by Nicci Harris
"If those white jeans were any tighter, I'd be concerned about your fanny dropping off from the lack of blood," Toni says to me from the other side of the breakfast bar.
A few days ago, I found the most beautiful sparkly white jeans at an op-shop. They are like Lycra on me, clinging to every curve. I'm wearing a white crop-top, fricking big white wings with sparkles and lace, and six-inch white stilettos. I have glitter smeared all around my exposed shoulders and over my exposed belly.
"Max likes my bum in jeans," I say whimsically.
"You seem to have settled in." When I hear Victoria's posh British voice coming from around the corner, my back stiffens.
Toni spins to face her, and I plaster a wide smile on my face when she appears. "Um, I've been here full time for a few weeks now." Not that she would know; she's never around. Her head tilts as she bats her false lashes and smiles insincerely at me. Subtly and quickly, her eyes then scrutinise my body, stopping briefly at my exposed midriff before bouncing back up again to meet my gaze. I suppress a shudder.
She usually looks at me with disdain, but now that disdain has a tight red bow wrapped around it and is glued on with honey, probably from wasps she stung with the venom of her speech. And then ate. Ugh. I hate this woman. She hasn't even bothered to dress up for the event. She is in her usual body-fitted power dress. Nails long, red, and manicured as if she's never worked a day in her life. I wonder where this feigned nicety has come from.
Butch.
Yep, it must all be an act for him.
"You're not showing," she states softly. "That must be nice."
I glance at Toni and we communicate with our eyes - awkward.
"Actually, I can't wait to show," I admit proudly. The past few weeks have been close to perfect. I've been given a choreographer position for the Nutcracker production this year, allowing me to oversee my second while she trains for Sugar Plum. Max has only left at night once, returning soon after and in a great mood. He finished his research paper and submitted it this morning, which is one less weight on his shoulders.
Right now, though, Victoria's presence in front of me is like a looming toxic fog. I relax slightly when I see Xander approaching the kitchen, his joker makeup slightly warped from the heat. He's still handsome though. Even with the green hair and gash of red paint cutting his face in half. As Toni stares at him, his eyes go sleepy with complete, unabashed lust.
"Mum." Xander clears his throat as if the word was uncomfortable to say. "Dad is looking for you." I've never heard Max refer to her as Mum before. It saddens me to hear it from Xander, knowing he manages to find the term appropriate enough to use, when Max would probably rather cut out his own voice box.
Victoria tips her shoulders. "It's been so nice to catch up."
Balancing on the points of her stilettos with ease, she strides away from us, through the rear sliding doors, and out into the alfresco.
"She is terrifying and fabulous in equal measure," Toni mutters to himself.
I smile at Xander. He winks in return.
He's been the star of my pregnancy so far. He has somehow anticipated my needs over the last few weeks, knowing what steps Max should take, the things he needs to know and learn. He's given us books on parenting and always has something to say on the subject. But there is a rift between the two Butcher brothers. And although it's never been blatant in the form of an argument or discussion, it's apparent in Xander's obsessive need to please Max and in Max's curt response to anything he does.
"You are too fine," Toni says to Xander without a care in the world.
Xander just grins. "Ah, cheers? I think."
Giggling at Xander's chilled response, I turn and start opening cupboards. "I need to find candles."
I hear Xander's laughter as he moves in next to me. "Can you scoot away? You’re going to poke my eye out with one of those things."
"Wouldn't want to do that. They are so fucking pretty," Toni coos.
"Oh my God, Toni. Leave him alone."
"You're getting dangerous to be around, ya know that Toni?" Xander says with a chuckle. Toni has been a frequent visitor since I moved into casa Butcher. Although they would never admit it, I think the Butcher boys kind of like the added dynamic. This house was all alpha male and testosterone. Now, though, there is little ol' me and my bestie sprinkling in the weird like wildfire.
Toni smirks. "You like danger, don't you, Xander?"
My cheeks pinch with a big smile as I watch Xander ignore Toni's blatant objectification. "One, you have a boyfriend. Two, he's straight. So leave Xander alone."
Toni plucks up a single perfectly tweezed brow. "I'm just enjoying the view, Golden Girl. I'm appreciating the effort that must go into creating that tight-"
"I am so cutting you off there!" I state, covering my face with my palms. "Please, please stop talking."
Toni laughs. Having successfully embarrassed me, he casually sips his bright green Martini. I step out from the kitchen and around the island bench. Leaning into Toni a little, I watch the youngest and sweetest Butcher chuckle to himself as he searches for some candles. "I suppose I can't really complain. Get a few drinks in me and I've been known to have a pretty filthy. . . Ah-" He turns and places a box of candles on the breakfast bar. "There ya go. You know you can get the maids to do this stuff, don't you? I don't think any woman besides them has been in this kitchen in years."
"A filthy what? A filthy what?" Toni bounces on the black and chrome bar stool.
Xander leans over the counter, his blue eyes narrowing, his lips curling up on one side. "Mouth."
Toni nearly falls off his stool as he flings the back of his hand to his forehead. "Get this man a few drinks, asap!"
Laughing so hard, I am quickly brought to tears.
As we all chuckle together, Stacey and my sister strut in, dressed in a couple's costume: O Ren and Gogo from Kill Bill. Stacey has her dark-brown hair pulled into a tight Japanese bun, her fringe swept to the side and pinned back with a white flower to match her kimono. Flick is dressed in her old preppy high school uniform, complete with blue blazer and all. She was ecstatic to discover she still fits into it. With white stockings folded neatly below her knees, a pleated skirt, and white dress shirt, she looks the part and fricking gorgeous. With the long black wig and bangs, her face looks even paler than usual, emphasising Gogo's emotional void.
"You two look so hot!" I grin at my sister, who is still a little uncomfortable with everything that's happening. She still needs more time to accept that I really am happy. That Max isn't a bad person, he just sometimes misdirects his anger. And when it comes to me, he has no filter.
She smiles back at me. "You, my little love, are glowing. . . I wonder why?"
I giggle. "It's the glitter."
"Yeah, that's all it is," Toni quips.
"Has anyone seen Bronson?" I ask, peering out and through the crowd. They shake their heads. "What about Max?" They glance at each other sideways before shaking their heads again. I frown at my friends and sister. "They are party poopers; I'm going to find them."
Moving through the ocean of guests, my wings offering me a wide breadth, I search the house.
At the end of the hall, I swing the entertainment room doors open and, oh my God, Betty Boop is being nailed from behind by the Mad Hatter.
She is slung over the billiard table, her head arched back, her breasts stroking the green cloth as Bronson, dressed as The Mad Hatter, thrusts into her hard and fast and ruthless. He's got one white-knuckled grip on her hip; his other is in her hair, the strands tightly coiled in his fist. Her mouth is wide open, alternating between panting and yelping after every slap of his hips to her curvaceous backside. My mouth drops open just as Bronson turns his head and notices me.
"Sister Cassidy!" He grins, moving faster. "This is Laura. Say hello, Laura."
She growls. "Fuck, Bronson." A sound that is both exasperated and on the brink of climax falls from her agape lips.
"I am fucking you, sweethear
t," he says, just pummelling her harder. He looks at me. "You okay? Need anything?"
"Oh my gawd." I rush from the room, unable to stop the blush engulfing my cheeks. He is mad. No costume is needed to show that. Mad and amazing and lovable. I laugh to myself; I'm not sure why. I think I'm happy to see him with someone.
As I move back down the hallway, I feel the surrealism of this moment seep into me. I can't believe that I am here. That these boys are my family. That Max chose me. I touch my belly, smiling as I head back into the kitchen.
When I enter, I feel my skin start to simmer. The heat from a pair of eyes on me strokes my flesh to the point of scolding. Of fever. And only one set of eyes can do that. I search the room, glancing over small groups of people before landing on Max.
He's in a black V-neck and jeans, the kind of casual attire he would wear if the house was empty of visitors. The sleeves of his shirt bunch above his elbows, banding tightly around his strong biceps and showcasing defined, inked forearms.
I breathe faster as he tracks my movements. He leans his head to the side, lapping up the stilettos, the fitted jeans, the wings, and all the shimmer.
When I stop in front of him, his slow menacing grin all but sweeps my legs out from under me. My belly flutters. I know what that man is thinking. His eyes have a promise. A dare. One I will be eagerly accepting. That gaze makes me blush so hard even the butterflies in my belly have bright crimson cheeks.
"You don’t have a costume on," I manage to say.
His eyes narrow on mine. "Yeah I do." He points to a white sticker on his jeans. Written on it in black Sharpie is 'God'. He's my God, there is no doubt about that. "I plan on fucking one of my angels tonight."
My whole world shines. "We have a couples costume on!"
Shaking his head, he lets out a soft chuckle; it's the best sound in the whole world. A breath-taking sound that is as rare as it is meaningful. "Only you."
Slowly, I take another step towards him until I can feel the heat from his body. "Only me what?"
He drinks me in, and when I lower my eyes to his hands, I see his fingers massaging his palms, wanting to grip me, anxious to do so. Craning my neck, I kiss his chin softly. But he lowers his head, taking my mouth hard and hungrily. We kiss and pet each other, fondle and ignore the other guests as they move around us.
I break our kiss, and Max grumbles. "Don't smite me, my lord, okay? But I have to get the cake ready," I say, beaming at his tight face.
Skipping around him, I finish the final touches on the cake while he stands a few metres away, beside some men I don't know. He sips his whiskey, but his eyes never leave me. I can feel them.
As a group of girls slide past him, they make eyes, say hello, and try to engage him. With a slight frown in their direction, he nods his head once in response to their eager approach. They look offended. He's basically waving them off, and I hate how much that makes me smile. Because I don't want him to be rude to people. Don't want him to be an unapproachable, unfriendly person, and yet, that's Max. I've come to realise that. He chooses the people who deserve his attention and he's ruthless in his selection. And this group, which includes a tall, leggy, brunette dressed as Cat Woman, doesn't seem to have the prerequisites.
The cat girl follows Max's stare, locking on to me as I try to focus on fixing the frosting on the cake. Focus on the frosting and not her. Or how interested she is in my boyfriend. Yep, I'm not looking her way at all. . . She says something in her friend's ear, then wanders off.
Ugh.
The Mad Hatter, in all his tall, dark, and tattooed glory, finally appears, seemingly unaffected by our previous interaction. I, on the other hand, try to ignore the heat of embarrassment rousing below my cheeks.
Bronson looks at the cake. "Fucking red velvet, that's my favourite!"
Max frowns as my eyes bounce away from his big brother. My lips tighten, smothering a nervous smile.
Max moves over to me and folds his arms over his thick chest. "Explain."
Gawd, I'm so transparent. Peering up at him, his stoic expression firmly in place, I cover my smile with my palm and talk against it. "I kinda walked in on Bronson. That's all."
"No big deal," Bronson states, leaning in and running a tattooed finger along the frosting. "I was fucking. . ." He pauses, staring out into space. "What was her name?"
"Laura!" I say, smacking his hand away from the channel he's just created in the icing.
He holds his hands up. "Sorry. Yeah, the lovely Laura. Cassidy walked into the wrong room."
Max growls, but his face is somewhat amused. "Fucksake, Bronson."
"What's he done now?" Xander asks, walking towards us. He puts his arms around his big brother. "Happy Birthday, mate." The Mad Hatter and The Joker embrace, patting each other's backs and it makes for a really funny visual. Imagining the shenanigans those two characters would get up to on screen, I giggle to myself.
After releasing each other, Xander nods a hello at Max. Max scowls at Xander and then looks at me, his eyes dropping to my belly for a split second. The tension around the two brothers feels like a brewing storm. Eventually, it will either pass with time or explode into chaos. My heart falls when Max turns his back on his little brother and walks across the room to stand with his friends again.
I purse my lips while studying Xander's now tight face. "Are you and Max okay?" The words just fall out. And it must be the pregnancy because I would never usually involve myself in anything between them. Knowing Max like I do, he would be bludgeoning his fists on a boxing bag during a conversation like this. But I want to know. "Things seem. . ."
He clears his throat. "Tense." Reaching for a bottle of vodka, he pulls the cap off and gulps it straight from the neck.
Bronson stays cavalier, but there is a flicker of a flame in his opal-blue eyes. Of disapproval. Of warning. "Slow down, dickhead."
Xander takes the bottle and disappears into the crowd.
With that, I quickly fix the cake, light the candles, and then attempt to embarrass Bronson by singing him "Happy Birthday".
I should have known. . . nothing embarrasses that man.
Max joins me, and we move outside to where Toni, Flick, Stacey, and some other people are all chatting and drinking. While everyone laughs and jokes around us, I pull my attention away from them and move closer to the man beside me. He lifts his arm and I cuddle his side. My wings create a little separation between everyone else and us. I peer up at this titan of a man and see pain in his eyes. I want to ask about Xander. About this rift. It must be affecting him; I can see it right now, a kind of resentment barely masked in his grey irises.
Realising I haven't seen Xander since he disappeared with the vodka bottle, I gaze across the vast property: over the alfresco, out across the lawn, and to the boat moored on the canal. He's nowhere to be seen, causing a strange feeling to play around in my belly. I breathe in the air, which is laced with cigarette smoke, menthol, and a musky wet smell from the river. It's a warm night, but nothing is as warming as Max's arms around me.
Instead of asking questions, I just hold him and breathe deep.
Cassidy
* * *
The party is still in full swing when Flick and I attempt to get a bit of peace and quiet. A girl dressed as Dracula's wife stops me on our way outside. "Cassidy." She touches my shoulder. "Where's the bathroom?"
I beam at her as if she's just told me how beautiful I am or how good Max and I look together. All the sweets. . . "Under the stairs" –I point– "is a powder room."
She grins. "Thanks. Great party by the way."
Eeeee!
Flick eyes me, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're ridiculous."
"She knew my name," I squeak. "And that I'd know where the bathroom is."
"Everyone knows your name. They did well before Max Butcher, I might add."
"Sure. . . still." I giggle.
Carter follows us as we wander down the grass hill towards the edge of the canals. The murmur of guests dwi
ndles the further we go. It's nice to get some quiet.
The canals run all the way down to Stormy River and out to sea. Looking out over them, I take the moment in. This is my favourite kind of weather. The breeze is warm, and the air is dry with a slight crispness to it. As the gentle wind hits the canals, it sweeps the earthy scent up the banks and sways my hair around my shoulders. Searching the horizon, I can make out the silhouettes of houses on the opposite side.
We stop at the grass mound just before the water and sit down. I wait patiently for Flick to talk, knowing she needs to express herself. I lean back, placing my hands on the grass, squeezing the blades between my fingers.
She sighs and places her hand over mine. "You seem really happy."
I smile at that. "That's because I am."
"You need to go see Mum more." She lifts her chin. "Her little girl has moved out and is having a baby thug. She needs to see you more."
Maybe I should get defensive, but that just makes me giggle. "Can you get me a onesie with 'baby thug' written on it, please?"
"I like him, you know." She stares straight ahead. "I do."
"That sounded convincing."
She looks at my face. "No. I do. He's a complete dickhead sometimes. Borderline psychotic. But. . . the other day, I saw a picture of you two on Twitter. The caption said, 'Get yourselves a man who looks at you like Max Butcher looks at Cassidy Slater'. Not the most original of captions, but it suited the image. He worships you. It is so plain to see." She pauses for a moment with her thoughts. "You can change him."
I stiffen. "I don't want to change him. I just want to be there for him and-"
My eyes snap around at the sound of a glass smashing against something hard. Carter is already beside me, not concerned with the ruckus, only with me. I hear muffled growls and grunts. I climb to my feet.
"Stay here," I whisper to Flick before walking back up the bank and around the front of the house. Carter speaks into his chest microphone, ordering for back up. He's in my shadow. His feet basically hit mine as I walk, he is that close. Which should warn me to be cautious, but I want to know what’s going on.
