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I really hate drama. Did I mention that? Yet, this world is like a soap opera gone wrong, you know, if Quentin Tarantino directed said soap opera.
“Eat,” Nate orders, gesturing down to the table. The size of the dining table is obviously fit to cater around thirty people because there are still a few empty seats scattered around, yet, Nate yanks out the one directly beside him, his eyes pointedly staring at me.
Everyone is silent.
I clench my jaw, keeping eye contact with him while thinking whether or not I should purposely sit somewhere else. Maybe beside Brantley.
I decide I can’t be bothered fighting this early in the morning and take the seat beside him. I swear I hear a few exhales of breath as I do so.
I start piling waffles onto my plate and then spoon fresh fruit on top.
“So!” Cash interrupts, clapping his hands together hard enough for the heavy Rolex to hit the Cuban gold chain around his wrist. It’s not as thick as the one Nate wears around his neck, but I’m almost certain it has diamonds encrusted into the design.
I take a big bite out of my waffle, yanking it between my teeth. These people have too much money.
“What are we doing today? I need to get laid, it’s been a while, so I was thinking we could go out tonight.”
“Yeah,” Brantley says, and my eyes go to him. Surprise shoots through me briefly when I find him already watching me. “Ditto. You know how murder makes me horny.” He says all of that while not moving his eyes from mine. I cough, choking on my waffle.
“You okay, babe?” Madison coos, rubbing my back.
I look up at her as I take a sip of Nate’s juice. Her eyes twinkle with knowledge. I should have known she would catch the little moment between Brantley and I. Nothing gets past her. Unless you’re Bishop. Oh no. I know that look. I swear this girl is turning into one of them with the games she plays.
“Fine.” I smile, running my tongue over my bottom lip. I find Brantley again. “Think something got stuck in my throat.” Okay so she’s not the only one who likes to tease them every now and then, but the banter with Brantley momentarily pauses my thoughts of Nate and his moody, unattainable bullshit playboy ways.
Madison leans back, smirking into her— “Is that a mimosa?”
She grins, and my eyes find Bishop who is glaring at her from across the table.
“Sure is,” she mutters, pointedly ignoring B. “Want one?”
“She’s good,” Nate answers for me, ever his moody self lately.
“Yeah, I do,” we both ignore Nate, and Madison giggles, grabbing my hand. “Come. Tate, you too.”
I snatch my plate from the table, not ready to give up this glorious food right now. Madison is still laughing when we enter the kitchen, her eyes swinging between both of us.
“Okay. So, sit. We need to talk about tonight. The boys are going out, but I feel like we need a girl’s night, you know, have some bonding time.”
This doesn’t sound good. I bite into my strawberry, my lips wrapping around it. Juice slips down my thumb and I slowly bring it up to my mouth, sucking it off. Something is obviously going on with Madison, and I know she’s trying to help Tate and I bu—
“Tillie!” Nate barks from the table in the dining room and my attention snaps to him instantly. Damn open plan dining.
“What!” Now what have I done wrong? He’s scowling at me, his eyes on my fingers. I look around the table to all of them—bar—Bishop, and their eyes are all watching me.
Bishop’s back is jiggling like he’s laughing.
“Oh shut it, Nate! If you can’t handle how hot she is maybe you should—” Madison stops herself, exhaling. “Never mind.”
I turn to face Madison, ignoring what just happened. There’s no way that’s what that was about. “As much as I’d love to, I can’t. I have Micaela now.”
Elena comes into the kitchen. “Tillie, can I talk to you for a second?”
I drop my strawberry and swipe my hands on a dishcloth. “Sure.”
Madison squeezes my arm as I slide passed her.
I walk into the lounge room, my eyes going to Madison’s dad. “Hi, Mr. Montgomery.”
He flashes me a convivial smile. “Please, call me Joseph.”
I know he’s not Madison’s biological dad, but I swear they look similar.
I take a seat on the sofa opposite him, and Elena sits beside me with Micaela in her arms. She hands my daughter back to me, and I take her, bringing her to sit up against my belly.
“Tillie, I, don’t really know how to say this so I’m just going to go right out with it.” She exhales. “We want to help you any way that we can, and I mean that in the sincerest way possible.”
