Page 46 of Not That Kind of Icing
I’m not sorry. Not about this, at least. I don’t mind the idea of dating Tristan for real. Showing her we’re as good for each other as everyone else seems to believe.
I am sorry about one thing. I was supposed to tell her before now, definitely before the meeting, but preferably on the morning we woke up in Sin City. There was a window of opportunity, a chance to get ahead of this part of the story. If Robbie had headed her off and she’d taken off the ring before anyone saw it. If we hadn’t been spotted on our way to the chapel, or on our way out. If, if, if…
It doesn’t matter now. We’re in this. Partners stumbling along together, making the best of the hand we’ve been dealt. It’s too late to turn back. The hockey-loving world has seen the photos. My agent has seen the photos. My mother thinks she has a new daughter-in-law. We’ve agreed to perform for the cameras. For the fans.
It won’t change a single thing now if I tell her we aren’t actually married.
We don’t discuss it, but Vic follows me back to my apartment. Hayley didn’t keep the car, so I lead him down Main Street and through the two hanging yellow lights, wondering if I’ll accidentally lose him. I’m nottryingto, but I’m not doing a great job of keeping the convoy together. I’m glad we’re going to sit down and talk about this, but I’m also grateful for the fifteen-minute reprieve in the car. I could have used a little extra traffic, or stoplights, or something.
He pulls into the empty spot behind me and I blame the difference in our stride for how he opens my car door for me while I’m still fighting my seatbelt. I remind myself I don’t need his chivalry, even as my heart twists in my chest. He says nothing, just stands like a bodyguard behind me as I unlock my front door and let us into my tiny apartment.
I can’t help but sneak a glance over my shoulder, wanting to see him take in my space. It’s nothing like his sprawling mansion with marble and gold and crystal. My fiesta ware in my open cabinets. My purple couch looks like a dollhouse accessory compared to the hockey player standing in my open doorway. If he was in his skates, he’d have to duck under the doorjamb. I’m struck again by how big he is. I barely reach his sternum. It should be terrifying to be that close to a man who literally uses his body all day, every day, in the most brutally physical way possible. But it isn’t.
He’s staring down at me, a soft smile curving the softness of his lips. I feel that bubbling squirm just under my belly button and, for the first time in a long time, I don’t force it down. Instead, I wet my lips and watch his eyes darken, pupils spreading to swallow the hazel. I drop my gaze so I can take a breath and see the white of his knuckles pushing up against his skin.
I’m suddenly very aware of how close we were in that Vegas hotel room. And how I don’t have any memories of the fun parts.
“Hi,” Vic says and I shake my head to reorient myself into reality. I’m about to say hi back when someone else does it for me.
“Hey man,” Max says, and I whirl around to see my baby brother slurping my orange juice straight from the carton in my tiny kitchen.
“Who are you talking to?” Madison says, shutting my bedroom door behind her, one of my favorite sweaters clutched in her hands. “Oh, hi Tristan. Brother-in-law. Can I borrow this?”
Vic raises one hand to wave at them both.
“If you want it to come to the top of your ribcage, sure.” I say to my five-foot nine baby sister.
“Perfect,” she says just as Max says, “Come on Mads, we’re leaving.”
“No, we aren’t.” My sister’s smile is pure evil. “We’re going to grill Mr. Hockey Superstar on his intentions for his new wife.” Her smile grows bigger. “You’re aware you’re basically like our daddy now, right?”
“W-what?” Vic is choking behind me, eyes wide.
“Madison Rose.” I can feel my cheeks flaming, and I guess this is one way to break the previous tension. Now we’re just marinating in embarrassment.
Her smile grows even wider. Why couldn’t it have been any other sister here?
“Well, he knows you’re basically our mommy, right?”
I’m wracking my brain, but I’m not sure if he does know that. He must have had some idea based on what Ihave told him, but I rarely share conversations about our childhood trauma.
“I had an idea,” Vic’s words rumble through me as his hand finds my lower back. I lean into the touch, feeling grounded even as I want to strangle my sister.
“Good job, Mads,” Max says, putting the juice back in the fridge. “You just cockblocked them.”
“What?” Later, I’ll think it’s cute that Vic and I spoke in perfect unison. Once I’m done also strangling my baby brother. It shouldn’t surprise me he’s adding to the discomfort. They’re twins, after all.
“I doubt the newlyweds are that easily put off. Aren’t they supposed to be in the honeymoon phase?” Madison says and slings my sweater over her shoulder. “Come on, Maxie, let’s go so they can bang.” Then she grips her twin by the wrist and drags him from the apartment. For a big guy, Max knows well enough to let the woman in his life lead him around.
“Bye,” he calls out as they maneuver around us and the door closes on their grinning faces. “Have fun.”
“Sorry,” I say to Vic as silence descends on my apartment. “They’re twins. They can’t help but share a single brain cell. Apparently, neither decided to use it today.”
“I get it,” he says, “my twin, Erik, and I used to be the same.”
It’s like ice water over the top of my head at the mention of his brother Erik. The one who was smack dab in the middle of the last time I was in trouble because of this man. And yes, okay, we came out of this one unscathed—sort of—but it’s another reminder that no matter how much I want to feel comfortable and safe with this man, I’m giving him too much credit. My brain is running away with the fantasy that he could take care of me the way I’ve always had to take care of everyone else.
I drop my purse onto my loveseat and step out of my heels. My ankles and the balls of my feet ache. I want to strip down to my pajamas, but I’m not ready to fully remove my armor, because that’s what the makeup, the suits, the heels are. A suit of armor. An illusion.I’ve got this, they say. Even when I absolutely do not have anything remotely under control.
