Chapter 6 Madelina
Driving in Manhattan is a death sentence.
Back when I was a kid, my father would always use a car service to take us places. So I never truly comprehended how fortunate we were until I first drove in the city and realized it was a whole other beast.
Patience doesn’t exist, nor does respect for the rules. Drivers blast their horns at any given moment, which makes zero sense when you’re stuck in traffic with nowhere to go. It isn’t just a polite honk either; more like a get the hell out of my way or I’m going to run into your ass honk.
Before ending things with Myles, and in the midst of all the wedding planning, his parents gifted me a BMW. It’s so not my style. Sporty, with a hefty price tag, which didn’t impress me. I miss my little red Volkswagen, which I fondly named Sabrina.
I accepted the present to lessen the worries in my life. Myles’s mother was tiresome, and between her helicopter parenting of her grown son and her obsessive need to plan our entire wedding to her standards, I’m grateful to be rid of her as my mother-in-law.
The car was only the beginning. If we’d had kids, it would have been ten times worse. She already had me picking out nursery patterns for all the grandchildren I was to bear.
It didn’t feel right to keep such an extravagant gift after everything that happened, so I left the BMW at Myles’s parents’ place along with the keys.
I take a cab to JFK to hire a car, then head onto the interstate toward Cinnamon Springs. The open road gives me too much time to think, so I call every single person I know to keep me company, only for no one to pick up.
Eva’s number goes to voicemail, along with Aston’s. Not even my own mother picks up. Granted, she told me yesterday she was traveling with minimal to no coverage.
Billie is the only one to answer her phone. “You’d better be calling me because you’re on your way.”
I smile, relieved to hear a familiar voice. “Yes, I’m driving now. Is it weird that I feel all sick inside like I’m going on a bad date or something?”
“A bad date with Cinnamon Springs?” Billie questions in a relaxed tone. “Not possible. Cinnamon Springs is the perfect date. The gentleman who opens the door at the restaurant.”
“And pulls your chair out at the table,” I add with a grin.
“Then orders you an expensive bottle of wine before leaning over and telling you how breathtaking you look.”
I sigh, followed by, “To casually run his thumb on your bottom lip.”
We both laugh in unison as Billie says, “Did we just write a romance novel?”
“Maybe.” We both love to read, and quite often we send each other book recs or buddy-read. “So, dinner tonight?”
“Yes, a full catch-up, please. I need a whole breakdown of Europe and all the tea. Let me live vicariously through you.”
If only Billie knew just how uneventful my trip was.
Tonight I will tell her everything, which is basically a whole lot of nothing.
During my time away, I didn’t want to overload her with my travel stories since I knew she was grieving the loss of her mother.
I considered her a close friend, and losing her mom the night before my supposed wedding to Myles was a hard time.
It wasn’t just the passing itself, but years of Billie being the carer for her sick mom.
“I’m warning you, you’ll be incredibly disappointed.”
“What?” She raises her voice, pretending to be shocked. “No hot French men who made your panties drop?”
“How can I say this nicely? Plenty of panty droppers, but my head wasn’t in it.” I trail off, ignoring my shallow breathing. “Anyways, see you soon.”
We end the call, and my thoughts rewind to my time in Europe. There were men everywhere, and men whom I normally would drool over. But the truth is, my confidence was shot, and nothing felt natural. They flirted, I flirted back, but nothing ignited the flame inside of me.
And who would want a runaway bride anyway?
I am damaged goods. The type you return for a refund.
The roads become wider and houses farther and fewer between.
In the distance, I begin to see the outline of the mountains.
I open the window, allowing the warm summer breeze to caress my face as the scent of wild grass lingers in the air.
A favorite song of mine, “Unwritten,” plays over the speaker, and without thinking, I belt out the lyrics as if my life depends on it.
The trees become closer, and the road begins to wind, then the familiar outskirts of Cinnamon Springs are visible in the distance.
My first port of call is my house—or should I say, my father’s house, since my parents are in the middle of a nasty divorce. I want to grab a few things since I’m staying at Eva’s place.
The Welcome to Cinnamon Springs sign is just ahead, prompting me to slow down. As I drive down Wafer Way, a popular street for shopping, the familiar stores are just as I remember. The town doesn’t have much, but it does have plenty of boutique stores, which tourists love.
People stroll along the pavement, some by themselves and others in groups. It feels like I was here a lifetime ago, yet in the same breath, it feels like I never left.
A sudden, blaring engine roar shatters my thoughts, snapping me back to reality. I steal a glance in the rearview mirror to see a motorcycle tailgating, and the rider’s face is obscured behind a tinted visor. The douche is so far up my ass—if I brake suddenly, he’d be roadkill.
“Grow a pair!” I yell out the window, refraining from sticking up my finger as he speeds past me. “Honestly, the smallest dick ever.”
With my mood now sour, I veer a sharp right and head toward the Beaumont Manor.
The sun hangs high in the sky as I manoeuvre the car onto the gravel driveway, the crunch of stones beneath the tires marking my arrival.
I usually stop for a quick meal or at least coffee on the way, but today I opted to drive straight here to get it over and done with.
As I step out of the car, I stretch my limbs, feeling the warm summer breeze wrap around me like a long-lost friend, but something feels different.
The once-majestic home, where I spent my entire childhood, appears dull and unkempt.
Long vines spread across the stone, almost covering the wooden arched front door.
On closer inspection, the large windows are covered in cobwebs, like a haunted house from a movie.
I clutch my key tightly and step onto the porch to open the door.
With a forceful twist, I push it open as the hinges groan in protest.
Inside, heavy drapes shroud the windows and darkness surrounds me. The absence of light fills me with uncertainty.
“Hello?” I call out, only to hear my voice echo throughout the home.
My father usually keeps the housekeeper and gardener employed, but everything appears untouched.
I take my phone out of my pocket to call him, even though it’s been months.
No surprise, it rings out until I reach his voicemail.
“Dad, it’s me, Maddy. I’m back in Cinnamon Springs and at the manor.
Please give me a call when you get a chance. ”
I hang up the phone and dash up the creaking wooden stairs to my room that once felt like a refuge.
Everything is exactly as I left it, preserved like a time capsule.
The floral pink bedspread features delicate petals and a soft cotton texture.
My bookshelves stand proudly, filled with books I once loved to read—a whole set of Baby-Sitters Club and Judy Blume, which was my entire puberty phase.
The lingering scent of sage, rose, and lavender dances in the air, a remnant of a once-flickering candle that warmed the room.
A bittersweet smile crosses my lips, but it quickly fades as memories crash over me like cold waves.
I remember the nights I would lock my bedroom door, then run and hide beneath my covers because my parents would raise their voices.
My father would stumble through the house with the pungent smell of alcohol trailing behind him, while my mother would desperately try to guide him to bed.
It always escalated into a sputter of hurtful words.
And then, just as abruptly, silence would blanket our home, a deceptive calm that promised a new day would erase it all.
The secrets, lies, and deceit would all come out eventually.
And they did, all because of me.
My hand slips into my pocket to retrieve my phone. Instinctively, I dial Mom’s number, hoping she’ll pick up.
“Madelina?” Mom answers softly, the familiar voice only slightly calming my racing thoughts.
“Mom, I’m at the manor.”
A small silence stretches between us.
“Oh sweetheart. It’s a lot, I know.”
I take it all in again, the life we built here and how it shaped the path we followed to this day, but I can’t stop thinking about all the years Mom sacrificed her happiness for us. Stayed in a loveless marriage for her children.
“Why did you stay?” I ask in a whisper.
“It wasn’t always bad,” she admits with a sigh. “What your father and I had at the beginning was amazing.”
“But then he changed…”
“He did.”
“And then you had me,” I say.
“Yes. You were a surprise, but a good one.” Mom releases a soft laugh, then follows with, “What’s on your mind, honey?”
My eyes wander around the room again. “I hate seeing this house so…”
“Empty?”
“Yeah,” I lie, but the truth is, the past crept up on me and buried emotions are running rampant. To see this place alive again would be a dream. But some things are unattainable. My family lived a charade and all the moments I thought were happy memories were just facade to cover the truth.
“Mom, I should go. I came here to grab some things, then I’m staying at Eva’s.”
“Okay, sweetheart. I love you. You know that, right?”
For the longest time, my mother was an unhappy woman who shadowed my father. To hear her express her love for me still surprises me to this day.
“I know. I love you too, Mom.”
The call ends and I shake my head, trying to cast off the heavy weight of those memories as I begin tossing extra clothes into my bag. I choose whatever I can find, knowing I’m one step closer to freedom and ready to escape the echoes that linger in these walls.
“Are you telling me that’s all that happened?” Billie is on her second margarita, and it’s showing. Her voice has gotten louder, not to mention her cheeks are now flushed. “You’re supposed to get over someone by getting under someone else.”
“I did let a guy plant a kiss on my neck. Does that count?”
Billie throws her head back laughing. “Since when are you so vanilla?”
I take a sip of the margarita, then say, “My standards have changed.”
“Oh, great. So now you’re even pickier?”
“Excuse me.” I grin, throwing a peanut at her. “You’re the pickiest person I know. You’ve overtaken Eva. Mind you, she picked my brother, so maybe her bar was never that high.”
“Yeah, sure. You have to say that since he’s your hot brother. Aston Beaumont is up there at the top.”
A groan escapes me. “Moving on. What’s happening with your love life?”
“A whole lot of nothing.” Billie sighs, then continues, “The store has been so busy. Between that and some babysitting jobs I’ve taken up at night to earn some extra cash, the only guy I hang out with is Elliot.”
“Right, Elliot. I keep forgetting he’s here.”
A server approaches our table, effortlessly balancing two margaritas on a tray. Billie appears to know her as they chat about a party they both attended. I listen, barely, opting to people-watch instead.
My gaze wanders lazily across the dimly lit bar. My attention is suddenly snagged as a figure strides in wearing a sleek motorcycle helmet that glints under the dim lighting.
As the door swings shut with a soft thud, the man brings his hands to his neck, fingers deftly searching for the latch beneath his chin.
I watch, engrossed, as he releases the strap and the helmet eases away, revealing his face.
Shadows play across his features, making it difficult to see, so I lean forward.
“Oh, Elliot is here,” Billie exclaims.
“That’s Elliot?”
Billie raises her hand, waving across the bar to welcome him to our table. “Elliot, over here.”
He catches sight of Billie, and a warm smile breaks across his face as he strides toward us. With every step he takes into the light, his features become more precise, more defined.
Elliot is nothing like the teenage boy I once knew. The last time our paths crossed, I was a kid with braces, and he was graduating from high school. Back then, he vanished into the world of college, and I haven’t seen him since.
His tall, lean stature reminds me a lot of Aston. Unlike my brother, who always wears boring suits, Elliot is wearing a leather jacket, a white tee, and denim jeans. His hair is a tousled explosion of ash-blond curls, wild and untamed, undoubtedly a product of the helmet he just removed.
As he reaches our table, his bright-blue eyes lock onto mine—a gaze that fills me with curiosity. Only now do I realize he doesn’t look much like Eva, and it would be hard to pick them out as siblings.
“When did he get so hot?” I murmur, then quickly slam my lips shut.
Fuck, why did I say that out loud? My eyes dart back and forth from Elliot to Billie, but neither one of them reacts.
“So, is this the infamous Madelina Beaumont?”
I angle my head slightly, my lips pressing tightly together in a clear display of irritation. “Infamous? So, we’re going there.”
“Elliot has a dry sense of humor,” Billie interjects, trying to keep the peace. “Once you spend enough time with him, you’ll start finding him funny.”
“Well, since we’ll be working together, I can’t wait to find out if that’s true,” I answer sarcastically. Then I put two and two together. Is he the jerk who tried to run me off the road? “Hold on a minute. Were you driving up my ass earlier today?”
“So demure,” he says with a crooked smirk. “I wasn’t up your ass. Trust me, you’d know if I was.”
Billie drinks her margarita in one go.
As for me, I’ve only had two, and even though things are slightly hazy, I can still respond with a bite. “So, you’re an ass man? True colors have now been revealed.”
Elliot dips his head, a sly grin following. “I’d love to stay and join in the girl talk, but I have to meet someone. Thought I’d just pop in to say hello. I’ll see you tomorrow. Six in the morning, sharp. You may want to lay off the margaritas—you’ll thank me later.”
And with a twist in his smile, he turns to leave the bar. I bet meet someone is code for hooking up with some town hussy.
Tomorrow will be the death of me, but I’m detemined to prove him wrong. There will be no need to thank him later.
I raise my hand to call the server back. “Miss, another round of margaritas, please?”
Billie laughs freely, throwing her head back only to come up for air moments later.
“To us single girls. Who needs a man, anyway?”
We raise our glasses with a clink, then the rest of the night becomes one giant blur.