A Madness Most Discreet (Brothers Maledetti Book 4)

by Nichole Van

  The next week passed in a rush.

  We thrashed through everything we knew about my foundling status but didn’t uncover anything new.

  We still had no idea how to stop the daemon. Fortunately, Tennyson hadn’t had any strong visions, which kept the daemon away.

  All our hopes were pinned on the D’Angelo archive providing answers. But it was several thousand handwritten pages of spidery Italian script to read through and analyze. The OCR company in Milan was our only hope for getting the archive indexed, but they still refused to even chat with us about a timeline. Their project with the Vatican was consuming all their focus.

  So I did what I could. Namely, I sat with my laptop and the scanned pages and typed in the old Italian, one word at time. Turned out, I had a knack for reading old characters.

  The best part? Tennyson sat next to me, doing the same thing.

  We laughed and talked and joked as we worked. He told stories about growing up with two brothers and their GUTs. I told him about life as a political child, always on the campaign trail.

  Obviously, I had decided to trust Tennyson and take his motivations at face value. He said he was drawn to me. I accepted that he thought that. It didn’t mean that I completely believed him, but it did mean that I stopped questioning every little decision or comment.

  He said he couldn’t be anything more than a friend. My hand-holding friend, but a friend nonetheless.

  It sucked to be ‘friend-zoned,’ but whatever. It was pretty much the story of my life when it came to me and men, so no surprise there, really.

  Langley was less sanguine about it. Her texts were pure outrage.

  He FRIEND-ZONED you?!!! Your fabulous self?!! Has the man no taste?!

  I appreciated her fierce camaraderie, but there wasn’t really anything else to do.

  I accepted our friendship. I most certainly had never expected the situation with Tennyson MacHotStuff D’Angelo to go any other way.

  As for me, I had jumped heart-first into a lake of decidedly more than friendly feelings for him. I was drowning in my epic-crush.

  He was hilarious and fun and just rolled with my oddball comments. His quirky mind understood mine. We were always in sync with each other.

  For example, he discovered my affection for llamas and even sat through one of my favorite llama documentaries with me.

  Weird, I know. We’ve established that. Don’t judge.

  I found that Tennyson had a thing for Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers flicks from the 1930s and 40s. We watched Top Hat twice. The first time just for my enjoyment. The second time so he could point out all the social influences going on within the movie.

  Of course, I obsessed over us. Tennyson seemed to genuinely enjoy being around me, but he was so insistent that nothing happen between us.

  How was ‘now’ the wrong time? Would there ever be a ‘right’ time? Where was I on his Relationship Timeline? Close behind Finish Christmas Shopping? Or right after When Hell Freezes Over?

  I love-hated that he was both a Hot Person and a Not Person . . . or more like an awkward nerd trapped in a gorgeous guy’s body. Ironically, it was his very hotness that was the problem. It left me feeling not good enough. That if maybe I were more of a Hot Person myself or if he were more average looking, Tennyson would magically overcome his hesitancy.

  But, instead, his reluctance played into all my little self-doubts.

  I’m weird and odd and not pretty enough. And, as I’ve been told, a troll and a hag. Important not to forget that. Why would a guy like Tennyson really be in to me?

  Michael continued to call and text, trying to get me to pack up and return home with him. He even showed up one afternoon to talk to me in person, treating me to a song and dance routine of his greatest hits: “He’s Just Using You” and “Fly Home with Me Tonight.”

  “I’ll leave in a couple days, Michael,” I said to him as he stood on the stoop. “At this point, no amount of extra social coaching is going to help. The less the media sees me around my mom, the better. You and I both know that.”

  “You’re missing the entire point here, Olivia. We’re all worried about you—”

  Ugh. “I’m done with discussing this, Michael. Let’s change the subject.” I stared pointedly at his impressive black eye—bruised and yellow and green. “What happened to your eye? Does it hurt as bad as it looks?” Please say yes.

  “That’s not a point of conversation—”

  “Really? Because it’s kinda hard not to have a conversation about it. Did you have a run-in with a little old lady?” My words were sugary sweet.

  His quelling stare said it all. “Don’t ask,” he warned. “I’m not through discussing this.”

  “Your black eye?”

  “Hah! Very funny. No, your crazy refusal to return home. You land in the hospital and are hanging around a guy with a boatload of emotional baggage and a lot of reasons to exploit you. Your mother doesn’t like it.”

  Right. “My mother? Or you don’t like it, Michael?”

  “Well, naturally I’m concerned—”

  “Worried that Tennyson will exploit me before you get a chance again?”

  Michael scoffed, wanting to sound dismissive, but his swollen eye sorta took the punch out of it.

  Hah. Punch.

  I was hilarious.

  I continued, “The whole ‘pot calling the kettle black’ routine doesn’t really look good on you, Michael. It’s not really ‘the in thing’ this season.”

  Oh yeah. I went there.

  Guess I was feeling . . . punchy.

  “You’re clearly struggling emotionally here, Olivia.” Michael immediately blustered, another of his talents. “You’re twisting my care for you into this—”

  I didn’t even bother to hide my eye-roll. “You never genuinely cared about me.”

  “Of course I did. I still do!”

  “We’re done, Michael. Finished. Never gonna happen.”

  “Just give me a chance—”

  “A chance?! You had your chance! If nothing else, my time with you taught me to value myself more. I deserve better than to be treated as an unwanted accessory to your ambitious political climb.”

  Damn. That felt good.

  Huh.

  I should stand up for myself more often.

  “Olivia, how many times do I have to tell you? I made a mistake—”

  “No, Michael. Me discovering the truth about you is hardly a mistake. I refuse to be part of any situation where truth-telling is seen as a mistake.”

  “You’re twisting what I’m saying—”

  “No. I’m really not. Again, I’m going to ask you one last time: If I weren’t Louise Hawking’s daughter, would you still be pursuing me?”

  To his credit, Michael recovered faster from that question this time around. “That’s not a fair question, Olivia. Naturally, your family plays into this, just as family would be important in any relationship. You can’t expect me to separate the two.”

  Bzzzz.

  Wrong answer.

  “No, Michael.” I gave him sad eyes. “Actually, I expect any man I date from this point on to be able to see me as an individual with my own inherent worth.”

  The rightness of my own words flooded me.

  I did deserve more.

  We went back and forth a bit more until Michael finally stomped back to his car, face flushed and eye angry.

  I may have gloated for an hour or two afterward.

  Michael aside, two other incidents put a damper on my week. I finally met Tennyson’s twin brothers, Dante and Branwell.

  The brothers, in and of themselves, weren’t the problem.

  Dante and his wife, Claire, stopped by one afternoon, saying they just wanted to say hi. But I very much got the sense that they wanted to inspect me at closer range.

  Of course, they were perfectly coiffed Hot People. Claire, in particular, was immaculate in pressed slacks and a silk blouse, her blond hair pulled into a sleek chignon. Basicall
y, she looked catwalk ready.

  Dante was the epitome of international playboy with his dark hair styled and stubble carefully manscaped.

  “Olivia Hawking, eh?” Dante said after Tennyson introduced me. “Any chance you’d put in a good word for us with your mom?”

  He said the words jokingly, but the truth behind them caused me to flinch.

  It didn’t help that Tennyson’s eyes bulged out of his head before giving Dante a shut-up-right-now look.

  Claire smiled, strained and uncomfortable. “Don’t mind, Dante. Once he manages to retrieve his foot from somewhere in the middle of his esophagus, he’ll probably have an apology ready.”

  I took an instant liking to Claire, even with all her hot-personness.

  To his credit, Dante apologized and nothing more was said on the topic, but the reminder still stung.

  Was there truth in my mother’s accusations after all, at least as far as Dante was concerned? The issue certainly didn’t need to be cut and dried. Like with Michael, my connections could be part of what fueled Tennyson’s interest in keeping me around as a friend.

  The second hiccup occurred when Branwell and Lucy visited.

  Branwell was identical to, and yet completely opposite, from his twin. He exuded a quiet, more lumberjack vibe.

  His wife, Lucy, however, was beyond adorable. I was instantly infatuated with her. She was beautiful in an unconventional way with bright red hair, copious freckles and a completely infectious personality. I had a feeling that everyone instantly loved Lucy. It was like her superpower or something.

  Granted, her t-shirt—This diem ain’t gonna carpe itself—might have helped with that.

  Of course, their two-month old twins accompanied them. Alessio and Bronte cooed from their car seats and looked so adorable that I was pretty sure my ovaries exploded. Tennyson gave them the gifts he had purchased the day we met in Volterra, and I got to snuggle the babies until my heart hurt.

  None of this was the problem. No, that happened after lunch.

  The twins had fallen asleep and we were all sitting around laughing about favorite college memories. Up to that point, I had sensed some weird undercurrents, but nothing specific.

  Branwell, Lucy and Tennyson had endless stories to tell about college. For some reason, I had assumed that Lucy and Branwell had been college sweethearts. It was only logical. They were clearly madly in love, and they had all been in college together at the University of Portland.

  Ha! Turns out I got that detail just the tiniest bit wrong.

  Lucy turned toward Tennyson, talking excitedly with her hands. “Tenn, remember that one time we went to the beach, and you accidentally locked the keys inside the car?”

  “That only happened once?” Branwell’s tone indicated that locking the keys in the car happened with more frequency.

  “Be nice.” Lucy smacked her husband across the chest. “No, it was the first time, right after we started dating. And we were in that awkward, new boyfriend-girlfriend stage where you’re still trying to not let all your warts and weirdness show. Anyway, Tenn had to climb on the roof of the car and slowly work his way through the half-open sun roof.”

  “I must have lost the first three layers of skin from my torso.” Tennyson snorted.

  “You did have a pink, freshly-scrubbed look for a while after that,” Branwell smirked.

  I chuckled. “What was Branwell doing while you shimmied in? Just watching?” I had to ask. It seemed extra-funny that Branwell had simply stood back and let his brother deal with the crisis.

  Everyone looked at me, faces frozen.

  Cue crickets chirping and uber-uncomfortable silence.

  Yep. Awkward Olivia had struck again. As usual, I had no idea where I had misstepped.

  Lucy shot a glance at Tennyson who tried to smile but it ended up being more of a grimace.

  “I take it this hasn’t come up,” Branwell said to his brother.

  Tennyson shook his head once.

  “What?” I was looking back and forth between them all, trying to understand where I had derailed.

  “Branwell wasn’t with us.” Lucy looked to Tennyson. “You and I dated for, gosh, how long was it?”

  “Two years,” Tennyson replied without missing a beat. His tone indicated that he probably knew the time frame down to the day.

  My jaw pretty much hit the floor.

  I had not seen that coming.

  Lucy and Tennyson?

  But . . . but she was so obviously in love with Branwell. And she and Branwell seemed perfect for each other.

  As I sat there, I remembered googling him. He had dated a woman named Lucy Snow for a few years. Somehow I had missed that Lucy had gone on to marry his brother . . . but whatever.

  Granted, I could easily see how Tennyson would adore Lucy. She was easy to love.

  Lucy noted my confusion. “It’s a long story and we’ve all come to terms with things.” She motioned her hand in a circle, meaning her and Branwell and Tennyson. “More or less.”

  I winced.

  Tennyson didn’t miss my reaction. “I’m sorry, Olivia. I should have told you before now—”

  “No, there’s no need to apologize.” My voice was too bright.

  “But I do. I should have said something—”

  “You don’t owe me these kinds of explanations, Tennyson. I’m just a friend, remember? Nothing more.” I tried to pass off my comment with a good-natured chuckle.

  But instead of being carefree, my laugh had a brittle, maniacal edge.

  Tennyson flinched; Lucy and Branwell exchanged a look.

  A scalding blush seared my skin. Would there ever be a time when I didn’t embarrass myself?

  Branwell cleared his throat.

  “Did I tell you what Dante and Claire have planned for Christmas this year?” he asked, mercifully changing the subject.

  But the awkwardness lingered.

  As the men talked, Lucy met my gaze across the table, eyes full of compassion and understanding.

  Only I could develop a massive crush on a Hot Guy who still pined for his sister-in-law. That had Shakespearean tragedy written all over it.

  Tennyson had very clearly loved Lucy. I could see it in the way he was attuned to her, like she was a star and held her own gravitational pull for him.

  A punch of intense jealousy flooded me. Jealously wasn’t my MO and usually I could push it aside.

  But . . .

  I ached for Tennyson to look at me like that, to spin me as the center of his universe, not her.

  It didn’t take a therapist to tell me this was not a healthy perspective. Was Lucy why he refused to pursue anything other than a friendship with me? Was she the thing that made his life ‘complicated’?

  I could see why he would keep his lips sealed about that.

  And even if Tennyson D’Angelo were on the market and actively searching for a Mrs. D’Angelo, how could I possibly be delusional enough to think he would pursue me?

  Gah. When would I EVER learn?

  Hot Men did not date Not Women.

  Worse, Tennyson was one of those rare Hot and Not guys, beautiful inside and out.

  How could I have ever entertained the thought that he would think of me as more than a friend?

  I went quiet after that, not sure what to say. My faux pas had a serious dampening effect on their conversation.

  So when my mom called, I excused myself to take it. Better to let them chat together than to feel all awkward around me.

  I slipped into a small study off the main hallway. Lined with bookshelves and featuring several comfy chairs, I loved the room. I curled into a butter-soft leather club chair.

  “Olivia, why are you resisting getting on that plane with Michael? It’s only five days until the big announcement.” Mom was using her not-happy voice.

  That was pretty much the only voice I got from her nowadays.

  “Mom, as I keep telling you, I’m getting answers here.”

  Mom sighed
. “With your new boyfriend?”

  That’s right. Everyone in the Hawking camp thought Tennyson and I were still dating.

  Mom continued, “Honey, I love you but you’ve got to stop with this. It’s time to come home. Prep for the announcement, and then afterwards, let’s get you the help that you need.”

  “Mom, I don’t need more prep or help. I’m not a problem to fix. It’s not like even a year of Katrina’s coaching would make that much of a difference. I’m going to be a disaster regardless.”

  “Darling, you’re not a disaster.” Mom said the words with reflexive speed—needing to say them as my mom, but not something she really believed.

  “Please, Mom. We both know that’s not true.”

  A shuffling noise, as if my mom were getting more comfortable.

  “I’m worried about you, Livy-loo. Your last hospitalization really scared me.” Her voice was closer now, the phone cupped to her mouth. “I want you here so I can look after you.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time she had called me Livy-loo. It brought back memories of summers at my grandparent’s cabin and cuddling with my mom on Christmas break.

  My throat tightened and my eyes stung.

  Trust Mom to not play fair.

  “This Tennyson D’Angelo concerns me,” she continued. “It feels like you just started dating him out of the blue.” Hah! Funny story there. “You’re so sweet and have such a good heart. You trust people too soon and give away too much of yourself too quickly.”

  All true, those points. That didn’t mean they were bad qualities. Just something to be aware of.

  Mom wasn’t done. “It angers me to think of him taking advantage of your sweetness and breaking your heart.”

  “Mom,” I sighed, “Tennyson isn’t going to break my heart.” Well, hopefully not too much. “We’ve only just started dating, and I don’t know if we’re even going to continue. I get that you’re concerned about me, but the information I’m finding here is the best chance I have of getting better.”

  Another sigh. “Well, I’m glad you’re going to be here for the announcement, Livy. You’re my daughter and I love you and I want you by my side. The private jet will get you here and back again. I promise you’ll be in and out quickly.”

  Mmmm, Mom had capitulated way too quickly. Something was definitely up.