by Roxy Reid
Maximilian frowns. “Well, which is it?”
“Both,” Max says. “I seem to be doing okay so far.”
Barbara scoffs. Loudly. Max looks at his mother, the smile fading from his face. “Got something to say, Mother?”
She waves him away with one manicured hand. “Just marveling at how much you’ve changed in such a short amount of time,” she says coldly. “You never used to be so … romantically inclined.”
“Well, what can I say?” Max’s arm travels from the back of my chair to my shoulders. He pulls me in towards him gently. “Ella brings out the best in me.” He plants a kiss on my temple, and the spot tingles.
“Please,” Kevin mutters sardonically.
Mrs. Banks’ eyes snap to her younger son. “Eat your vegetables,” she commands in the same tone with which one would address an insolent five-year-old.
“Leave him alone, Mom,” Max interjects. “At least he’s eating.”
“I love being talked about like I’m not here,” Kevin snaps.
Lucy’s lovely face is pinched with concern. She puts a gentle hand on her brother’s arm. “We’re just concerned about you, darling.”
Kevin pulls his arm away from her touch. “Well, don’t be.”
Mrs. Banks rolls her eyes. “For god’s sake, Kevin. This act has gone on long enough. You’ve been back for years now. Grow up.”
Kevin’s chair scrapes against the hardwood floor as he stands up abruptly, startling Lucy, who lets out a short screech. At the same time, Max leans towards his mother, his arm extending across me, pushing me against the back of my chair. “Mom. Stop,” he warns in a low voice.
Maximilian’s fists come down on the table with such force the entire thing shakes. The room is shocked into silence. He glares up at his youngest son, his eyes glittering with rage. “Sit. Down,” he orders menacingly.
Kevin is unfazed. “Jesus,” he says, shaking his head. “I think Max’s fiancée is the only sane person at this table.”
Mrs. Banks lets out a short bark of a laugh. “Please. She’s nothing but a gold-digging harlot from the dregs of this country. And a drunk to boot,” she adds with a sniff, glancing once again at my refilled glass of wine.
“Mother,” Max yelps, horrified. “You’re out of line. Apologize to my fiancée at once.”
“I will not,” Mrs. Banks replies sternly. “I cannot go along with this ridiculous charade any longer. I haven’t believed a word either of you have said since you sat down. I don’t know what’s really going on here but I will not be humiliated in front of my peers tomorrow. I won’t have it!”
“Enough!” Max roars. “Kevin, sit down.” For once, Kevin listens, and sits down heavily in his seat. “Now, as for the rest of you,” Max continues, glaring at each of his parents pointedly. “If you utter one more cruel thing about Ella, I swear to god I will walk out of this house immediately and we will elope as far away as we possibly can. At this point you have embarrassed me, insulted my fiancée and completely ruined my rehearsal dinner. I only plan to get married once, and I will not have the experience spoiled by my entitled, rude and, frankly, childish family. Am I making myself perfectly clear?”
There’s a moment of perfect silence. And then Mrs. Banks stands, slowly, places her napkin on her plate, and leaves the room, her limbs ramrod stiff. I stare at my half-empty plate, barely acknowledging the complete disappearance of my appetite.
The rest of the table continues to eat in silence, except for Kevin, whose hand is clamped so tightly around his glass I’m surprised it hasn’t cracked. Max doesn’t look at me, but his jaw is clenched, a vein throbbing there each time he chews.
Lucy places a hand on my arm and offers me a warm smile. She gestures for me to lean in, so she can whisper in my ear. “If my mother is right,” she says, “and you are a gold-digging whore, I will make sure you never work on the east coast again. I will ruin you.” She pulls away, flashing another dazzling smile before returning to her own meal.
I glance at Max. I nudge him slightly as I raise my arm and, forcibly blinking back tears, I tug on my left ear.
6
Max
By the time we arrive back at the Waterford building, I am completely convinced that Ella is going to call this whole thing off. That becoming debt-free is not worth being a part of my crazy family for a whole year, that she can’t stand being in my presence for one more minute. At this point, I honestly can’t blame her if she does feel that way, but I can’t tell for sure because she hasn’t said a word since we left the Hampton house. She has just been staring out the window, not looking at me—thankfully not crying, which is both a relief and slightly concerning.
I help her out of the town car and bid Terrence, my driver, a good night, confirming plans to pick us back up again at eleven o’clock sharp tomorrow morning. I made all the necessary phone calls in the car, arranging for the makeup and hair artists to come to our penthouse, not the Hampton house. We will get ready at home and only show up to actually get married, minimizing the time spent with my family as much as possible.
The whole night went worse than I could have possibly imagined. My parents are tough, but I have never seen them be so outright cruel to somebody to their face. After my conversation with Father last week, I was under the impression that it didn’t matter so much who I married as long as it happens before I turn thirty, to keep the company in the family. I thought they would be relieved, not chagrined, even if Ella is a PA from Rhode Island. Who cares where she’s from anyway? She is smart, educated and an overall nice girl. Perhaps my mother would prefer I marry a willowy blonde bimbo she can be jealous of, but even if this were a real marriage I wouldn’t want that in a partner.
Not that it matters, of course, I remind myself quickly. Ella isn’t really my partner, after all.
The penthouse is dark save for one light above the kitchen island. I help Ella out of her coat and take her by the arm when she tries to make a beeline for her room. Gently, I place a hand on her cheek and try to get her to meet my eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I say quietly. “I’m truly shocked. Mortified, even. I don’t know what else to say.”
She smiles weakly and pulls away from my touch, going to sit on one of the barstools in the kitchen. “Barkeep,” she calls, “hit me.”
I can’t help but smile as I make my way towards the bar. “What would you like, my lady?” I ask gallantly, picking through the various spirits in my cabinet.
“I’m told you make a mean Manhattan,” she replies, a hint of a smile curling her full bottom lip. “Make it a double, please, sir.”
I return the grin as I pull out the necessary ingredients. “Always, madam.”
She makes a face. “Ugh. Madam.”
“Not a fan?” I ask, frowning playfully.
She shakes her head. “It feels too old. I’m only twenty-five.” She kicks off her heels and starts rubbing stockinged feet. “Those shoes were killing me. I think your mom picked them out on purpose.”
That wipes the smile from my face. I finish off her drink and slide it across the counter to her. As she takes a grateful sip, I watch her face closely. Her light brown eyes glow amber in the dim light, and the light spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose is emphasized. Bracing my hands on the counter, I breathe a heavy sigh. “Listen, Ella—”
She holds up a hand to stop me. “You don’t have to apologize again. I get it.”
“Actually, I was going to offer you an out.” When she doesn’t reply, I press on. “If you don’t want to go through with this … we can call everything off. We can tear up the prenup. Just say the word. I won’t blame you,” I add bitterly.
She frowns. “But the company …”
“Forget about the company,” I say, waving it away. “We’ll figure out a way to save it. Or I’ll marry some blonde bimbo my mom will be jealous of.”
Ella laughs at that, and then places her head on the counter with a groan. “She would prefer a blonde bimbo, wouldn’t she?”
>
“Probably. It’s so weird. I actually thought she’d love you. My mom’s a pretty hard-core feminist, believe it or not. You’re a strong, independent woman, right?”
She scoffs. “I thought so.”
“Anyway,” I continue, not wanting to talk about my mother anymore. “I’m serious. This is my world, Ella. If you want out, just say it. You have a choice.”
Ella drinks her martini in silence for a few moments, and I can see the cogs turning in her mind. If she says she’s out, it’s fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll marry the blonde bimbo who threatens my mother and inherit Banks Industries as planned, and I’ll hire a new PA, preferably one considerably less attractive than Ella so that this never happens again. However …
Part of me is hoping beyond hope that she’ll stick with it. I don’t even know why. Maybe it’s because Ella has been a pretty good partner through this already. Even I can admit the whole thing is ridiculous and contrived, but she has held herself so strongly though it all, which in turn has kept me relatively calm, too. She’s a roll-with-the-punches kind of gal, and it’s incredibly attractive.
Focus, Max. This is all temporary. Short-term. This girl drives you crazy, remember? And not in the good way.
Finally, she finishes her drink and sighs. “I need the money,” she says, her cheeks turning pink. “It fucking sucks to admit that. But the bills have been crushing us for years.”
I reach across the counter and place a hand over hers. After a moment, she places her other hand on top of mine. “I have a new condition, though,” she says, smiling up at me. “No more dinners with your family.”
“Done.”
I begin making her another drink, and make one for myself while I’m at it, but she stops me. “Thanks, but I think I’m gonna hit the hay. Gotta be nice and fresh for the big day tomorrow,” she adds with mock enthusiasm.
As she gets up from the stool and gathers up her discarded shoes, I get a sudden impulse and decide to run with it. “Hey, Ella?” I call after her. She turns back towards me. “You want to go for a walk?”
A range of emotions cross her face. “I don’t think so, Max. I’m tired.”
“Just a short one,” I plead. “I’m craving some fresh air, and need to clear my head. Keep me company?”
She sighs, and then turns back towards her room. My stomach sinks, but then she says, “Just let me grab my boots.”
I book it to the closet to get our coats, seething with a newly formed nervous energy. I then spend the next several seconds trying to squash that feeling, considering I haven’t felt that way since I was a teenager going out on my first ever date.
Don’t be stupid, Max. What am I doing?
We emerge into the crisp night air a few minutes later, and I instantly feel better. We pause outside the building entrance so that Ella can do up the last few buttons on her coat, since the evening is a little cooler than I would have anticipated for April. “All right,” she says, buttons done. “I came out here on one condition.”
I laugh. “You and your conditions.”
“I get to decide where we go,” she replies with a proud grin.
I take her hand and tuck it into the crook of my arm. “Lead the way.”
To my surprise, Ella takes me to a subway station. I raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything as I buy us a couple of metro passes and follow her underground. I don’t dare tell her I’ve never actually been on the subway before, but my cover is blown when I can’t figure out how to get through the damn fare gate. She laughs and laughs, and shows me exactly how to swipe my card to get through.
“You’ve never been down here before, have you?” she asks, eyes creased with mirth.
“Ha-ha,” I shoot back, though I can’t help but smile back. “You got me.”
She shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. It’s exciting for me, actually. I get to show you a side of New York you haven’t seen.”
As we wait on the platform for our train, a small group of girls recognize me and ask for a picture. Ella graciously takes it for them, and then says something to them in Spanish. Delighted, the girls chat with her in their native tongue for a few minutes while I look on in what can only be described as awe. Ella Diaz, the people’s princess. I smile to myself, and then shake the thoughts out of my head. Being friends isn’t in the contract, she said once, and she was right. Eye on the prize, Max.
The girls say goodbye and Ella makes her way back to me, pausing when she sees the look on my face. “What?” she asks.
I shrug. “That was cool of you.”
“What was?”
“Taking the picture. Chatting with them.”
She looks confused. “It’s not a big deal. They were sweet. They wanted to know how I know you,” she adds with a grin. “I told them I’m your secretary. Guess not everyone has seen the news.”
“Well, that’s good to hear.” I frown. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”
She laughs. “I know what you meant. Honestly the longer I can go without being recognized, the better.”
The train arrives and Ella finds us a seat at the very front of the car, so we can see the tracks ahead. “Where are you taking me?” I ask, perching nervously on the edge of my seat. It’s late, so the train isn’t overly crowded, but there’s enough people around to overhear our conversation.
Ella smiles mischievously. “Patience, grasshopper,” she says.
We get off the train at 157 Street Station and climb the stairs back out into the open air. “Where are we?” I ask, not recognizing my surroundings. I may have lived in New York all my life, but I definitely haven’t explored every neighborhood, not by a long shot.
Ella takes my arm as we set off down the street. “Welcome to Washington Heights,” she replies with a smile. “My mom used to teach at the Columbia Department of Psychiatry not too far from here. Sometimes when she traveled in for classes, she would take me with her.”
“So you spent a lot of time here?” I ask.
She nods. “I wanted to live here when I was a kid. I loved it here. But my family could never afford it. The Heights is no Upper East Side, but it’s still Manhattan.”
I nod, but I personally I don’t see the appeal. It’s definitely not the roughest-looking neighborhood, but I still instinctively pull Ella a little closer to me.
We stroll for a few minutes in silence. I can’t tell what Ella is thinking—I almost never can—but I imagine now that she’s had a taste of my world, she wants to show me hers. Why, I’m not certain. I already have a fairly good idea where she’s coming from in terms of her standing with my family. Does she want me to understand her better, in general? I’m a little surprised to realize that I think I want that, too. Something about Ella fascinates me. Maybe it’s just because she is so different from any other girl I’ve associated myself with, but if she wants to take me to wonderland, I’ll gladly follow her down the rabbit hole.
She stops, suddenly, outside a six-story red-brick building. It’s nondescript but evidently a rather modern build, likely put up within the past ten years. She stares at it fondly, and I wait for her to explain. “This is the Community Health Academy of the Heights,” she says finally. “Built in 2013 for forty-four million dollars.”
I whistle, gazing up at the building myself. Nothing groundbreaking in its design. It doesn’t really look like a school to me, but I keep that to myself.
As though reading my mind, Ella says, “I know it’s nothing special from the outside, but … Prior to its construction, the CHAH operated in two separate buildings some three blocks apart,” she continues. “Both were old and rundown. They made it work, but they really needed something bigger and better. My mom had a few friends who went there when the neighborhood was a lot less safe than it is now. One of them got jumped one day in between classes.”
“Jesus,” I say quietly.
“When I heard they were constructing a new building for them, I took a weekend trip up to see it,” Ella continues. “I was nineteen and just sta
rted a generic BA in Rhode Island. I had no clue what I was doing or what I wanted. But when I saw this—” She gestures to the building, “It was like a lightbulb went off. This place is run by a community organization that’s been serving economically disadvantaged people since the fifties, and it took them until 2013 to get the facility they deserved. I suddenly wanted so badly to be a part of making that happen for other, similar organizations. I wanted it so badly it hurt. So I dropped out of the BA and applied for RISD in Architecture, thinking that was the best way to do it. I was an idiot,” she adds, toeing at the ground with her boot.
I shove my hands in my pockets and rock back on my heels. “You’re not an idiot,” I say stupidly. “Who’s to say you can’t still do something like this?”
“Because I’m living in a penthouse on the Upper East Side and marrying a wealthy business tycoon?” she blurts out. She throws up her arms helplessly. “No one in this neighborhood will take me seriously again.”
“You could tell them what you just told me,” I point out. “You also weren’t born with a silver spoon in your mouth.”
“Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter,” she cries. “I’m selling out. I’m marrying someone I barely know for money. That’s the long and the short of it. How can I ever help build communities in need when I married into the very one percent that screwed them over to begin with?”
I hold up a hand in defense. “Banks Industries has never done business in Washington Heights,” I point out.
“That’s not the point,” she says. “It’s not even Banks Industries specifically, it’s all the conglomerate companies buying up New York block by block and turning it into a playground for the rich. That’s not what I want to do, that’s not what I want to be a part of. I want to improve what’s already here, for the people—not tear it down to build what’s going to bring in more money for the already wealthy.”
“You’re doing this for your family,” I remind her gently, taking her by the hand. “For your kick-ass, cancer-beating mom and your brother who served his country. You’re still working for the people, even if it’s just your people. For now,” I add, seeing despair cross her face again. “And you’re helping me out to boot, which, you know. Is besides the point. But you’re still helping.”
