Chapter 11 Elliot
Madelina’s complexion drains to a ghostly pale white as her gaze fixates on the man standing at the bar.
There’s nothing distinctive about him. He’s of average height, dressed in tailored black slacks and a burgundy shirt, and is chatting with the woman beside him.
They appear cozy, and judging by the way his hand rubs the small of her back, he’s fucking her.
Maybe it’s new, since she eagerly flicks her hair back like she’s trying to impress him still.
“Myles,” Madelina whispers, her voice barely audible.
It takes me longer than it should to connect her rising panic with the name that slips from her lips. My curiosity spikes as I observe the scene, wondering how this tense encounter will unfold after what happened today with Myles’s mother.
The woman was downright rude, and while I’m not one to save Madelina from her own personal woes, she didn’t deserve a public outburst from the scorned woman.
Myles recognizes Madelina, his body stiffening, and he, too, appears shocked to see her. He leans to whisper something in the ear of the woman next to him. She turns around, eyeing Madelina up and down, then whispers something back to him.
Madelina hasn’t moved at all, frozen with her shoulders tight and eyes wide with fear. I find my gaze darting back and forth between the two of them, but then they begin to walk toward our table, much to Madelina’s horror.
“Fuck. This can’t be happening. Not here,” she sputters. “What do I say? I’m not ready…” She bows her head, mumbling more swear words as if it will change the outcome. Her leg begins a restless tap beneath the table, only adding to the tension filling the air.
“Maddy,” Myles calls, his tone filled with disbelief. “It really is you?”
At an extremely slow pace, Madelina lifts her gaze, her eyes revealing a tumult of emotions. Her complexion is ashen, and I notice her lips begin to tremble.
I’m unsure what to say or do, so I remain quiet but watch closely.
“My-Myles,” she stutters, a fragile breath escaping her lips. “I, um, what brings you here?”
An incredulous stare spreads across Myles’s face.
He’s just as I would have pictured him; a man from an elite upbringing with more wealth than he knows what to do with.
Oddly, I never would have picked Madelina to marry a man like him.
She appears more carefree, with no interest in money despite growing up in a wealthy family.
“I’m in town to wrap up some business. Let’s just say things have been quite hectic since you packed your bags and left,” he responds, the edge in his voice sharpening.
Yet, as if sensing the gravity of the moment, he smooths the hostility away with a practiced ease. “Ah, how rude of me. This is Lara.”
Lara appears much older than Myles. She’s wearing one of those blazers with gold buttons, similar to what Myles’s mother wore today.
Frankly, her outfit ages her. But hey, maybe she’s a great fuck.
“Myles’s girlfriend,” Lara interjects, extending her hand with a scrutinizing glare. “We met at one of Georgina’s high teas.”
She hangs out at teas? I take it back, pegging her as being all vanilla.
Madelina tilts her head, bewildered, as if Lara has just dropped big news. I clear my throat, nudging her gently to respond. Our eyes meet, and hers widen with panic at realization that she’s been silent for far too long.
“Yes, of course. It’s nice, um… to see you again,” Madelina finally manages, stretching out her hand. “This is Elliot. He’s my man friend.”
I suppress a grin, surprised by Madelina’s tone when mentioning the words man friend. It sounded more like she picked me up on the side of the road, hitchhiking into town.
“I believe what Madelina is trying to say,” I intercept smoothly, “is that I’m Eva’s older brother, and we were unwinding with a drink after a long day at the café.”
“Right. I heard my mother paid you a visit,” Myles states, then adds with a sidelong glance. “She’s still adapting to the changes in my life. Please forgive her behavior.”
“Just remind her that nonsense is not welcome on our premises,” I inform him with a stern tone.
“Noted,” Myles responds, watching me with an air of jealousy.
The guy must think I’m fucking Madelina, and his behavior begins to piss me off. Even if I was, what right does he have to even care since he’s moved on with boring vanilla over here?
“I’m sorry,” Madelina blurts out. “For everything. I should have—”
“It’s done,” Myles cuts her off. “Can’t go back and change things now.”
Beneath the table, I place my hand on Madelina’s thigh and squeeze it gently. The simple move, intended to calm her down, works its charm when I see her focus on me instead. Her green eyes brighten as our eyes lock, and suddenly, the need to keep her protected plays on my mind.
Myles manages to stay amicable, yet his pressed lips and crossed arms indicate he is trying not to voice his opinion on the situation. This is hardly the place for airing grievances. Lara gently nudges him, signaling their departure.
“We really ought to be going. I’m sure we’ll cross paths again. Perhaps at Stella’s wedding?” he mentions with a hint of arrogance.
“You’re g-going?” Madelina’s voice wavers.
The tone of her voice amuses him. “Yes, I’ll be there.”
“We’ll be there,” Lara corrects, her hand possessively brushing against Myles’s.
“Goodbye, Maddy.”
As they turn to leave, Myles glances back at Madelina one last time. Beneath his composed exterior, a shadow of pain lurks. It’s not hard to notice, and it doesn’t surprise me. Their relationship didn’t end because he wanted it to, and his pride is what probably stings the most.
Still, this nagging feeling inside of me begs for attention, and I find myself staring at both of them, unsure why my stomach hardened while caught in the middle of this disastrous reunion.
Madelina’s gaze meets his, filled with a longing she quickly buries as she diverts her attention to the server approaching to take another order. A pain spreads across my jaw from my clenched teeth.
“Another margarita,” Madelina orders hastily, then pauses. “Make it a pitcher.”
“One pitcher coming right up,” the server replies, retreating into the hustle of the bar.
I give Madelina a moment to compose herself, watching as she takes a napkin and tears it into tiny, jagged pieces.
“So, you’re still in love with him?” A burning sensation spreads across my chest, making me irritable and impatient.
The pitcher arrives, frosty and glistening with its refreshing mixture of tequila, lime juice, and Cointreau.
Madelina pours herself a full glass and downs it, as if it will wash away her clouds of uncertainty. “What makes you say that?” There’s a sudden resentment in her tone. “I was caught off guard. The last time I saw him was the night before our wedding.”
“Maybe you should pace yourself, Bugs,” I suggest, attempting to lighten the mood.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen here, of all places,” she insists, pouring another glass with barely contained frustration. “I had an entire speech with everything I wanted to say. Instead, I fumbled and made a complete fool of myself.”
“I think,” I say carefully, “that there’s never a perfect time for these kinds of situations.”
Madelina drops her head into her hands, her fingers weaving through her hair as if to pull clarity from the chaos around us. “And now the wedding? You’re telling me I have to attend this lovefest single, all while he’s cozying up with Lisa?”
“It’s Lara,” I correct. “And I don’t think ‘cozying up’ is exactly the right phrasing for what they’re probably up to after tonight’s drinks.”
Her eyes narrow, shooting daggers. “You’re not helping. Do you think it’s easy to see him with someone else? It’s only been a few months, and during that time, I haven’t been with anyone else. The irony is that I’ve been thinking about him pretty much nonstop. How do you like them apples?”
Caught off guard, I pour my own drink and allow the liquid warmth to settle in my stomach before responding.
It’s clear Madelina is deeply wounded, though I’m at a loss to understand the source of her hurt, since she chose to walk away from him.
Yet the mention of her being celibate piques my curiosity.
She’s fucking gorgeous, so it can’t possibly be because she can’t find a man.
Fuck—did I just call her gorgeous?
“You’re hurting,” I finally state, observing her closely, but trying to control my own runaway thoughts.
“Yes, I’m hurting,” she snaps, her finger jabbing toward me, and when I look into her eyes, I see they shimmer with emotion.
“Myles was a great fiancé, and I fled like a coward because it wasn’t enough.
What even is enough? And now I have to attend this ridiculous wedding. All alone like some loser ex.”
“It’s just one night, right?” I remind her.
Madelina traces her fingers around the rim of her glass, lost in thought. Suddenly, her eyes widen, and a smile flickers across her face. Something warns me that the sudden change in expression spells trouble.
“I have an idea! You’ll be my date for the wedding.
” Her suggestion leaves her lips like a playful dare, causing me to choke on a peanut I’d grabbed from the bowl only seconds ago.
“You know, only sixty percent of people wash their hands after using the restroom. So, that means that forty percent of men touch their penis to urinate, then shove their hands in the bowl of peanuts you’ve so delightfully put in your mouth. ”
I cough, struggling to catch my breath. “Excuse me?”
“I read it somewhere.”
My voice comes out raspy, so I clear it one more time. “I meant, about the date.”
“Yes, my date,” she repeats, but this time it’s becoming more obvious she’s not joking. “We’ll pretend to be a couple. It’ll make it less awkward.”
“Maybe for you,” I counter, knowing this is the worst idea ever. “I can’t be your date, since you introduced me as your man friend. The jig is up. I refuse to partake in your web of lies.”
Madelina snorts. “Web of lies? It’s just one teeny, tiny lie. If you’re pretending to be my boyfriend, Lisa—”
“Lara,” I correct.
“Whatever.” She waves her hand dismissively as the margaritas, plural, appear to have taken over. “If you play the part, she won’t act like she’s stolen my man. Did you see how possessive she was?”
“Absolutely not,” I tell her firmly. “You’re drunk.”
“And?” she shoots back, undeterred. “You’re saying that like it’s a problem. You’re acting like being at this wedding alone would be better. Plus, you’re hot. So that’s already scoring us points as a fake couple.”
I tilt my head in confusion. “Did you just call me hot? Now I know you’re drunk.”
“Whatever! You know it’s true,” she drags, then sighs heavily. “Every single woman who walks into Donuts Ever After gawks at you like you’re eye candy. And anyways, I’m not drunk, just tipsy.”
“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”
“But I’m serious, I can’t show up alone if Myles is bringing a date.”
Chances are, Madelina will forget this entire conversation come morning, nursing a hangover that feels more like a freight train than a passing storm. So I don’t pursue it further and stupidly encourage another pitcher.
As the night wears on, she sulks in her chair as the margarita seems to work in reverse.
A few moments later, karaoke ignites the room, and Madelina joins a duo onstage for a spirited rendition of “Islands in the Stream.” Her sudden changed mood is much more pleasing than a sad, drunk girl.
To my surprise, her voice resonates through the crowd, met with cheers and applause.
Several times, she attempts to pull me onto the stage, but I manage to convince her I’m better off watching from the table.
Even in her drunken moment, Madeline’s face lights up, and I can’t help but laugh at her antics. Finally, she manages to pull me onto the dance floor, wrapping her arms around me.
“See, we can be a couple.”
“So can you and the bald guy sitting at the bar who asked me for your number,” I retort.
Madelina shifts her gaze to the bar, then turns back to me with a bemused smile. “C’mon, he’s not my type,” she slurs, wrapping her hands tight around my neck. “He’s not going to shoo away the cobwebs.”
“The cobwebs?”
She opens her mouth to respond, but her newfound lady group pulls her back onto the stage.
The manager of the bar glares at me, the kind of glare that threatens ejection if I don’t rein her in.
I move toward the stage, reaching out to steady her after she delivers an enthusiastic version of “Dancing Queen” with some Filipino ladies who were karaoke champions.
I only know that because they took to the microphone earlier and gave us their whole life story.
“I should take you home,” I state while she sways, carefree.
“I’m having the time of my life,” she exclaims, nearly toppling off the stage, her laughter echoing in the air.
I catch her arm and hold her steady. “Who needs an ex when I have a beautiful man waiting to take me home?” Madelina reaches out to squeeze my cheek, and I somehow have to get her out of here and away from the bar where she’s eager to continue drinking her troubles away.
Slowly, I guide her toward the exit.
Outside, the warm breeze wraps around us, a remnant of the summer heat. Madelina leans heavily against a lamppost, barely able to stand on her own. I dig through her purse for her car keys, aware that stowing her on the back of my bike would be a stupid move.
“What… what are you doing, Eva’s brother, Elliot?” she slurs, blinking in confusion. “Oh, no… I think I’m going to be si—”
Without a moment’s hesitation, I step forward, catching her just in time as she vomits on the curb.
Instinctively, I clutch her hair into my fist, then pull it back to avoid it getting caught in the aftermath. I give her a moment, but glance down and wince as I see the evidence of her mishap decorating her dress.
“I need to get you home,” I say softly, kneeling beside her.
“Don’t leave me,” she begs, her tone quivering. “Please don’t leave me, Elliot.”
I rub the small of her back. “I won’t, Bugs,” I whisper as she reaches out for my arm, desperate for support. “You’re safe with me.”