“Declan.” She puts her hands on either side of my face and pulls me up. I fucking love it when she puts her hands on my face. I try to kiss her mouth, but she dodges out of the way.
“Hey. What’s wrong?”
She frowns at me. “What’s wrong is you need to talk to Hannah, and you need to talk to Brady. I don’t care if you talk to them separately or together, but you need to talk to them.”
I shrug. “About what?”
“Dec.”
“Hey, you’ve never called me Dec before. I like it.”
“Mr. Cannavale. You need to talk to your ex and your brother. In private. I’m telling you this as your assistant whose job it is to make you a less terrible person.”
“I don’t recall giving you those instructions when I hired you.”
“It’s something I do pro bono.”
“Then we’re on the same page. I am very pro bono right now too. Take those pants off.” I make one last attempt at getting her pants down, but they’re attached to her. They’re mean, and I hate them.
“Declan. I mean it.”
“So do I. Take off your pants.” I finally look up at her beautiful sexy face, and her eyes are glistening. With tears. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so serious. “Baby…”
“Dec. If you can’t talk to them, at least let them talk to you. Please. For me.”
For her.
Shit.
“Will you?”
“Yes.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes. Right now. I will do that. For you…my long-suffering assistant.”
She nods. “And newly suffering fake girlfriend.”
“Right.” I stare down at her mouth, her quivering lower lip.
“Declan.”
“Right. So that’s a no re. the quickie?”
“It’s a no re. me ever getting these jeans off again, I think.”
I stare down at those curves. “I can focus on the top front quadrant and get you out of here in three minutes.”
She tries to laugh and gives me a playful shove. “Ooof. I need to lie down. Go deal with your emotional baggage.” She slips away from me, opening the door.
“You coming too?”
She presses her back against the wall, trying to breathe. “Just leave me here. Save yourself!”
I manage to steal two kisses before going to deal with my emotional baggage. Because kissing my assistant and my fake girlfriend is more fun than dealing with my ex and my former best friend.
I stand in the doorway to the family room and wait for Hannah and Brady to notice me. Everyone’s still writing things down on scraps of paper. Hannah and Brady are on the same team, of course. I guess they always have been. Not that they were cheating when Hannah and I were together. I believed my brother when he told me that. But they look like they’ve been a couple forever.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at pictures of Hannah and me for months after I got the news. But I looked through old photos of us about a month ago. We were a good-looking pair of people, that’s for certain. And I did love her. And I know she loved me. But I look at them, and I think about what we looked like together, and it wasn’t what I’m seeing before me now. We were two people who loved each other and were trying to make a relationship work. Hannah and Brady are a couple. Simple as that.
I finally catch Brady’s eye when he drops a few pieces of paper into the bowl. I point back and forth between him and Hannah and then to myself and then gesture down the hall. He gives me an incredulous look and mouths Dude.
I roll my eyes and then mouth to him, Not a three-way. Idiot. Talking. I make the international sign of talking with my hand.
He looks so damn happy I could cry. He gives his fiancée a little nudge and nods in my direction, whispering in her ear. She nods, tells Casey to start without them. I go to the living room to take a seat in the armchair. The power seat. I sit like Al Pacino in The Godfather II.
And then I hear Maddie’s voice in my head, reminding me that this isn’t a negotiation, and I reassemble myself in a more friendly pose.
They walk in together, side-by-side but not hand-in-hand, which was thoughtful of them. They take a seat on the loveseat near me but don’t sit too close together. As if that makes them any less engaged. They don’t have to bother trying to make things easier for me now.
Everything hurts a little less since last night.
Everything except the thought of what will happen when the holidays are over.
“Hi, Dec.” Hannah is the first to speak. Hannah was always the first to speak. I could always rely on her to keep the wheels spinning, even when I was so busy working that I forgot we had wheels. “Thanks for finally talking to us.”
“I know you both tried to get in touch with me… I was busy.”
“I understand why you didn’t want to hear from me. I won’t speak for Brady.”
“You can speak for me, babe,” Brady says. And he isn’t even being sarcastic. “You’ll probably swear less, so that’s good.” He doesn’t grin or smirk.
Hannah proceeds to say every single thing that she already said half a year ago, in voice mail messages and emails that I didn’t respond to. She tells me what she wants me to hear. I let her talk because it makes her feel better. It’s what I always did, back when we were together. I thought it was enough.
Brady’s four years older than me. When I first found out they’d gotten engaged, I felt betrayed, sure. But I also couldn’t believe Hannah would want to marry a guy who teaches anthropology at a liberal arts college in Ohio instead of a corporate lawyer in Manhattan. It didn’t make sense. Unless I was a total failure of a human being who didn’t deserve love from Hannah or anyone else.
I figured Brady’s everything I’m not. I figured I was the put-upon hero in this story. The guy who was trying to become someone better for the girl. And then I wasn’t given the chance to make things right, and that’s what sucked. But I was in another story all along. He’s everything she needs. Hannah deserves everything she wants. I know now that I was saving my everything for someone else. I just needed to meet that person. And now I need to figure out how to give it to her.
Hannah finally stops talking and waits for my response.
“I understand,” I say. “I’m happy for you guys. Really, I am.”
“I mean, I’m sorry it hurt you,” Brady says, staring down at my feet. “But I’m also not sorry.” He finally takes Hannah’s hand. “Because I always loved her. She belongs with me.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Then why the fuck have you been such a dick all this time?”
Hannah squeezes my brother’s thigh. “I think a better question would be—why is he less of a dick now?” she says with a knowing look.
“Why, indeed,” I muse.
“I’ll let you guys talk some more. Catch up.” Hannah gives my brother a kiss on the cheek and musses my hair as she passes by, leaving us alone together.
It’s been so long since I’ve talked to Brady.
We watch Hannah go and then stare at the twinkling lights on the fake tree and listen to Dean Martin sing “Silver Bells” for the twentieth time tonight, and every single time you hear it you just have to wonder if it’s playing at the right speed… And then he stands up first, and I pop up, and we’re hugging for the first time all year, and fuck you family holidays and long overdue reconciliation, you’re not gonna make me cry.
We let go of each other at the same time, shoving each other away because we aren’t giant pussies. We sit back down, and when I see him touching the corner of his eye with his finger, I do the same. Because I’m so sad for him for being such a fucking cornball.
“I wanted to make you Best Man,” he tells me in a hushed voice. “Asshole.”
“Well, that makes sense,” I say. “I am the best.”
He shakes his head at me.
“And also the worst. I know. I am sorry. I’ll still be in the wedding party though.”
�
��Yeah. But you were always my best friend. I mean, except for those four years when you weren’t born yet. And for the past half a year that you were being a total dick.” He reaches over to punch my arm.
“Right back at you. Fuckhead.” I squeeze his face with one hand.
He pushes me away. “Whatever. Aiden’s all excited about planning the bachelor party. You better come to that now.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Aiden’s planning it? In Cleveland?”
“It’s gonna suck so hard. You have to come. Come ooooon.” He affects a Boston accent. “The wicked pissah Boston cousins are gonna be there. It’ll be bomb! It’ll be sick!” He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t think the Italians are gonna make it.” His eyes fill with mock terror as he puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “But the Irish, Dec. Save me from the Irish.”
I’m shaking my head because that is a hard no. When we went drinking with the Bostons and the Irish back when Aiden got married, I lost track of two entire days and woke up in Michigan.
“Ach. It’s been donkey’s years since we were on the tear with them morans. But noooooo. Feck off.”
“You have to. Least you could do.”
“Right. Least I could do for providing you with your bride.” God, there’s nothing better than being able to joke about something that once felt like the end of the world.
“Tell you what. You come to my bachelor party—I’ll be your best man when you marry Maddie.” He gives me a wink. “I can tell Nonna approves.”
“Yeah. She’s ignoring her instead of picking on her.”
“Good sign.”
“Great sign.”
“It seems like it’s…still new.”
I’m dying to tell him everything. He’s a fucking anthropologist—if anyone can help me understand why I felt the need to ask my assistant to pretend to be my girlfriend instead of just asking her out, it’s him. He could put some kind of cultural perspective on this. But I already know what’s up. I didn’t want her to think it’s real, because I thought it would be easier if she wants everything to go back to the way things used to be, in January. I thought I might want everything to go back to the way things used to be.
Except I barely even remember how things used to be before I could call her baby without her rolling her eyes at me. Before I knew what it felt like to hear her say my name when she was coming. Before I knew just how hard it would be to pretend that I don’t ever want to go back to the way things used to be.
“Yeah. It’s still new” is what I say. “She’s great. Really great. But we’ll see how it goes.” What I really mean is, we’ll just have to wait and see how I screw this one up. And I’m wondering if it’s better for both of us if I just screw it all up now instead of later.
But then I see Maddie come down the stairs with Ma. She’s wearing a pair of my ma’s cranberry-colored velour track pants. And, impossibly, I’m still attracted to her. I still have this insane urge to put a zeppola in her oven. And nothing has ever felt so right.
Speaking of zeppole, Nonna wheels out the dessert cart. It’s piled high with Italian donuts, struffoli, panettone, cannoli, tiramisu, and the best coffee in Ohio. About forty million calories and as many reasons why Maddie and I probably won’t be getting it on tonight. But nothing will stop me from trying.
Twenty-Four
Maddie
WINTER BLUNDERLAND
I guess I shouldn’t have had those two glasses of wine after the Irish cola. I definitely should not have eaten those last three zeppole. Or the giant slice of panettone. Or the struffoli or the cannoli or the tiramisu. And for that matter, I probably should have also passed on the spaghetti with anchovies and the deep-fried cod. And the meatballs. But it was all so fucking delicious, and I was afraid Nonna would stab me with a fork if I didn’t try all of her food.
So, I don’t really regret eating any of it.
I just wish I could have somehow digested it all within an hour so I could fully appreciate the fact that a seriously gorgeous man has his hand up my sweater and is kissing my neck as we ride the elevator up to his hotel room. Or my hotel room. Or just any place with a floor that I can lie down on for a while. And maybe take a half-hour nap.
I’m twenty-eight years old and my jeans are rolled up in my purse, and I’m wearing a sixty-year-old lady’s cranberry-red velour track pants. I need to take a nap and maybe make myself throw up a little so I can have a lot of hot sex with my hot sexy boss who is also my very temporary fake boyfriend. I am winning at life.
“I’ve been thinking about these tits all night,” he mumbles.
My back is flat against one side of the elevator and my arms are just hanging lifelessly, even though I really want to run my fingers through Declan’s hair and squeeze his butt, and I want to rip his clothes off and lick his abs and kiss him all over, except I can’t lift my hands.
“Mmph” is all I’m able to respond with, and I think that sums it all up.
“This elevator moves too fast,” he grumbles.
“Ugh. Yeah.”
“I’m going to do bad, bad, dirty bad things to you when we get to my room.”
“Mmkay.”
“What’re you gonna do to me?”
“Mmm. Gonna lie down on you.”
“Yeah?”
“And not move for a while.”
“Mmmmm.”
“And close my eyes.”
“Yessss.”
The elevator comes to an earth-shattering, shitty, terrible, mean abrupt stop, and then the doors ding and slide open.
Declan and I just stare out at the hallway and continue to use the wall and each other to prop ourselves up.
“Shit,” I whisper. “We have to move so we don’t go back down again.”
“I’m gonna go back down on you—”
“Okay, seriously, we have to move.” I manage to slide sideways and stop the doors from closing with my foot, and Declan’s forehead slams against the wall.
“Fuck.”
“Shit! Sorry!”
“I’m fine.” He groans. “Nooooo pain.”
He puts his hand out to hold the doors open so I can slip into the hallway. I don’t remember elevators being this difficult to use, but they’re really very dangerous and complicated. I pull him out into the hallway with me so the doors don’t close on him, and I guess the adrenaline rush of nearly dying is giving me strength, because I yank him so hard that he stumbles and takes me with him, and we fall to the carpet in slow motion.
Fortunately, our bones are rubbery, and we have a few extra inches of carb padding to cushion the fall.
So now this is happening.
I’m on my back on the floor—which is all I ever wanted—and Declan is facedown, and we’re both laughing so hard we can’t breathe.
I mean, we could barely breathe before because of the carb padding.
“Are you okay?” I finally manage to ask.
“I totally meant to do that.” He hikes himself up onto his elbows, and I swear to God, he still looks sexy right now. “Should we just fuck right here, maybe?”
“Sure.”
“Cool.”
We both stay exactly where we are for thirty seconds or maybe an hour, and then we slowly crawl toward his room, which is closer, and lean against the door.
“I’m going to stand up now,” he declares.
“I’m going to watch you do that.”
He slides up the door, going up, up, up.
“I’m so proud of you!”
“I’m just getting started making you proud, baby,” he says as he fumbles around, trying to find the key card in his pocket.
The seventh or eighth time he slides the key card through, I hear a little beep, and then the door that I’m sitting and leaning against opens, and now I’m lying on the floor again.
Which is great.
“Oops,” he says about ten seconds after it happened, because he’s unbuckled his belt and let his pants drop to the floor and I’m so fucking jealou
s. “I got you. Hang on.” He bends down, grabs my wrists, and pulls me across the carpet until my feet clear the door and it closes.
“Thanks.”
“I saved you.” He lies down alongside me, with his head by my feet. “I need to get you out of my ma’s pants.”
“Okay.”
He tugs at one of the pant legs for a while. “I can’t.”
“That’s okay.” I close my eyes and rub my belly. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, baby.” I feel his head on my breast. Not kissing it or anything. He’s just laying his head upon it. “We’re gonna lie here like this for ten minutes, and then I will fuck you like an animal.”
“You got it, champ.”
I’m not exactly sure how it works, anatomically, but I am one hundred percent certain that there is no room left in me for his penis. Not even the tip. And I am ten thousand percent sure that my body is too busy digesting to let me have even the tiniest orgasm.
Which really sucks.
Because I want his penis in me.
And I would love to have an orgasm.
I want as many orgasms and as much of his penis as I can get before we have to go back to the way things were.
But I also really like lying here and not moving.
He taps one finger against my thigh. “Question.” His voice is muffled because my boob is in his face. “When do we have to get up in the morning?”
“Oh. Right. Six o’clock.”
“Fuck that.”
“We have to. Limo’s picking us up at seven thirty. Unless you want to take a later…um…what do you call it? Flight.”
“No, I want to ride to the place with you. The airport.”
“Good. I tried to get us on the same flight this morning, but I couldn’t do it.”
“You did?”
“Uh-huh. But I did change my tickets so we can fly together for the wedding stuff.”
“You did?!”
“Yup. And I got us one room at the Ritz-Carlton. A suite.”
“I love that.” He strokes my hair like I’m an adorable, obedient puppy. “That’s good. You’re good. I want that.”
“Good.” I somehow manage to wrap my arms around his neck, but it takes a really long time and a lot of effort. “Dec?”
A VERY BOSSY CHRISTMAS Page 12
