I can’t explain how powerless I felt in that moment, but also how cherished. I still have that necklace. I love that necklace.
I’m trying not to feel the same way now as I take my seat in the private room in the back of The Cherie. It’s a fresh start and new beginnings. I’m not the same girl I was back then, and this isn’t ”buying” me. It’s just dinner.
The inside is exactly as fancy as I pictured in my head. White linens and polished marble walls. It’s the kind of restaurant where not a single expense is spared, and the waiters wear cuff links and spit-shined black shoes.
“Thank you,” I tell said waiter, and try not to pull down the skirt of my dress as he pours water into our glasses. I don’t touch my hem until he’s turned his back and no one can see me squirm… except for Madox. Like always, I’m not quite dressed for the occasion.
It feels like our first date all over again. Where he knows all the tricks and holds all the cards, and I’m barely gripping on to anything.
“Dark blue is your color.” Madox’s words make my heart do that stuttering thing. I can feel heat flood up my chest and to my cheeks. With a soft smirk kicking up the corners of his lips he adds, “Blushing looks good on you too.”
Slipping a lock of hair behind my ear, I tell him, “Thank you. You look handsome too… you always do.”
The fluttering in my chest matches the way my stomach feels, and I search around the stark white tabletop for a menu of any kind. For anything at all to distract me from the sincerity of Madox’s gaze. But there’s nothing save polished silverware and lit candles.
“I like it when you do that,” he says lowly, in a tone that hits straight to my core. I have to lift my eyes to his, barely able to breathe at seeing the look in his eyes.
“Do what?”
“Compliment me.”
“I’m sure you have lots of people do that.” Even as I speak without conscious consent, I can’t help but to look over every bit of his features and feel a pinch in my brow.
“They’re not you.”
“That’s very sweet of you.”
“It’s also true. I’m glad you agreed to come out tonight.”
“You’re different, Madox,” I barely whisper and wish I had a menu or something to hold in my hands. Instead I shove them into my lap and wring my fingers around one another as Madox, with a look of slight vulnerability on his handsome face, asks me how. He stays perfectly still though, never showing anything more than a glimpse that he may be less than in control.
“It’s just ….” I bite down on my bottom lip and try to put it into words. “When I remember us, you didn’t talk much about,” I pause as I struggle to come up with an explanation. “About anything, really. I never knew what you were thinking about back then.”
“Trish told me you prefer words of affirmation,” Madox tells me as he takes the beautifully folded napkin in front of him and lays it on his lap. “She told me we need to learn each other’s forms of communication, and I’m trying. I think she may have insight I lacked when we were together.”
Madox’s features could be carved of marble. They’re flawless and classically handsome; perfectly poised. My own feel like they’re crumbling at what he just told me. It’s a pain, but a good one. Like when you’ve given yourself to someone for the first time, and the powerful mix of emotions surges inside of you, looking for a way out—until they kiss you, hold you close. That’s the kind of pain I feel right now. Along with the panic of being too vulnerable.
“You’re too far away from me,” Madox tells me, cutting off my thoughts.
I have to grin at his statement. We’re alone in the room and I can only imagine what he’d do to me if we were closer. The very thought makes me squirm, and I can tell from the look in his eyes he would do whatever the hell he wanted with me back here.
“Do you remember when I ate you out under the table at … what was that place?” he asks me and my core heats immediately, remembering how he didn’t give me any notice, he simply ducked down under the table in the middle of the restaurant and slipped his hands up my skirt. All while I stared fixedly at the wall, trying not to scream in pleasure.
“Blue Hill.”
“Yes,” he says and nods, picking up his drink then adds, “you loved that place. How could I forget?” My heart flutters in a way that wishes I were closer to him right now. As close as I could be, but instead I stare down at the silverware, which makes my smile come back.
I was sure someone was looking at me when my silverware hit the plate of the chocolate lava cake with a loud clatter that night he crawled under the table at Blue Hill.
“My hand shook when I tried to drink my water, you know? It was hard to play it off.”
He flashes a wolfish grin back at me. “It was the day before your birthday, I remember that.”
“Is that why you did it? An early birthday present?”
He shakes his head once, a short and deliberate no. “I did it because I wanted to taste you right then and there.” My nipples pebble and my pussy clenches, instantly remembering how his tongue dove into me, how his fingers gripped my hips.
My voice is merely a murmur when I tell him, “You do always get what you want, don’t you?”
“Right now, I want to fuck you on this table. So you tell me, Sophie.”
My heart slams, the heat rising and flooding every inch of my body.
The nerves intensify until Madox nods his head toward someone over my shoulder.
“I sent in the order on my way here,” Madox says and waits for my reaction until I nod in understanding, peeking at the waiter as he makes his way over with our first dishes.
The young man is professional as he sets our food down in front of us. Bone white china plates with a fennel and leek citrus salad beautifully arranged on the dishes. As the waiter explains the first course, a silent lady in black dress pants and a gorgeous white blouse pours the paired wine, some Chenin Blanc.
It’s all beautiful and decadent, but I couldn’t name half the ingredients if someone told me they’d pay me a million dollars cash right now to tell me what I was eating.
Once we’re alone again, I thank Madox and change the subject to something that isn’t going to get me fucked on this table. “I like it when you order in advance, although then I can’t hide behind the menu.” With a flirtatious smile, I take a bite and savor the sweetness of the expensive dinner.
He smirks at me as if he knows exactly what I’m doing. And he goes with it. Giving me a moment to breathe and come down from the high I was just on, remembering what this man across from me is capable of.
There’s tension between us, but it’s the good kind.
“Good, isn’t it?” Madox asks, lifting the glass of wine to his lips, but not drinking until I answer him. I have to cover my mouth and finish swallowing when he smiles at me like that. Because when he does, I smile too.
He chuckles into his glass when I nod, and as he sips I tell him it’s all delicious.
“The lobster risotto is next. I think that will be your favorite.”
Letting my fingers slip down the stem of the glass I ask him, “Another glass as well?” and he nods. Shit. These places always give you so much wine and so little food.
“I have to work tonight,” I speak out loud, voicing the concern that’s keeping me on edge.
The light in Madox’s eyes, that fire dims slightly, but it’s back just as quickly as it left. “I could have it all wrapped up to go if you’d prefer.”
“No, no, I just can’t drink …much.” Lifting the glass to my lips and deciding this will be my only glass until the presentation is done tonight, I tell Madox offhandedly, “I’m a little too carefree when I drink.”
“What’s wrong with being carefree?” he questions, although it’s meant to be playful.
“Well, last night for one,” I answer him honestly. It’s not healthy to do what we do. “I probably shouldn’t have slept with you.”
“Why is that?” he
asks, sitting up straighter and placing his hands on the table. His fingers are interlaced as his thumbs roll over one another. I imagine this is how he looks at business meetings. Intimidating.
“Well that makes me kind of easy, doesn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t use the word ‘easy.’ You’ve never been easy to hold on to.”
I start to say it would have been better between the two of us back then if he’d been open with me like this, but it feels like the start of a fight and that’s the last thing I want. I already wish I hadn’t brought up this topic. It’s begging to be spoken from the tip of my tongue though. I want to know what he wants. For years I’ve wanted to know what I mean to him.
It feels so obvious to me right now, but is it so wrong that I want to hear it? And even worse, that I’m afraid of what he’ll say.
“Thank you for inviting me out. I needed it after today,” I say to change the subject, feeling a cowardly chill run down my spine at the mere idea that Madox will tell me I’m an old friend, or friend with benefits, or something like that if I were to ask him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Just a lot of stress at work.”
“I wish you wouldn’t lie to me.” Madox’s gaze leaves me and it feels like a punishment. I can feel his disappointment. That’s how much power and control this man has over me. I hate disappointing him.
“I don’t know that I want to talk about it,” I answer hesitantly. “I don’t want to upset you.”
Madox considers me for a moment, his forehead marred by a deep crease and his dark green eyes swimming with questions.
“I respect that,” he tells me with sincerity. His voice is low though, as if he hates to allow me that freedom of not confiding in him.
He changes the subject, but to something I didn’t expect.
“I saw my mother today.”
“Oh?” I ask him, glancing just for a moment to the waiter who’s suddenly at my side, offering him a small smile he doesn’t see as he clears the table of the porcelain plates.
Madox finishes his thought only once we’re alone again. “So I had a rough day as well.”
“How is she?” I ask. “Is it still the way it was?”
“The two of us not speaking and pretending there’s anything at all we could talk about? Yes. It’s exactly like that.” He may not realize it, but every time he speaks about his mother, there’s anger in his tone. Coupled with an impatience I don’t see from him often.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, and my words are calm and gentle, as is my hand reaching out to him. He accepts my offer, lacing his fingers between mine.
“Don’t be,” he tells me as his thumb rubs circles along my wrist. “We haven’t had a relationship since my father…” Madox doesn’t finish that sentence, but then he adds, “And I doubt we ever will.”
“Even if it feels like you have everything, it’s okay to be upset about the things you don’t have. You know that, right?”
His eyes flash to mine with an intense heat, and he stares at me as if what I’ve said is foolish. “I do. I’m well aware of that … even as I sit across the table from you right now.”
It hadn’t occurred to me that my words could be used against me, which is exactly what this feels like. My hand slips from his grasp, and he allows it. I drag it back to my lap.
“What’s holding you back?” Madox asks me.
“Back from what?”
“Your guard is up. Not just a little. I can barely see you. The real you.”
I clear my throat and try to meet his eyes so I can be honest about how I’m feeling, but I can’t even do that.
“I’ll listen to whatever you tell me. Just talk to me,” he says, and his voice holds an edge of desperation. It’s something I’ve never heard from him. Not like this.
Staring down at the barren white tablecloth, I speak, letting it all come out.
It’s a real conversation. That’s what this is. Our first real conversation. Probably ever. It’s so much easier to allow fears to be unspoken.
“I’ve only just come back to New York, days ago. I don’t have a grip on anything at all in my life right now. I feel an immense amount of pressure. I’m worried and excited at the same time. I’m happy…” With that admission, I can look him in the eyes as I continue, “For the first time in a really long while.” My throat gets tight and tears prick at the back of my eyes, but I hold them back. “And I’m afraid that I’m going to be swept up by you, and I’m going to lose this part of me that’s actively working to choose happiness and create a stable income.”
I can barely breathe, waiting for Madox to say anything at all. A moment passes, more dishes are placed in front of us – although there’s no way I could possibly eat a damn thing right now - and it’s not until the doors behind us close again, leaving us to ourselves that Madox asks me, “You didn’t plan on coming back to see me then?”
It fucking hurts to see the pain etched in his expression right now.
“I didn’t know… I haven’t spoken to you in so long. … Trish never told me that you messaged until today. I didn’t know you were thinking about me. I would have never thought you’d make an effort like you are right now, because it never felt like you did back then.”
It’s awkward; laying everything out on the table feels like willingly drowning yourself. “I feel,” I have to swallow before adding, “If I had known…” My head is teeming with thoughts and I can barely focus on a single one. For three years I rehearsed every conversation in my head I wanted to have with this man, and in all of them, he never cared. So to sit here and see how much he does… I’m struggling. It’s all too much, and I can feel myself slipping backward.
I refuse to go back to who I used to be.
“Would it have made a difference?” Madox asks in a low tone, pushing his plate to the side and bringing his hand to rest on top of mine.
“Would what have?” I ask him, feeling a wave of emotional exhaustion. I love this man. That was never a question. And that’s what makes it hurt the most.
“If you’d known that I was asking about you. Would you have come back for me?”
“Not at first, no. I was scared and I needed to find myself.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
He doesn’t hesitate to ask me another question, and I don’t hesitate to answer.
“Did you miss me?”
“Of course I did. You have no idea.” My voice is choked when I tell him, “Some days just to feel okay I would pretend you were holding me.” I remember what it felt like back then, to be so alone in the spare room of Trish’s apartment, crying on the bed. Letting every bit of me break. I knew if I went back, Madox would hold me and take away the pain. But then he’d eventually let me go, and I wouldn’t know what to do with myself because the only identity I had was to be his. His burden.
I want to brush the tear from my eye before it can fall, but I refuse to let go of his hands right now. Not with the way his warm touch reminds me how life has changed, and I’m not in the same position I once was.
“I remember what you said the night before you left when I found you at your place… about being more than a dirty fuck,” Madox starts to speak after a moment of silence.
I cut him off before he can continue. “I don’t think I meant half of what I said, Madox.” I feel awful inside, desperately wanting to avoid going back to that night and how everything happened. I don’t want to go back. It hurts too much. I can’t go back.
“It meant something though. Even in our lies there’s some truth, and it took me a while to understand why you said that. It was never just sex with you, Soph.”
Every night I’ve been alone taunts me in this moment. Seeing how much he cares, when for years I convinced myself he didn’t, all so I could learn to get better on my own.
“Why didn’t you--” I want to ask him about the text as I pull my hands away, grabbing my napkin and wiping away the tears as delicately as I can,
but I can’t finish my sentence.
Another minute passes and the energy in the air becomes suffocating until Madox speaks.
“I didn’t have to run away to figure out who I was. I know who I am, and I don’t like that person without you.”
It fucking kills me to hear him say that. I can’t stand to hear him say that.
“Madox,” I cry his name. I’m doing my best to hold it together, but it’s fucking impossible. There’s no armor left to hide behind and without it, I can’t even breathe.
“My biggest regret though… is that I wish I’d talked to Brett before seeing you that night. He knew what happened to your parents and if I’d known, that night wouldn’t have happened the way it did. I would have been better for you. I didn’t know they’d died. If I’d known about the accident, I would have still had you.”
The mention of my parents breaks me. Of my mom and how she died in a car accident. She’d texted me earlier that day and I ignored her. She told me she loved me, and I didn’t respond. Hours later, a car went through a red light and both my mom and stepdad were killed instantly. I was never able to tell her I loved her again. Even if our relationship was strained, I did love her.
Regret is a horrible way to live.
What’s worse is that I know he’s right when he says he still would have had me if he’d known. That splinters the already broken pieces of my heart.
“I can’t.” I barely breathe the words, shoving away from the table as my shoulders shake.
“I have to go, Madox.” I try to utter an apology as I stand on shaky legs.
“Let me-”
“No,” I say and push him away. “No, Madox. I need to be alone. I need to be okay with being alone. Please, please. I need to be alone right now.”
Chapter 11
Madox
The Nine of Swords is another card that pierces through your heart. But the swords you envision above you will shortly fall, and you can only crane your head to watch and wait.
Give her time. Trish’s advice is the same as Brett’s. It’s the same as Ryan’s. Everyone keeps telling me to give her time. Don’t they know time doesn’t heal pain? She needs someone to take it away.
Cards of Love: Three of Swords Page 7
