The Devil Wears Black

“Been hitting the bakery often, Am?” I deliberately swept my eyes along her toned, fit frame just for shits and giggles.

She turned the color of her dress, narrowing her eyes at me. “Actually, I lost three pounds. I’m doing this new hot sculpt yoga class five times a week.”

“Your accomplishments know no bounds.”

“What about you, Maddie—do you exercise?” She turned to my fake fiancée, smiling at her sweetly.

Madison, pretending to be oblivious to her host’s passive-aggressiveness, snapped Booger Face’s braid in a thin pink elastic. “Not unless you count walking from the living room to the kitchen to fetch some ice cream while The Walking Dead is on commercial break. I really should switch to AMC Premiere, but I need the physical activity. And there are so many commercial breaks.”

I stifled a grin, delighted by Mad’s response to a paling, thoroughly annoyed Amber.

“Wow. I can’t imagine my life without working out.” Amber played with her diamond necklace.

“It’s a terrible existence,” Maddie agreed easily, “but someone’s gotta do it.”

I wanted to kiss her.

I wanted to kiss her bad.

The fact I technically could, because she was my so-called fiancée, didn’t help matters. I knew Martyr Maddie wouldn’t slap me in the face if I tried to kiss her publicly, but I couldn’t muster enough assholeness to go from rude and surly to straight-up bastard.

The meal was buffet-style. All the dishes were still in their prepacked catering containers, spread across the massive U-shaped kitchen island. As with everything Julian and his wife did, it was beautifully impersonalized.

There were honey-glazed crab cakes and artichoke bottoms stuffed with crabmeat, miso-marinated Hawaiian butterfish and cucumber bites. This time, Mad took a chance on most of the dishes. It was Clementine who sat in horror in front of her plate, her big green eyes staring at the heap of dead sea creatures.

“But Mom . . . ,” she kept saying. “Mommy. Mommy. Mom. Mommy.”

“Jesus Christ, Julian, just give her some Cheerios,” Amber finally snapped, when it was obvious she couldn’t continue telling Katie her story of how she’d been mistaken for Kate Hudson at Saks Fifth Avenue.

“But I don’t want Cheerios.” Clementine pouted, her brows diving down. “I’m tired of eating them all the time. I want Grandma’s pancakes.”

“Grandma doesn’t have that special grandma mix.” Mom dropped her utensils on her plate, her eyes softening. Clementine spent a good amount of time at my parents’ house, and Mom braved the kitchen to treat her granddaughter to the one thing she made by herself and didn’t ask the cook to fix—instant mix pancakes.

It was my understanding that Amber and Julian’s relationship was an endless string of arguments, with Julian getting kicked out of the house frequently and Amber crying herself to sleep on a weekly basis. My parents tried to shield Booger Face from this reality as much as they could.

Madison watched the exchange with thinly masked alert. I could see the wheels in her brain turning. She didn’t want to overstep, but she didn’t like Amber’s treatment of Booger Face. I didn’t think anyone did. That kid lived off cereal, Pop-Tarts, and air.

“What mix do you usually use?” Madison turned to my mother, placing a hand on her wrist. “For the pancakes?”

“Quick Wheat.”

“Okay, so flour, sugar, eggs, water, milk, and salt. Hershey’s Kisses if you have them too. Where’s your pantry?” She turned to Amber, her eyes daring her host to refuse. Yet again, I found myself hard. Was there anything Madison did that didn’t give me a raging erection? I tried to think. I hadn’t been hard when she’d assaulted the banana bread publicly. Although, if I was being honest, she’d still looked fuckable. Tie-able, too, though.

Amber smiled politely. “She can eat what everyone else is eating. In our household, everyone is having the same dish or no food at all. It’s a parent thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

Right under the belt. I looked over at Madison, who kept her smile fresh and sweet.

I agreed with Amber’s sentiment, but this was a pile of bullshit in Clementine’s case. Booger Face never had what everyone else was having. Amber simply wanted to punish Clementine for warming up to Madison. Only Clementine wasn’t privy to that.

“Isn’t she sensitive to shellfish?” Dad frowned at Julian. Julian turned his gaze helplessly to his wife. Jesus Christ. Katie dragged Clementine’s plate away from her. “Mildly allergic. It gives her a rash.”

“The doctor said she will develop immunity if she eats shellfish regularly.” Amber blushed under her makeup. I almost pitied her. She wasn’t a neglectful mother, but she had the maternal instincts of a bag of Cheetos. Booger Face had private tutors, and Amber took her to ballet lessons and taught her how to swim, ride a bike, and do cartwheels. She even took her to French lessons. Julian’s involvement in his kid’s life, however, was minimal and limited to patting her head like she was a Labrador every evening when he came back home. I had a theory that Amber had lost her soul the day she’d chosen Julian Black for a husband. Of course, being the president of the I Loathe Julian hate club for the past three years, I was a little biased. At any rate, I had a feeling I could recruit Mad as our newest member, judging by her interaction with the couple.