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T H R E E
- Madeline -
After a few fleeting introductions, James squirreled me away to Alicia’s room so we could talk, and I found myself instantly distracted by her bookshelf, which was stocked not with paperbacks, but with designer bags.
My eyes traveled from one of her Louis Vuittons to a Prada backpack that wasn’t even available in stores yet. I was wondering how many months of my rent it would cover when I realized James was looking out the high-rise window across Lake Michigan, a wistful expression on his face. “You okay?”
“Of course.” He smiled at me before looking back at the Chicago skyline, which twinkled under a pink sunset. “Just going to miss this place, ya know?”
“It’ll be here when you get back,” I said, walking past Alicia’s monogrammed bedding to join him at the window. “As will Alicia, if I were a betting woman.”
He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.
“She’s pretty into you, huh?”
“What makes you say that?” he asked, his eyes scanning Lakeshore Drive, which was crowded with cars inching forward like tiny beetles wearing headlamps.
“Apart from the life-size cutout of Prince Harry with his arm around you, the way she looked me up and down before you told her I was your sister was a dead giveaway.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m having trouble getting her to take a hint.”
“Is she why you’re skipping off to London?”
“No, I’m going for work,” he said, his navy button-up making his light blue eyes look darker than usual. “The decision had nothing to do with her.”
Ouch.
“Anyway, I’d rather talk about what’s going on with you.”
“You brought me to Alicia’s room to talk about what’s going on with me?”
He shrugged. “I would’ve preferred her guestroom, but everyone’s dumping their coats and bags in there.”
“Speaking of which, how does she even have a guestroom? What does she do?”
“She’s a nanny for a family that lives on the Gold Coast.”
I raised my brows. Unless she was a nanny for Oprah’s dogs, I still didn’t see how—
“And her great-grandfather invented tinfoil,” he added.
I laughed and shook my head. “Where do you even meet these people?”
“In bars that don’t do dollar bottle specials.”
I sneered. “Wouldn’t know any.”
“Why did Maeve send me a text earlier saying you need to stay at my place while I’m gone?”
“Because she’s bossy and sucks at minding her own business?”
He turned towards me, and his wrinkled forehead suggested he was waiting for more.
I sighed. “I don’t need to crash at your place. I have a place.”
“You’re killing me, Mads. Just tell me what’s going on. You know you can tell me anything.”
I could feel his love for me as I studied his kind eyes, as if the fact that he’d prioritized my company in a condo full of his closest friends wasn’t proof enough of his sincerity. “Remember how I made that Look Book using snippets from my blog and sent it to BELLE magazine after I read that all those nutty self-help books about manifesting my own destiny?”
