas mornings. The family vacations. Entire lives would be wrapped around the Moonflower. Thousands of women would look at this dress years from now, and it would symbolize something different to each of them. Love. Hope. Heartbreak. It filled my heart with excitement.

“Maddie.” Nina stepped forward, passing me my phone, which was dancing in her palm. “You have a phone call.”

I frowned at the caller ID. Katie. Did she want to cancel on our lunch plans? I pressed the phone to my ear. “Hey, K. What’s up?”

“Maddie,” she choked out. My heart immediately sank.

“Katie.” My voice quivered. “What happened?”

It was terrible. Asking a question you knew the answer to just so it could be out in the open. So we could deal with it. Layla’s word of the day today was disaster. I should have known.

“It’s Dad.” Her voice sounded soft and hoarse, like it was melting in her throat. “He died.”

The next hour was a blur. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t see clearly.

Maybe that was what made me burst in a blaze out of the building wearing a wedding dress that resembled a three-tier cake, before Sven and Nina pulled me back in, kicking and screaming I had to go see the Blacks. Nina shoved me in the bathroom and peeled the dress from my body before dressing me up in my normal clothes. I shook uncontrollably, trying to call Chase and getting hit with the cold, impersonal sound of his voice mail each time. Thank God Nina had been working hard on making amends and being the best version of herself at the office. She made sure I had a taxi waiting downstairs.

The journey to the hospital passed in a blink. I couldn’t decipher the faces or the words of the staff who directed me to Ronan Black’s room. He wasn’t there anymore when I got there. Chase was standing with his back to me, staring out the window, the empty, still-crumpled bed behind him. Lori was curled into herself on a clinically green love seat, her head tucked in Katie’s shoulder. Julian was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands in his lap. Amber and Clementine were nowhere to be seen. I rushed to Katie and Lori first, not quite ready to witness Chase’s pain up close.

“How’d it happen?” I asked, knowing dang well it wasn’t a question they wanted to answer. On the day I’d found out about Mom, Dad hadn’t wanted to talk about anything, much less the technicalities of how it had happened. And yet as friends and family had trickled in, we’d been swamped with questions. How had she died, who’d found her, and how had Dad broken the news to me?

“Mom went into the bedroom to ask him if he’d like her to have lunch by his side.” Katie sniffed, holding the back of Lori’s head. “He wasn’t responsive. She pressed the emergency button.” The Blacks had installed a medical alert on the side of Ronan’s bed. “When the paramedics came in, he still had a faint pulse, so they took him here. He died within minutes.”

I wrapped my arms around both of them, as if I were holding them together somehow. I breathed in their misery and kissed their heads, not sure if I had the right to do that but desperate to console them.

When their ragged breaths calmed, I stood up. Both Julian and Chase had their backs to me in different corners of the room. I went to Julian first. He was pale as an egg. He had that extra lonely shine about him, of someone who had recently lost much more than just his father. I knew he was going through a divorce and that adjusting to the new reality with Clementine wasn’t a picnic for him. Cautiously, and while holding my breath, I put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. His eyes dragged up to meet mine, inch after inch, so slow it was obvious he was expecting some kind of confrontation.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said simply.

“You shouldn’t feel anything but contempt toward me.” He bowed his head. “But I appreciate it.”

“And I know it means nothing right now, when the wound is a gash, torn open and bleeding, but I promise you, there are better days ahead. You just need to hang in there.” I ignored his words.

“Why are you doing this?” His throat bobbed with a swallow. “Why do you even care? I’ve been nothing but awful to you.”

“You were,” I admitted, unable to move my hand from his shoulder. “You uncovered my lie and called me a six. You were unkind to me, but that doesn’t mean I should be unkind to you. I happen to like who I am. A six, but with a ten heart.”

“You heard that?” His eyebrows rose, almost comically.

I shrugged. “Beauty is subjective.” It wasn’t the time or place to talk about it, but I had a feeling it kept Julian busy, and that was the essence of dealing with grief. Keep going, talking, doing things.

“I wanted to rile Chase up.” Julian sniffed. “I didn’t mean it. And for the record—I did. Rile him up, I mean. So . . .” His gaze drifted to the window where Chase stood, still oblivious to my presence, deep in thought. “Make what you want out of it.”

All it meant was that Chase and Julian loved hating each other. I couldn’t allow myself to believe any differently. I dragged my eyes over to Chase. He pressed his forehead against the window, the condensation from his breath spreading over the glass like a gray cloud. The need to hug this dark, feral beast shredded me.

“Go.” Julian patted my hand on his shoulder. “It’s him you came for.”

I approached Chase. Put my hand on his corded back. My heart coiling in my chest. Looping. Twisting. Begging. Let me out. I’d never been so scared to talk to someone. I didn’t know if I could survive his pain.

“Chase.”

He turned around, collapsing into my arms. I stumbled back from the impact but wrapped myself around him like a vise. Every inch of us was connected, pressed together. Like we were plugged in, me the charger, him sucking energy from me. His face was a wreck of emotions I’d never seen before. There was so much vulnerability there it felt like being slashed open by a sharp knife. I gathered his face and pulled him away so I could look him in the eye. Tears ran down my face so freely I was scared for my own sanity. I adored Ronan, but I didn’t know him enough for his death to inspire such a reaction. All I knew was that he’d left a family who truly worshipped him. That meant he was a person worthy of my tears.

“I’m going to take you home now,” I whispered.

He shook his head. “There’s so much to do.”

“No,” Katie and Lori said in unison, standing up.

“There isn’t. It’s all bureaucracy now. We’ll meet in a few hours and regroup,” Lori insisted. “I want to take a shower. I want to get myself together. I need to tell my sisters.”

The cab drive to Chase’s place was quiet. We held hands in the back seat, watching New York crawl past the window. When we got to his apartment, I poured him a generous glass of whiskey and curled his fingers around it. I sat him down on the U-shaped kitchen island, then headed into his bathroom and turned the shower on. Steam covered the glass doors of the five-jet spray heads. I threw a towel on the heater, returned to the kitchen, tipped the glass with the remainder of the whiskey to his lips, and had him finish it in one gulp. Then I dragged him into the shower. “Call me if you need me.”

“I’m not an invalid,” he said, surly, then took a ragged breath. “Fuck. Sorry. Thanks.”

I fixed him something hearty while he took a shower. I wasn’t much of a cook but knew he needed actual comfort food, not some fancy takeout. You could tell his fridge had been stocked by someone else who knew he was a bachelor who didn’t frequent the kitchen. I settled for beef chili with mushrooms, eggplants, and a pumpkin I found in an untouched Organic Living basket someone must’ve gifted him that sat lonely on the counter.

I read the recipe closely on my phone while swirling a wooden spoon inside the steaming pot of chili. The only ingredient missing from the chili was paprika. I opened Chase’s pantry to see if he accidentally kept any spices. Stopped. Put my hand to my heart, letting the phone slip through my fingers and fall onto the floor.

The azaleas were there, tucked in the darkness of the pantry, which now contained nothing but three humidifiers turned on heat. The azaleas were in full bloom, bursting with colors through the darkness. White-rimmed petals, their insides bright pink, staring back at me. I took a step in and carefully tipped the plant up, seeing the secret Sharpie mark I’d made there to make sure it was the same plant.

It was.

Dark, humid, hot spaces. That’s where the azaleas thrive best, I’d told him that day.

He’d remembered.

He hadn’t thrown them away or let them die. He’d nurtured them.

I closed the door, stumbling back, struggling to breathe. My lungs felt ten times too small for the rest of my body. He’d done the impossible. He’d kept the flowers alive for many weeks, clearing out his entire pantry and taking care of the flowers daily.

Chase was ready for commitment. I knew that with every fiber of my heart. But I also knew that he was grieving and confused and not in the right headspace right now.

“Hey.” I heard his voice behind me. I jumped, turning around.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Are you making something?” He looked exhausted, rubbing a towel into his unruly hair.

“Yeah. Chili. You hungry?”

“Sure, if it’s not burnt.”

That was when I realized the chili was, in fact, in advanced stages of burning. By the time I reached the stove, a black crust of charred beans covered the pot.

Chase poked his head behind my shoulder, peering into the singed mess.

“Pizza?” I sighed.

He nodded, his chin touching my shoulder blade. “With pepperoni and artichoke hearts. Just like Dad liked.”

CHASE

Five days later, we buried Dad.

Mom had aimed for three days, but we had relatives coming from Scotland, Virginia, and California, and they all had different schedules and flights to consider. Madison had been there every step of the way, just as she’d promised. She’d gone casket shopping with Mom, had personally taken care of the flower arrangements for the funeral, and had been a great help accepting visitors into Mom’s house and signing condolences deliveries.

Ronan Black’s casket lowered to the gaping mouth of the earth on a gray fall day. The funeral itself had been a grand event of over a thousand people, but we’d asked that for the burial ceremony, it would be close family only. Mad had her small, warm hand tucked in mine the entire time. It was crazy I couldn’t kiss her whenever I wanted to. Bury myself inside her whenever life felt too unbearable. The days after the funeral stuck together like pages in an unread book.

People brought food to our house, as if anyone had an appetite, and when shit got too real, when I couldn’t muster another polite smile, Mad took over and entertained the guests for us. I doubted she had much sleep during those days. She kept working—half from home, half from the office—and was there for us until the late hours of the night.

A week after the funeral, all of us sat together and read the will as a family. Madison had insisted on not taking part in this. Called it “the clinical side of death, the one I’m not comfortable with.” We all respected that, although we thought of her as an undesignated part of the family by then. Which—I was the first to admit—was another level of fucked up. We met at Mom’s. The housekeeper served us cranachan parfait, Dad’s favorite Scottish dessert. We consumed it while sipping the barely bearable Ogilvy potato vodka, the way he liked.

Katie was the one reading the will. She was the only sibling out of us three who didn’t seem hell bent on killing someone if she didn’t get what she wanted out of it, so it seemed fair.

“Mom is getting the estates, twenty-five percent of Black & Co.’s shares, and all the family jewels.” Katie looked up from the paper and squeezed Mom’s hand.

“Shit, I only came here for the Tiffany necklace. Well, that was fast,” Julian said, pretending to stand up from his seat. Mom slapped his thigh and guided him back down. They shared a tired chuckle. I appreciated that Julian reintroduced sarcasm into our daily post-Dad routine, but I wasn’t in the mood for laughs. Katie’s eyes returned to the page. The paper quivered like a leaf in her hand. She cupped her mouth, her eyes glittering with unshed tears.

“I inherited all the vintage gowns Black & Co. owns that were made or used by fashion icons. Fifteen percent of the company shares. And the loft!” But I knew what was making her cry. The dresses. They meant the most to her. We had a Black & Co. museum uptown, containing famous historical dresses she loved. As a kid, she’d visited there almost monthly. I wondered if Mad had ever been. I wondered if I could take her. I wondered if she would let me.

“Julian, you’re next.” She leaned forward, squeezing his knee. If there was one positive thing about the aftermath of Dad’s death, it was the fact that Julian had been given a second chance without really asking for one. It was both universally and silently agreed that he was a world-class idiot who’d acted like a douchebag of enormous proportions for the past few years, but karma had fucked him so hard—so dry, sans lube—that none of our family members felt particularly passionate about ruining his life further. Let me amend: I would never pass on a good opportunity to torture Julian, but I no longer wanted to ruin his life.

“Julian gets twenty percent of the shares, both properties you reside in with Amber, the Edinburgh castle, and your Dundee childhood home. There is also a personal message.” She cleared her throat, peering at him worriedly. Julian lowered his head and clasped it in his palms, his back quivering. He was sobbing. The Dundee home was a nice touch. None of us had known Dad had even kept it. We’d always assumed that since Dad managed Julian’s inheritance, he would sell the house. It seemed more practical. Julian also got more shares than Katie, proof that Dad had not been bullshitting. He really did consider Julian a son.

When Julian looked back up, his eyes were red and wet. “A personal message?” he echoed. “How come you and Lori didn’t get them?”

“We did. Privately,” Mom explained from her place on the couch. “I have a feeling whatever he has to say to you is meant to be public and heard by all members of the family.”

“Okay.” Julian hesitated. “Let’s hear it.”

“He said . . .” Katie trailed off, frowning. “Okay, this is verbatim, so don’t kill the messenger: ‘Dear Julian. Are you out of your goddamn mind? You have everything a man could dream of, and you’re throwing it away for more work, more headache, and more responsibility? Start focusing on the important things. Money, status, and Amber were never a part of those things. I love you, son, but you are a complete pain in the ass. If you don’t get your priorities straight, you are banished from heaven. I’ll make sure of it. Trust me when I say you will not like the alternative. Make wise choices, and love hard. Dad.’”

The entire room burst out laughing. The first time we’d laughed since Dad had died almost two weeks ago. Katie sent me a sideways glance, lifting her manicured fingernail in warning. “I would not be so gleeful if I were you. You’re next, bro.”

“Lay it on me.” I sprawled backward on the damask settee, jesting.

“Twenty-five percent of the shares,” Katie said simply.

“That’s it?” Mom raised her eyebrows. I reverberated the same question in my head but obviously wasn’t enough of a brat to utter it aloud. Another 15 percent of the shares were locked up with external shareholders.

“No, you have a note too.” Katie grinned, enjoying herself. I got the fewest material things. Which suited me fine, since I’d never cared for them.

Julian passed me an imaginary item from across the couch. “Your lube, sir.”

I pretended to grab it. It was just like old times. When I was a kid. “A good brother would offer to apply it too,” I noted.

“Seems fair, seeing as kicking your ass at chess is my favorite hobby.”

We stared at each other dead in the eye for a second, then burst into laughter. Katie shook her head, used to her older brothers’ antics.

“Dad’s message to you is as follows: ‘Dear Chase, if you’re sitting here without Maddie under your arm, you’ve failed me and, frankly, all men as a gender. Go and rectify the situation immediately. The woman brought you back to life after years of being a shell of your former self. I’m not sure what she did, or what made you this way in the first place, but you cannot afford to let her go. Love, Dad.’”

The words sank into the room, inking themselves on the walls. Katie gave a curt nod, as if agreeing with the sentiment, then continued. “‘I left something for Maddie. It’s in the safe. Kindly give it to her at your earliest convenience. PS: If you fire your brother, you, too, are banished from the heaven mansion I am currently building.’”

I turned to Julian, handing him his imaginary lube back. “Looks like I’m going to be your boss for a long-ass time. I believe you’ll need some lubrication for that too.”

“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.