The Devil Wears Black

“The blasphemy!” Madison cried behind me, trying—and failing—to catch up with my footsteps. “So that’s it? You sentenced yourself to a life of loneliness because of that?”

Had she listened to my story? Did she know many people who’d lost their brides to their siblings?

“Not loneliness,” I amended. “I have hookups all the time and a great family that I love, aside from my brousin and his wife.”

“But if you don’t fall in love, the bad guys win,” Madison insisted.

“Really?” I swiveled, pinning her with a sarcastic look. “Because they sure as fuck don’t look like they’re winning. They seem positively miserable, much to my delight.”

There was a pause. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said Mad was on the verge of tears. But that couldn’t be true. Why would she give enough fucks?

“You gonna grow out your hair?” I snapped, changing the subject all of a sudden.

“I don’t know.” She blinked, taken aback. “Maybe.”

“I like it short.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Really?” I asked.

“No,” she deadpanned.

I stalled back in the reception to go over the pictures with Becky just to put some space between me and Madison. When my pulse no longer jackrabbited against my eyelid, I joined Madison outside on the curb. Her back was to me. She looked on edge, bouncing on the balls of her feet, hugging her midriff. I stared at her, not making myself known. She took her phone out of her purse and began texting someone. Pediatric Dude? The thought of her seeing him, flirting with him, after taking engagement pictures with me made me murderous. I stepped forward, putting a hand on her shoulder. “How about we grab a bite?” I asked.

She twisted around, sucking in a surprised breath like I’d caught her doing things she wasn’t supposed to do. And for the most part, it felt that way too. Not that she owed me jack shit, but ever since this whole fake-engagement thing had started, I hadn’t been seeing other people. It didn’t even make any sense. I just didn’t feel like making the effort with someone brand new, when Mad was right there. I channeled all my energy into getting her back into my bed.

And I’d barely even kissed her.

I needed to rectify the situation. Fast.

“I have some leftovers at home.” She smiled politely. “I don’t want to be wasteful.”

I frowned. “That sounds a lot like rejection.”

She sighed, rubbing at her eyes tiredly. “Look, Chase, you’re a nice guy—”

“No, I’m not,” I said, cutting her off. She faltered.

“True. But you are a real catch. Not because of your money or status but because you are funny, quick witted, smart, fun, and—yes—look like you’re the product of an orgy consisting of all the Greek gods, Chris Hemsworth, and James Dean.”

“Thank you for the mental image I cannot bleach from my memory. By the way, which one of them got pregnant?”

She blinked at me.

“Which god?”

“Ah . . . Chris. I think he’d rock the hell out of a baby bump.”

Silence. People bypassed us on the busy street. I was officially the bastard I hated who blocked pedestrians’ way.

“Anyway”—she rubbed her temple—“that’s not the point. The point is, you’re a catch, and spending time with you is not a good idea, because I don’t want to catch feelings for you again, okay? So I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be your fake-real girlfriend. Or fiancée. Or anything. Goodbye, Chase.”

She turned around, walking to the subway. She bumped into a businessman. He cursed. Martyr Maddie apologized.

“Wait.” I chased her, hand encircling her elbow. It dawned on me that, ironically, even though my name was Chase, I’d never done any chasing. It was always the other way around. Until now. Until Mad.

She stopped, spun on her heel, and stared at me warily. Her eyes were so full I thought they were going to overflow with emotion. I couldn’t tell what it was she was full of. Intensity? Pain? Whatever it was, it made me feel like shit.

“If you care about me,” she said slowly through a ragged breath, “then you will stop pursuing me. Let me live my life. Let me get over you. You confuse and infuriate and delight me. You make me feel all those emotions that I have no business feeling, and I’m desperate to move on. I want to want Ethan. Let one of us find their happiness. Because it is so painfully clear you don’t want to ever find yours.”

Now there were definitely tears in her eyes. I swallowed hard. For all my loose morals and even looser principles, I didn’t consider myself a top-notch dick. I always made sure women knew where they stood with me (with the exception of Madison, apparently). I never promised anything I wasn’t ready to deliver. And Maddie was obviously not on board with my offer for her. Which meant that now it really was time to let go.