by Roxy Reid
I’m running out of time to break the news to my family. They don’t preoccupy themselves with New York gossip, but it’s bound to reach them eventually with all the coverage we’ve been getting. I already have about two dozen text messages from Candice asking what the hell is going on, and I haven’t had the energy to reply to any of them.
So, here I am. It’s Thursday. The wedding is tomorrow. I managed to escape the chaos for fifteen minutes to take a shower at the penthouse before I have to get ready for tonight’s rehearsal dinner. I stall for as long as I can, standing in the shower until the hot water starts to run out and my skin is all pruny. My manicure from yesterday will be ruined, but I don’t care.
I hear my phone ring as I finally step out of the shower, and hurry to wrap towels around myself as I answer it. “Hello?”
“Buenos días, mija.” Shit.
I quickly pad down the hall to my room, shutting the door behind me. Max is out, but I’m not taking any chances. “Hi, Mom,” I reply with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. “How are you?”
“Well, I am curious,” she says. “I don’t hear from you in days and then I see something very interesting on the news.”
“The news, huh?” Why the fuck is the local Rhode Island news reporting this crap? Is there nothing else going on over there?
“I see a rich white man and his family walking down the street, the street all crazy with people, and then I see—why, it’s my mija, dressed all fancy, wearing sunglasses like a famous person!”
“I was going to call you,” I say quickly, cradling my phone between my ear and my shoulder as I reach for my clothes. “It’s just been so hectic.”
“Too hectic to tell your own mother you’re getting married?” Her voice is steadily increasing in volume. “What is going on, Consuella? This isn’t like you.”
“I’m sorry.” I want to kick myself. I want to cry. I want to be anywhere other than this room, on this phone call, in this life. “I’m so sorry, Mama.”
She must have heard the pain in my voice, because she stops screeching. “Tell me what is going on, mija,” she pleads in a motherly tone that instantly brings tears to my eyes. “Are you all right? Has this man taken you in against your will?”
“No,” I gasp out, blinking furiously. “Not really. It’s very complicated.”
“Are you pregnant?”
I nearly drop my phone. “No!”
“It’s a legitimate question, Consuella.”
I hear the front door open and an annoyed meow from Mr. Frodo. “Ella?” It’s Max, home to whisk me away.
“Mama, I have to go,” I say, pulling on the dress I’ve been assigned to wear tonight. “I’m sorry, I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
“Well am I at least invited to the wedding?” she demands before I can hang up. “And José?”
“Of course, Mama,” I tell her quickly. “I’ll text you the details.” I hang up before she can say any more. Dealing with Jose is going to be a whole other thing. My brother never liked any of my boyfriends growing up, and I doubt Max will be an exception.
Max appears in the doorway just as I’m pulling my thigh-high stockings over my knees. “Hey there, wifey,” he says, eyes creased with mirth as he takes in my legs appreciatively.
“Do you mind?” I shriek, gesturing madly for him to get the fuck out.
He moves back into the hallway, speaking from around the door frame. “Ready to go?” he asks.
“Just about.” Stockings done, I glance at myself in the mirror for final inspection. A few pieces of my hair are wet from escaping the shower cap, but other than that I look somewhat presentable. “Can you zip me up?”
“You mean I may enter, my lady?” he replies sardonically. He must have felt my fury from out there, because he enters without waiting for a reply and comes up behind me. He zips my dress up slowly, giving me a wink in the mirror. “You look great,” he says.
I could tell him that he does too, and it would be the truth. He’s wearing a form-fitting baby blue button-up and his hair is styled just so, his face freshly shaven. Instead, I huff and move away from him, gathering up my purse and keys. “Let’s get this over with,” I mutter.
He catches me by the elbow and steers me around to face him. “Are you all right?” he asks. Could that be genuine concern on his face?
I shrug him off me, nodding. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Because—”
“Max,” I cut him off sharply, “I’ve barely eaten today, I haven’t slept, I have a headache, and I just had to endure a call from my mother who, rightly so, is wondering what the hell is going on. And I now have to plaster a smile on my face and go sit across from your fucking parents and play the good little wife all night. So, please: do not ask me if I’m all right.”
I breeze by him out of my room and down the hall, stopping just long enough to give Mr. Frodo his dinner. Max follows me more slowly and grabs our coats from the front hall closet. He helps me into mine wordlessly, and I follow him into the elevator. We ride down in silence, get into the town car in silence, and arrive at the Banks’ Hampton house in silence.
I go to unbuckle my seatbelt, but Max stops me with a gentle hand on my arm. “Breathe,” he says quietly. “I’m not going to lie to you. My parents are tough, as you know. This won’t be easy. I’ll do my best to divert their attention. If at any point you’ve had enough, though, let me know, and we’ll bail.”
Too surprised to remember to leave my guard up, a flash him a relieved smile. “Thanks,” I say sincerely. “How will I tell you though?”
“We can have a signal,” he suggests. “If I see you pull your left ear, I’ll commence Operation Evacuate.”
I laugh. After almost a solid week of stress, it’s an immense relief to genuinely laugh. “Sounds good,” I choke out, pleased when I see he’s chuckling as well.
He helps me out of the car and takes my arm as we walk to the front door. I’ve never been to the Hamptons before, but I’ve heard stories that don’t quite do the area justice. The Banks’ Hampton House is more like a manor: a colonial-style, imposing compound of brick and marble. Beyond the house, I can hear the faint sound of the ocean in the distance, complete with crashing waves and seabirds.
A butler answers the door when Max rings the pealing doorbell, because of course. As we cross the massive foyer and have our coats taken from us, I feel very much like Pinocchio being swallowed by the whale. Remembering what Max told me, I take a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm the nerves raging about in my stomach. Max approaches me, sliding a hand gently over the small of my back. “Ready?” he whispers.
I shake my head. “Yes,” I lie.
He smiles and takes my hand and, tucking it into the crook of his elbow, leads me to the parlor.
Half a dozen people are planted about the room in a purposeful looking tableau, all dressed to the nines. I recognize Max’s parents, of course. His father stands by the bar pouring a few drinks, and his mother is seated on a settee next to a striking girl with bright red hair who looks to be in her late teens. A couple of elderly, expensive-looking people who must be Max’s grandparents each sit in high-backed armchairs next to a stunning grand piano, sipping cocktails.
The last person in the room I peg immediately as Max’s brother, Kevin. He stands alone in the corner of the room reading a book and doesn’t look up when we walk in, but just with one glance I can see the close resemblance he bears to Max.
The red-haired girl stands when we walk in and glides to Max, kissing each of his cheeks. “Lovely to see you,” she says sweetly, and then flashes me a warm smile. “You must be Ella. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” Before I can respond, she hugs me. She smells like cinnamon and cloves, and I feel a bit more at ease. At least one person in Max’s family is nice.
“This is my sister Lucy,” Max explains with a grin. “The star of the family.”
“Oh, stop,” Lucy chides, giving Max a playful smack on the arm. She looks back to
me and smiles again. “I’ll introduce you to everyone.
“You know my father, of course. And my mother, Barbara, have you met?”
“Yes, briefly,” I reply, plastering that smile onto my face. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Banks.”
Barbara Banks gazes up at me and doesn’t move from her seat, but she does extend a hand towards me. I shake it lightly, taking care to only grasp her fingers as Max instructed. “Welcome, dear,” Mrs. Banks says. “These are my parents, Cora and Michael van Boven.”
I shake hands with each of the elderly folks, who seem pleasant enough, if a bit spaced out.
“And that’s Kevin, back there,” Max interjects, nodding in his brother’s direction. “Hey, buddy.”
Kevin doesn’t move a muscle, keeping his eyes firmly trained on his book. “He’s rather engrossed at the moment,” Lucy offers apologetically. I smile in response, not sure what else to say. If Kevin’s experience in the army was anything like José’s, I can understand why he would rather lose himself in novels than participate in daily life.
The butler enters the parlor and stands at attention. “Dinner is served, ma’am,” he says cordially, addressing Mrs. Banks.
There’s a flurry of motion as everyone gets up and follows her out of the room, with Max and myself taking up the rear. I glance over my shoulder, noting that Kevin still has not moved. “Is he okay?” I whisper to Max.
Max looks back as well and sighs. “Like I said, he … hasn’t been the same.”
“Poor guy.” I make a mental note to try at some point in the next year to introduce Kevin to José. Maybe they can bond, or at least sit in silence together.
Max grins down at me. “Don’t let him hear you say that,” he says ruefully. “He hates sympathy.”
The dining room is dimly lit and resplendent, taken up almost entirely by a massive mahogany table with matching chairs. Maximilian takes one head of the table with Barbara on his right, and Max takes the other head, with me on his right. Thankfully, Lucy sits on my other side, the light from the chandelier above glistening in the jewels around her neck.
The whole thing feels like something out of Downton Abbey. Waiters wearing coats with tails serve us appetizers from shiny silver platters and pour expensive wine into crystal goblets. The conversation is light and deliberate, with talk about recent weather patterns and wedding preparations. Apparently everything is going smoothly, and the sun is supposed to shine tomorrow. How perfect for an outdoor wedding.
At least the food is fucking delicious. I do my best not to wolf it down, but rather cut tiny bites and chew modestly. Sophie gave me a crash course in fine dining, including how to eat and when, and which utensils to use for which course. I don’t remember much of it honestly, but I think I’m doing okay so far, mostly following Lucy’s lead. Max’s sister might be my saving grace in all of this. She seems to be taking me under her wing, and I am going to let her. I’ll need an ally if I’m going to survive this family for a whole year.
The room goes silent for a moment when Kevin enters the room, taking his place at the table on the other side of Lucy. Eager to break the silence for his sake, I grapple for something to say. “The crab cakes are delicious, Mrs. Banks,” I choke out, hoping that offering her my compliments is appropriate even though I’m ninety-nine percent certain she didn’t make them herself.
Evidently, I’m right. Mrs. Banks offers me a tight smile. “Thank you, dear,” she says cordially. “I’ll be sure to let Mrs. Rice know they were a success.”
“So,” Maximilian barks, lacing his fingers together beneath his chin. “How did you two lovebirds meet?”
“At a gallery opening,” Max replies before I can say anything. “As I told you, Father.”
“Didn’t know you attend gallery openings,” Mr. Banks retorts with a humorless smile. “Whose was it?”
“My best friend Candice’s,” I cut in. “She’s a fantastic artist. It was her first show.”
Mr. Banks’ eyes shoot up. “Is that so?” he asks. “How did you hear about it, Max?”
“It was in a neighborhood I’m looking at developing,” Max replies. This surprises me, but I do my best to keep it off my face. “In SoHo. It has a lot of potential. I figured I should get to know the area. Then I met Ella, and … well, here we are.”
Maximilian doesn’t look convinced. “Well. I’d love to see some of the artists’ work. It must be pretty special.”
“We’re going to commission her to paint something for our penthouse,” I say breezily. “It’s symbolic.”
“Of course,” Lucy jumps in eagerly. “What a lovely idea.”
“Where did you grow up, Ella?” Mrs. Banks asks in a rather jarring change of subject.
Five pairs of eyes turn to me. Kevin has been staring at the table the entire time. I swallow. “I was born in Puerto Rico,” I explain casually. “My family moved to Rhode Island when my brother and I were four, and I lived there until I moved to New York last week.”
“Where in Rhode Island did you live?” Lucy asks.
“We moved around a lot,” I admit. “But for the past seven years or so my family has lived in Central Falls.”
Barbara frowns politely. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with it.”
I consider telling them all that Central Falls is currently the poorest city in Rhode Island, just to see the looks on their faces, but decide against it, wanting to keep the peace for as long as possible. “It’s beautiful. It has a lot of history.”
“And what do your parents do?” Maximilian asks.
I take a sip of wine before answering. “My mother was a psychiatry professor here in New York, actually. She would commute for classes. She, ah … was diagnosed with cancer when I was fifteen and stopped working shortly after that.”
“I’m so sorry,” Lucy gasps, laying a sympathetic hand on my arm.
I offer her a grateful smile. “Thank you. She’s been in remission for about a year now, so we’re very lucky.”
Maximilian presses on. “And your father?”
“I haven’t spoken to him in over ten years,” I reply honestly. “So I’m not sure. He was an electrician, when I knew him.”
“I see.” Maximilian takes a bite of crab cake, and a slightly awkward pause follows suit.
Scrambling for something to say, I add, “My brother José is actually a veteran.” This captures attention around the table. “He served in Afghanistan for several years.” Taking a chance, I look at Maximilian hopefully. “I actually meant to ask about the accessibility of the backyard here.”
Maximilian straightens in his seat, a strange smile on his face. “Accessibility seems to be a key concern of yours, Ella.”
My cheeks are warming up, but I press on. “My brother is in a wheelchair, you see. So it’s … often on my mind. It’s funny how you don’t really notice things like that until it’s a constant in your life. It’s important to me that he can access the wedding site easily.” I can feel Max’s surprised gaze on me, but I don’t dare look at him.
Maximilian takes a sip of his wine. “Your brother, was he … injured in the line of duty?”
“Yes, sir. He’s a double amputee.”
“I see. Well, I will certainly have Sophia ensure the yard is accessible for your brother. Don’t you worry about that.”
I smile in relief. “Thank you, sir.”
“Does your brother have a wife?”
The table goes silent. It’s a moment before I realize it was Kevin that spoke. I look sidelong at him. He hasn’t moved other than to stiffen up even more.
“No,” I reply quietly. “He’s never been married.”
The tension is broken by the arrival of the main course, which looks just as mouth-watering as the appetizer: filet mignon with blue cheese and root vegetables. Everyone digs in in relative silence, probably still a little startled by Kevin’s sudden outburst. Max gently nudges me with his elbow and leans down to whisper in my ear. “Doing all right?”
I sho
ot him a small smile. “So far, so good.”
The small talk resumes as more delicious bites are taken. The butler appears next to me and offers me more wine, given that I have drained my first glass.
“That won’t be necessary, Wilson,” Mrs. Banks interjects, stopping him before he can pour. “It’s a big day tomorrow and I’m sure Ella will want to feel nice and fresh in the morning.”
The butler starts to move away. “Actually,” I say, stopping him in his tracks. “I would like another glass, please. Thank you, Mr. Wilson.” I can feel Barbara’s gaze boring into my skull from her place across the table, but I don’t dare meet her gaze. Glass poured, I thank the butler and take a grateful sip, starting slightly when Max squeezes my knee, hard, under the table. So maybe that was strike one. But if I let Barbara Banks bully me now I know I’ll be in for a miserable twelve months. My best bet is to stand my ground while remaining pleasant and respectful. The last thing I want to do is enrage the monster-in-law, but I’m no pushover, either.
“So!” Lucy exclaims, clapping her hands together. “Max. Tell us: how did you propose?”
Max sits back in his chair, slinging a casual arm over the back of mine. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and smiles dazzlingly at his sister. “I attached the ring to her cat’s collar,” he says warmly. “It took forever for her to notice. I kept trying to divert her attention to the cat—I tried for hours! Finally I just picked him up, got on one knee and held him up towards her until she couldn’t miss it. Then she cried and said yes and … well.” He finishes off with a wink. My cheeks grow hot and I take another quick sip of wine.
Lucy lets out a peal of bell-like laughter. “That’s so adorable!”
“Aren’t you allergic to cats?” Maximilian asks skeptically.
“He’s been taking Reactine,” I reply at the same time that Max says, “He’s hypoallergenic.”
