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32
Cece
The award show is playing in the background, but very few of us are paying attention. I think most of the people are only interested in which movie wins best picture of the year, and that award is always the last one given out.
Jonathan has been talking to me a little here and there. I know I told my father I’d give him a chance, and I have, but I think there’s less of a connection with him than I had with Winston, and that’s saying something. He’s mentioned how he graduated top of his class and had three high-profile job offers but turned them down. I think he thought it made him sound like he was being nice, working for his family instead of some prominent law firm, but he comes off kind of snooty. As if no other company could compare to his family’s, so why would he even bother?
Excusing myself from him for a moment, I head to the kitchen to not only get a breather but a drink. I didn’t think it’d be this tiring simply listening to someone go on and on about how great they are, but I already want to find some kind of excuse to get out of here. Stephanie called me to ask how it was going, and I almost asked her to stop by and kidnap me—at least that way I could later blame it on her—but she’s busy with Winston.
After teasing her again about their unlikely pairing, we hang up, and I down the rest of my cranberry cocktail. Maybe I can try to withstand one more hour of Jonathan and then find some sort of excuse to finally part ways with him. Then I’ll just have to pray that my father doesn’t organize another meetup.
“What are you doing here?” I hear my father hiss as I’m about to walk into the foyer. His stern tone lacing the words is enough to turn me around and see him at the entrance of our apartment. The doorway is open, but it looks like he’s trying to keep whoever’s at the door outside. Then I hear his voice.
“I don’t care what you say, I’m telling her the truth.”
“You’ll do no such thing.”
“Chester, what’s going on?” my mother calls out to my father, and I make my way over.
Getting to my father’s side, I see Maddox standing outside in a tuxedo. “Maddox, what are you doing here?”
“Cece, I need to tell—”
“Shut up, boy,” my father orders. Then he turns to me. “Cecelia, don’t worry. I’ll take care of this.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you will. You already made me break up with her,” Maddox spits out.
I don’t understand what’s happening, and immediately turn to my mother. She looks back at me, confused. “Daddy, what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he says, with his gaze still locked on Maddox. “He must be drunk or something. Get out of here before I have our building security escort you out.”
“You can go to hell,” Maddox yells at him.
“Maddox!” I yell. Not because I’m angry but because I’m baffled.
“Fine, I’ll handle this myself,” my father says.
Stepping in front of Maddox, he grabs him by his tuxedo jacket. Maddox returns, grasping his arms, and a back-and-forth ensues between them. My mother cries out to my father while a few other guests hurry over, trying to break them apart. All I can do is stand there, stunned.
“You have no idea what you’re doing,” my father growls at him.
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Maddox replies, then turns to me. “Cece, your father told me to break up with you.”
“What? No. That … that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he do that?”
“Because he’s an asshole!” he yells. My father lunges at him, but is held back by two of his associates. “He said if I don’t break up with you, he’ll cut you out of your family. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to tell you. I thought the best thing to do was to listen to him, but I can’t. I didn’t want to make you choose, and I still don’t, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least tell you the truth.”
“No.” My gaze stays on him, one part still trying to understand what’s happening, but the other part of me unsure of what to believe. “He … he wouldn’t do that.”
I glance at my father, but he’s not paying any attention to me. He still has a furious gaze locked on to Maddox. I look back at my mother, and she seems just as confused as I do. Maddox stays where he is, watching me, and my questions begin to resurface. Why did he do what he did? Why tell me it never meant anything to him? Why the sudden change from who he told me was the real Maddox back to the King of Bad? And the answer would make sense. If my father did tell him that, it’d explain it. But … No, he wouldn’t do that. Would he?
“Daddy?” The word comes out as a whisper.
“Chester? Is this true?” my mother asks, and her tone is more of how I want to sound, but can’t. Appalled but not wanting to believe it.
My father finally breaks his eyes away from Maddox and looks over at me. “Cecelia, honey, why would I do that?”
I know why he would if he indeed did. He’d never approve of someone like Maddox. But I still can’t bring myself to believe it. “Daddy?” I repeat. “It’s … It’s not true, is it?”
