Pretty Ever After (Chicago Nights Book 3)

by Tabatha Kiss

Nora nods. “An impromptu one, yes.”

  “You jumped me and handcuffed me to a chair… because you think Christmas makes me horny for Robbie?”

  “Yes.” She twitches. “But we brought you sushi! That makes it better, right?”

  I sigh as I tug at my cuffs. “No, not really.”

  Trix hums. “I told you to get the gyoza,” she says.

  Nora cringes, regretful. “Yeah…”

  “Guys.” I stare into their eyes. “I don’t need an intervention. I know you mean well, but this is more than a little unnecessary.”

  Nora doesn’t budge. “Robbie has a great relationship with your parents and he will be at their party tonight, he told me himself.”

  “I know,” I say. Nora’s brow furrows. I think fast. “My mom told me. She said that he’d be there. That’s how… I know that.”

  “So, he will be there,” she says, her eyes growing even more worried.

  “And?”

  She deflates. “And since this is your first holiday season apart since the divorce, we...” She pauses, desperately elbowing Trix to help her out.

  Trix steps forward. “We just want you to know that we have your back,” she says, obviously just along for the ride. This must have been Nora’s idea, possibly sprung by her brief conversation with Robbie. “We’ll run interference for you and keep Robbie far, far away. The two of you will never be alone together. It’s a big house. There are plenty of rooms he can lure you into and talk you into all sorts of unseemly things in your time of desperation.”

  “Desperation?” I repeat, not happy.

  “Reflection,” Nora corrects. “She meant reflection.”

  Trix shakes her head. “Eh…”

  I sigh. “I really appreciate the thought, I do, but nothing will happen now that Robbie’s sober. It changes nothing between us.”

  “Are you sure?” Nora asks.

  “… Yes.”

  “Are you really sure?” she asks again. “At brunch this week, you seemed kinda...”

  “I know,” I say. “Do you have any idea how long I waited for Robbie Wheeler to get his shit together?”

  “We do, honey.”

  “And now that he does…” I shrug. “Okay, yeah. Sure. I had a moment of reflection, but it passed and I’m good now.”

  “You’re good?”

  “Totally good.”

  “So, tonight when he walks in there in his leather jacket and come-fuck-me St. Nicholas eyes, you won’t mount him like a reindeer?”

  I blink twice, ignoring the wicked tickle below my belt. “Of course not.”

  Trix steps back and sits on the edge of the desk, grabbing the to-go bag of sushi beside her. “I don’t buy it,” she says, ripping it open. “I think we should make her sit there a little while longer.”

  “Agreed,” Nora says.

  My head falls back. “Oh, come on…”

  “We’re sorry, Melanie.”

  “Really doubt that.”

  “But you told us to do this.”

  “No, I didn’t!”

  “You told us to physically restrain you!”

  “I’m a writer!” I argue. “It’s my job to use dramatic language, but I didn’t mean it.”

  Trix plops a sushi roll into a cup of soy sauce. “Well, you brought this on yourself,” she says.

  I sneer. “You’re pregnant! You’re not supposed to eat that.”

  “Fully cooked imitation crab, bitch,” she says before smugly taking her bite.

  With a groan, I lean back and glare at the ceiling.

  I brought this on myself?

  Let me count the ways.

  Nineteen

  Melanie

  I stay a few paces behind the others as the five of us walk up the sidewalk toward my parents’ house. Over two dozen cars line the driveway, neatly parked by the two valet drivers they paid for the night. I shake my head, recalling the many fancy parties from my youth. Holidays and birthdays. Champagne and caviar.

  I hated it.

  “Wow,” Trix says, glancing upward. “Glenn really went all out with the lights this year.”

  I passively nod, squinting beneath the blinding strings of lights attached to the house and surrounding bushes. “Uh-huh,” I murmur.

  Lance twists his head around. “You grew up here?” he asks me.

  “Unfortunately,” I answer.

  He chuckles. “But you seem so normal.”

  I smile. “Thanks.”

  “Yeah, this...” Clive dawdles, obviously a little uncomfortable. “This was not what I expected.”

  Nora tugs him along. “Glenn and Francie are the nicest people ever!” she says, soothing him. “Don’t worry.”

  “Am I under-dressed?” he asks her, his voice low.

  “No, I dressed you. You’re fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Don’t worry!”

  Clive exhales, unconvinced, as he looks down at his stunningly appropriate suit and tie.

  Nora pats his arm and spins on her heels to face me. “That goes for you, too!” she says, expertly walking backwards in her stilettos. “Don’t worry about Rob, okay? Trix and I won’t let you out of our sights!”

  “That’s right!” Trix says. “You can count on us.”

  “Yay,” I say.

  We reach the front door. Nora takes a giddy step forward to tap the doorbell and we’re greeted by the loud opening notes of O Christmas Tree. The door swiftly opens and a man in a tuxedo lets us in with a bow.

  “Welcome,” he says, barely audible above the humming party behind him.

  Nora plows inside, taking poor Clive along with her. I hang back, letting Trix and Lance enter as well before following them inside.

  “Hey, Bob,” I greet the doorman, a longtime family friend.

  He bows his head. “Miss Melanie.”

  “You know where my mother is?” I pause as the sound of her cackling echoes over the party. “Never mind,” I say with a smile. “She’s with the wine.”

  Bob smirks as he silently closes the door.

  I slink around Clive’s wide shoulders on the way toward the kitchen. His big eyes bounce from the grand staircase to the twenty foot tree to the string quartet in the sitting room belting out a rather upbeat rendition of Silent Night.

  “Make yourselves at home,” I tell him and Nora as I gesture into the hall. “There should be drinks in the kitchen this way.”

  “Yes, please,” Clive says, eagerly following me.

  Nora chuckles and stays in step with him.

  I try not to bump into people as I weave through the crowd. So many recognizable faces, from my father’s work friends or buddies from the club, to my mother’s wide circle of confidants, each one of them so delighted to see me. I grew up around this, constantly presented to the high end of Chicago society (and their very eligible sons), but it was never a life I wanted. I wanted to write and create art and live in the moment and do anything at all other than what was constantly expected of me.

  That, of course, is where Robbie came in.

  But that backfired.

  By the time we finally reach the kitchen, my face is already burning from smiling so hard. My mother stands by the island counter wearing an elegant red and white cocktail dress and looking more than a little stunning for her age, but that’s Francie Rose for you. She chats up the woman lingering beside her, both of them ankle-deep in wine.

  “Ooo, Sangria!” Nora says as she beelines for the wine across the kitchen.

  I head toward my mother and pause on her other side. “Hey, Mom,” I say.

  She spins around and grins. “Oh, there you are!”

  “Here I am.”

  She yanks me closer. “You remember Victoria,” she says, gesturing to the woman beside her.

  I don’t.

  “Of course.” I extend my hand. “It’s nice to see you again, Victoria.”

  “And you, too!” Victoria gives me a light handshake. “Oh, you were right, Francie! She�
�d be so perfect for Cal!”

  Oh, boy.

  “Cal?” I ask, faking interest.

  “Her nephew,” my mother says. “From the financial sector. You remember Cal.”

  I don’t.

  “Oh, right. Cal.” I nod. “How is Cal?”

  “He’s recently divorced! Like you!” Victoria answers, far too excited.

  I discreetly glare at my mother. “Of course he is...”

  “The little whore cheated on him, can you believe it?” Victoria rolls her eyes. “Thank the lord for pre-nups is all I have to say. Anyway, he’s looking to wade back into the dating pool and your mother and I thought you...” She bats her thick eyelashes at me.

  I deepen my smile, “... would set him up with my agent?”

  My mother pinches my forearm as Victoria laughs.

  “Such a delightful sense of humor!” Victoria shakes her head. “He’ll just love you!”

  “I’m sorry, Victoria,” I say, nipping this in the bud, “but I’m not interested in wading back in right now myself. I’m sure Cal will understand.”

  She sighs, disappointed. “Well, don’t take too long, dear,” she says. “Your biological clock must be screaming by now.”

  I raise a brow, annoyed, but I’ve politely navigated this bullshit plenty of times before. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m doing just fine. Please excuse me.”

  I turn away, bolting for the empty wineglasses at the other side of the counter. I grab one and begin inspecting the bottles as I silently shake off the annoying intrusion on my personal life.

  “Melanie...” I hear my mother behind me, now thankfully Victoria-free.

  “What?” I ask, yanking out a cork.

  “There’s no harm in meeting him.”

  I barely glance at her as I pour my glass. “I have met him, Mom, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah? What does he look like?”

  I furrow my brow, drawing blanks. “Like a dude in finance. Why are you trying to set me up with your friends’ nephews, anyway?”

  “Is it so wrong to look out for my daughter?” she asks, feigning pure innocence.

  “No, but I’m perfectly happy being single. You know that.”

  “I just thought, since he’s from New York, that you’d like to have a friend or two there once you arrive.”

  I glance around for eavesdroppers, spotting Nora and Clive swooning over each other nearby. “Mom...”

  “Oh! That reminds me. I found Sylvia’s number. You remember the real estate agent we talked about—”

  I grab her arm, forcefully swaying her toward the other side of the kitchen. “Mom.”

  “What? What?” she asks. “What have I done now?”

  I peek over my shoulder to make sure we’re alone. “I haven’t exactly told anyone that I’m leaving yet, and I don’t want to bring it up tonight, so if you could please keep that tidbit to yourself for now...”

  “Gotcha!” She brings a phantom key to her lips and turns it. “I won’t say another word. You know how good I am at keeping secrets!”

  “Just...” I scan the room again, “text me her info and we’ll talk about it later. Okay?”

  “I will.” She nods. “Oh! Also, your dad will swing by your place early next week with those boxes you needed—”

  “Okay.” I wave as Nora guides Clive in our direction. “That’s fine. Hey, look, Mom. It’s Nora!”

  My mother spins around in excitement. “Nora, honey!” She throws up her hands and quickly bridges the short gap between them. “You look amazing!”

  Nora laughs, embraced in my mother’s bear hug. “Thank you, Francie! It’s so good to see you.”

  “And this must be the infamous Clive I’ve heard so much about...”

  I exhale, happy for the brief reprieve. I bring my glass to my lips and take a few discreet steps backward out of the kitchen as Nora uncomfortably tries to explain how the two of them met.

  “Hey, watch it, whore.”

  I accidentally bump into someone in the hall. I spin around, apologetic until I see Trix’s red grin. “Oh, sorry,” I say.

  “You okay?” she asks with a plate full of fancy hors d’oeuvres.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  She chortles. “Let me guess, some rich friend of your mom’s wants to breed you?”

  I roll my eyes. “Every damn year!”

  “Can’t be helped. To their standards, you’re well past your expiry date. The fruit must be plucked before it rots.”

  “Being recently divorced doesn’t help much.”

  She shrugs. “Maybe you should go for it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Not the fruit-plucking part, obviously, but you never know. It could be fun for a night or two.Why not?”

  I hesitate. “Not really my type of guy in this crowd, you know?”

  Her beady eyes squint with amusement as she pops a cucumber slice into her mouth. “Right...”

  “And I’ve got that secret admirer in my back pocket.”

  “Always.”

  “It’s not a good time,” I say. “I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.”

  “Robbie,” she says with a nod.

  “No.” I shake my head. “No. No, absolutely not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “No, I mean...” She points over my shoulder into the living room. “He’s right there.”

  I turn around and my chest quivers. It actually fucking quivers.

  Robbie leans on the arm of a sofa, casually propped up as he talks to my teenage brother, Drew. For one night, he’s ditched the token leather jacket and jeans in favor of pants and a sharp blazer. Clean-shaven. Styled hair. Hell, he might actually blend in with the rest of the eligible trust fund dorks littered around my parents’ house right now.

  He notices me staring and offers a deep, dimpled smirk.

  Quiver.

  Trix leans in front of me, purposefully blocking my view. “’Sup?” she asks.

  I fake annoyance. “I can’t believe he came,” I say.

  She slinks closer and wraps her arm around mine. “Don’t sweat it, hun. Let’s go find you a rich boy to play with!”

  I let her guide me into the living room, keeping a wide birth from Robbie. “Where’s Lance?” I ask her.

  “Not sure. I introduced him to your dad and the next thing I knew, they were talking about the Dow, so I just left.”

  I gasp. “Oh, no! Not the Dow.”

  She nods. “The friggin’ Dow.”

  “Who knew Lance was a Dow guy?”

  “I didn’t!” She shrugs. “I’ll try to distract him with boobs later. That should bring him back around.”

  I laugh, trying hard not to eavesdrop on Robbie and Drew’s conversation as we pass, but the pull of his voice is far too much.

  “You pick out a school yet?” Robbie asks.

  “Yeah!” Drew answers. “I think I will stay local and go to Chicago North.”

  “That’s a good school. Great parties! You gonna rush?”

  I slow my stride, annoyed by Robbie’s suggestion.

  Drew shrugs, his youthful eyes searching around for our parents, who would surely side-eye him pledging a fraternity. “I haven’t really thought about it,” he answers, though he obviously has.

  “I used to hang out with the Alpha Delta Xi guys,” Robbie says. “Let me know if you want in, I’ll make a call.”

  I dig my heels into the carpet and Trix reluctantly lets us stop.

  “Cool!” Drew says. “Thanks, man.”

  “No problem. Oh! Also, be sure to check out the boards in the art department. Sketch classes are always looking for models and they pay cash. Instant beer money.”

  I frown.

  “Side note,” Robbie continues. Drew hangs on every word. “Hit the gym. When they start drawing nudes, you’ll thank me. Art chicks, my friend. Trust me.”

  Drew grins as Robbie gives him a big brother pat on the shoulder.

  I turn my hands up, glowering hard at Robbie.r />
  Finally, he notices me again and scoffs loudly. “Oh, what?” he asks.

  “What do you mean, what?” I say.

  “What?”

  “Please don’t teach my seventeen-year-old brother how to be a creepy weirdo like you!”

  He snickers as he turns back to Drew. “Another tip: avoid the English department. The Creative Writing girls are...” He purposefully looks me up and down. “Well, they talk too much.”

  Drew smothers a laugh.

  I stand up taller, ignoring Trix’s subtle pull on my elbow. “Yeah, well, what was it you majored in again?” I ask, my cheeks heating up. “Oh, that’s right. Nothing. You didn’t even go to college.”

  “I didn’t need to,” Robbie says proudly. “I married rich.”

  “And how did that work out for you?”

  He smirks. “No complaints lately.”

  I bite down, but not because I’m angry. Somehow, I’m not. Not even a bit. A week ago, this kind of exchange with Robbie would have instantly pissed me off, but I feel the edges of my lips twitching with amusement. He sees it; I know he does, but he keeps the same sinister, childish grin on his face.

  “Hey now, you two...” My mother appears behind me again and grabs my shoulders. “Let’s not bicker tonight. It’s Christmas!”

  “It’s December 9th,” I say.

  Her smile remains, but her eyes pierce sharply. “It’s my party, all of my friends are here, so you can suck it up for one night,” she says.

  “Yeah,” Robbie says, raising his water glass. “Suck it up, Buttercup.”

  I glare. He smiles.

  My mother sighs, returning his smile. “How are you, my boy?” she asks him.

  “I’m doing fine, Francie,” he says. “Thanks for inviting me. You’ve outdone yourself this year.”

  “Of course, dear! You’re always welcome!” She releases a happy grunt as she squeezes my shoulders again. “Seven months sober this one! Can you Adam and Eve it? I’m so proud of him!”

  Robbie bows his head. “I couldn’t do it without you, Francie.”

  My mouth sags. “Wait, she knew you were sober?” I ask him.

  He pauses. “I might have mentioned it to her...”

  “Before or after you mentioned it to me?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  Okay.

  Now I’m pissed off.