Grey felt strange coming home to the guest house. He’d driven half way to his off-campus apartment before remembering. He’d almost continued on when he realized he’d been on automatic pilot, but he was keen to keep up appearances for his mother’s sake and she’d be expecting him. She was having the newlyweds over to the main house for dinner. He rolled his eyes at the thought.
While they’d been away upstate his mother and father had arranged for Maggie’s things to be brought over. They’d had Hector and a few of Maggie’s male cousins over to lunch, too, to thank them for helping. He wondered how that afternoon had gone. And they’d had his best friend Phelan shuttle most of Grey’s things over from the apartment as well. His parents had insisted Grey and Maggie live in the guest house until they found a place of their own.
“I’ve seen your apartment Grey.” His mother had said in scandalized tones. “And that is not a place for a young wife.”
He hadn’t argued that point. His place with Phelan was decidedly and unapologetically a bachelor’s lair.
Maggie hadn’t said much about the impending living arrangements but he got the impression that she was secretly relieved to avoid living at the apartment with Phelan. She’d said once, when they were first dating, that she didn’t quite trust the guy. At the time he’d assured her and assuaged her suspicions but underneath he’d given her credit; Phelan was a jackal. He’d told Grey that he couldn’t wait till his best friend finished with ‘that sweet piece of Mexican ass’ so he could have a turn. Phelan had a pretty reliable system worked out which involved a sympathetic shoulder to cry on and vigorous rebound sex after Grey’d broken some little thing’s heart.
He smiled a little to himself remembering the night he’d heard Phelan trying to smooth-talk Maggie. They’d just broken up a few nights before and she’d come over to reclaim an article of jewelry she’d left at their place.
Grey had had a young woman with him, in his bed, when Maggie’d arrived, so he’d asked her to wait in the living room while he did the searching for it. He’d been surprised that she’d stayed, surprised she’d suffered the indignity of being asked to wait for him outside his room because he’d already moved on and was fucking someone else in there at present.
But she’d only tilted her chin an inch higher, crossed her arms and told him she’d wait. And Phelan, who’d been sniffing for an opportunity to move-in on Maggie, could hardly conceal his delight. Grey’d heard his friend offering her a drink in his kindest, most sympathetic voice, just as he closed the bedroom door to begin his search.
He’d really had to search, too. She’d said she believed it would be on the bedside table but, well, he’d cleared that table off in a hasty rush earlier, just before he’d bent his current conquest over it for a fast and hard rear-entry fuck.
It took him a while of searching to remember where he’d tossed all the junk that had been atop that table, and even when he did manage to locate the detritus the necklace hadn’t been among the wreckage. He’d gotten on his hands and knees then, in his boxers, and begun the unenviable task of venturing his hands into the dark depths under his bed.
“What the fuck are you looking for?” The girl had asked, sounding petulant and bitchy. She was in a pissy mood because she’d been blowing him when Maggie’d shown up, and despite the girl’s threats and cajoling he’d had her stop what she was doing so he could deal with whatever the hell Maggie’d come over for.
This girl wasn’t one of his virgins; she was just some fairly attractive thing he’d found at the campus bar, just something to pass the time.
“A necklace.” He’d said, pawing around blindly beneath the bed frame.
“Tell her to come back later.” The little bitch huffed.
Grey’d stared at her, not bothering to conceal his contempt. She’d rolled her eyes and looked away crossly. Nothing felt remotely like a necklace under there.
He’d rifled through his desk drawers, picked through the laundry basket, peered behind various items of furniture and come up empty. Finally he’d made the little slut move so he could look under the sheets and between the mattress and headboard. That’s when the girl seemed to reach the limit of her outrage and had started dressing, in a huff, muttering insults at him and keeping up a steady stream of bitchery until he’d finally snapped.
“Listen, you aren’t as irresistible as you think you are, so stop acting like you’re some fucking prize. If you want to go, go.”
She’d stared at him, agape.
“If, on the other hand, you think you can manage to keep your mouth shut for a couple minutes then I’ll be glad to fuck you till you cry as soon as I find this fucking necklace. Ok?” He wasn’t sure if he hoped she’d snap her jaw shut obediently and stay or hoped she’d storm out in a tizzy.
She’d stayed. She’d ended up swallowing a lot more than her pride that evening too.
She’d sat down in a desk chair to wait for him to finish his quest. That’s when he’d caught the glint of something at her throat. “What the fuck?” He’d demanded, striding over, fixated on the thin silver chain around her neck and the small round pendant that hung upon it.
“What?” She’d said, not even blushing.
He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. She shrugged unconcernedly and raised her eyebrows back at him. He sucked his teeth and held his hand out, palm upward, expectantly. Fucking thief.
“This is mine.” She insisted defensively.
He leaned over and examined it a little more closely before her fingers reached up protectively to shield it from his view. She’d been too slow.
“Rose?” He asked dubiously.
“I love roses.” She responded quickly.
He sneered at her. “Not roses you fucking moron, Saint Rose? Of Lima?”
She looked confused for a second, then pissy. “Whatever.” She said glibly.
“Catholic huh?” He mocked “Thou shalt not steal, right?”
She narrowed her small eyes at him.
“Give me the fucking necklace.” He was cold. Stern. A tense moment stretched between them.
Then she rolled her eyes, reached up and snapped it off her neck, breaking the delicate silver chain. Then she’d tossed it carelessly at his feet, pointedly ignoring his outstretched palm.
His jaw ticked. Women were so fucking ridiculous. He blinked rapidly, trying to decide how to proceed. After a moment of deliberation he’d crouched, picked it up, and examined it closely. It didn’t look particularly valuable; just a religious medal on a simple chain. He guessed the significance was in her attachment to it. In whatever had made her wait in the apartment of a man she despised for using her and breaking her heart.
At length he decided not to pretend he hadn’t found it. He had a funny feeling that maybe Maggie was the kind of girl who’d want it back despite its current condition.
He closed his fingers around it and strode toward his bedroom door. With his free hand on the doorknob he hesitated. She might cry. The sight of her necklace in this shabby state might just get her worked up. He decided to throw on a shirt.
That’s when he’d heard it. As he was slipping a plain cotton tee over his head and pulling it down into place, standing there by the door once again, ready to go break the good news and bad news about her necklace, that’s when he’d heard it.
He hadn’t heard quite what Phelan had said to her with his voice low and rumbly, but the answer was sharp and clear and resounding. She’d slapped him, hard, across the face.
Grey’s jaw fell open a fraction and he was surprised by a small laugh that surged up inside him. She’d slapped his best friend. Grey couldn’t help grinning. Phelan had apparently met his match in this one. He leaned his ear close to the door to hear how his smooth operating roommate would recover from that one.
But he didn’t hear his friend’s voice, he could only hear her. Low and urgent and a bit panicked. “Please, no, please, stay away from me. No, please, don’t—“
Grey ripped the door open then to find Maggie somewhat backed into a corner by Phelan, who was standing entirely too close to her and looking quite menacing. The pair of them both froze, paused in mid-chase by Grey’s interruption.
Grey’s eyes slid from Phelan’s stormy profile to Maggie’s furious blush and her wide, alarmed eyes.
“Phelan?” Grey asked in a low, deliberate rumble.
Phelan’s Adam’s Apple jumped in response but otherwise he didn’t move a muscle. “Grey.” His friend responded through clenched teeth, a calm sort of fury under the word.
Grey stalked very slowly toward the two, not taking his eyes off his friend, who, in turn, was keeping his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Maggie. “Everything O.K. out here?” He asked him, his voice a warning—low and deadly. It wasn’t as much a question as it was a directive. He was standing quite close to Phelan now, close enough to see the rapid flaring of his friend’s nostrils; close enough to hear Maggie’s shallow, uneven breathing.
“Everything. Is. Swell.” Phelan responded, his lips curling into a cruel sort of smile.
Grey looked at Maggie. The girl was trembling a little but her eyes were now snapping with anger. Grey recognized that she was itching to slap Phelan again. Good for her.
He shifted his weight so that he was aligned slightly more with her side of the close little triangle they formed with their bodies, and subtly pulled his spine as tall as it would go, reminding his friend of the height disparity.
Finally Phelan’s eyes dragged from Maggie’s face to Grey’s.
“Swell.” Said Grey, calmly holding the man’s fuming stare, unblinking. The corner of Grey’s mouth hitched up just a fraction in a ghost of a smirk. Phelan was pretty fucking bullshit. He hoped he wouldn’t have to punch his friend in the face right then, but he knew he was prepared to do it if the guy persisted in behaving like an asshole.
Phelan snorted, broke their eye contact, and stepped back. The showdown was over, abandoned. Phelan had caved. Grey could feel the frustration and violence radiating off his friend. “Just having a pleasant conversation with this charming friend of yours.” Phelan had said then, as he headed casually for the kitchen. His voice was nearly restored to its usual non-chalant cadence and timbre. “I’ll just leave you two to chat.” He said pleasantly when he’d reached the doorway to the kitchen. “I hope she’ll share with you what she was kind enough to share with me.”
Grey chuckled deeply in his chest as his friend disappeared from sight, off to lick his wounded pride.
“Are you all right?” he asked upon turning back to face the trembling little spit-fire beside him. She was almost vibrating with suppressed fury.
“Did you find it?” She demanded, dismissing his concern.
He sobered and lifted his hand to show her. “It broke.” He told her plainly. No sense beating around the bush.
Her eyebrows tilted up and her mouth opened in a small ‘oh’ as she reached to take it from his open palm. He felt an uncomfortable squirming low in his gut as he watched her trembling fingers lift it slowly, carefully out of his hand. “The chain broke.” He said, clearing his throat. She didn’t speak, only dragged an index finger along one side of the broken chain and then the other.
“Did it fall on the floor?” She asked, her voice little more than a tremulous whisper.
His abdomen tightened. “It did.” He’d confessed, not clear on why that fact mattered to her, but discerning enough to intuit that it did matter and that it was better to be honest about it. “I’ll pay for a new chain.” He offered, but the look he received from her was withering and frigid and he ventured nothing more.
She’d nodded bleakly, thanked him for finding it, and had left. He hadn’t seen her again until she showed up to tell him she was pregnant.
Grey sighed as he pulled up the long driveway at the Delaney mansion. All the cars were there already. It was almost time for the fucking dinner. He pulled off the main drive and proceeded further on, toward the guest cottage in the back.
It was all so fucking surreal. Staring blankly at the picturesque little building he put the car in park and sat for a long moment in the driveway. He had a lot to think about. He wasn’t yet ready to walk in there and begin his life as a married man.
