Mad Valentine: A Bad Boy Romance (Mad Valentine Trilogy Book 1) (11 page)

XXV. Denial

“Damn it,” I said when I got home. There was a dull ache in my chest, my mouth was dry, and my face still felt numb. I walked to my couch and sank heavily into it. “Damn it,” I said again.

It was official: I was an idiot. I had gotten completely carried away by that song he sent—that song that could have been about
anybody
—and I’d made up some crazy theory that maybe, just maybe, Victor and I had real feelings for each other. Sure, we had sexual chemistry, but that was nothing. That was just fun. Warren and I had sex all the time, and we didn’t have feelings for each other. As far as the real stuff, the real feelings that came with the scary L-word, well, those just didn’t exist between Victor and me. Never had, never would.

Besides, didn’t Victor always make it a point to call me “friend”? I mean, there was Mimi at the top of the stairs calling him “baby,” and there was Victor, all this time, calling me “friend.” Yup. That settled it. We were friends, nothing else.

Duh, Ellen.

I laughed out loud at myself. It came out like the sound of a wounded animal.

So what if Victor Valentine made my knees weak, my heart swell, my lips tremble? So what if I lay in bed thinking about him? So what if the thought of New York—that distant dream I’d worked so hard to get—gave me panic attacks because I would never see Victor again? That was all part of silly crush, right? Right? There was nothing real between us. And now, he was working things out with Mimi. Good for him.

Those words echoed hollowly in my mind.

Good for him.
I felt a deep pain in my stomach and suddenly I felt ill.
Good for him.

I doubled over, covered my face, and burst into tears.

*

A little later, after I had calmed down, I began to repeat a mantra in my mind.

Victor and I are friends; we are nothing else. And that is perfectly fine with me. Victor and I are friends; we are nothing else. And that is perfectly fine with me.

I repeated this to myself as I went around the house, unpacking and getting things in order after being absent for three weeks. Sometime close to 10 p.m., the phone rang. If it was Maggie or Archie, I was tired and just not in the mood for chitchat. I looked at the display.

Call from: V. Valentine

My heart leapt into my throat and I swallowed it down, hard. I didn’t know whether to answer or not. But I thought, why shouldn’t I answer? We’re friends and nothing else.

And that is perfectly fine with me.

I put the phone to my ear. “Hi, Victor,” I said. My voice came out thin and ragged. Why didn’t I sound normal? I needed to stop being ridiculous.

“Hi, Ellen,” the voice on the other end was deep and calm, as always, but it also sounded ragged around the edges. “Hey, can I come over?”

I squeezed my eyes shut and repeated my mantra:
Victor and I are friends; we are nothing else. And that is perfectly fine with me.

“Yeah, sure. I’m at home. Come on by.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Yeah, sure. Come on by,” I repeated woodenly.

I turned off the phone and stood in a daze.

By the time Victor arrived, I was in full frantic cleaning mode. I repeated my mantra at hyper-speed, and when I ran out of things to unpack and organize, I started cleaning the kitchen. I was elbow deep in the sink, scrubbing it furiously when I heard the buzzer. I went over, rubber gloves and all, and pushed the button to let him in.

Victor and I are friends; we are nothing else. And that is perfectly fine with me.

When I heard his knock, I flung the door open, a smile plastered on my face.

“Hi, friend,” I said (emphasis on the word “friend”), “come on in.”

I noticed Victor was carrying a package under his arm. It was wrapped in Christmas paper.

“Thanks for letting me come over.”

“Sure, no problem,” I said, brushing a strand of hair off my face with my rubber-gloved hand.

“Am I…interrupting a late-night cleaning session?”

I looked at my gloves. “Um, sort of, but it’s okay.” I went to the kitchen and took off the gloves. “Do you want something to drink?”

Victor stood in the living room, tall and handsome, his dark brown eyes following me.

Victor and I are friends; we are nothing else. And that is perfectly fine with me.

“No, thanks.” He put the package down on the table and said, “I came to give you this. It’s your Christmas present.” He paused. “And to explain something to you.”

“Oh? What?”

“About what Mimi was doing at my apartment today. But it’s difficult to explain.”

My heart was beating like a bass drum in my ears. “Victor, you don’t have to explain anything to me.”

He paused, a look of concern on his face. “I don’t?”

“No, of course not.” I came back to the living room and sat down on the couch, folding one knee underneath me. I looked up at him. “Whatever is between you and Mimi is none of my business.”

Victor furrowed his brows. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“It’s okay,” I said softly. “I’m glad you and Mimi are working things out. I’m happy for you.”

Victor let out a long breath and looked up at the ceiling, his hands on his hips. When he finally spoke, he sounded tired. “Ellen, I don’t think you have the right idea about this. Mimi and I are not together. We are just talking about some things.”

“That’s fine,” I snapped. “I don’t care. Why should I care?” I felt a flash of anger lick my insides. I realized I’d never felt jealous before—not over a man. No man had ever made me feel so possessive, so messy, so hurt.

Is this what jealousy feels like? Like you’ve been stabbed in the heart and you’re trying to stab the other person back with your last breath?

I leveled my eyes at Victor and flung my mantra at him. “You and I are just friends. We are nothing else. And that is perfectly fine with me.”

Victor flinched. He stared at me, searching me for a long time with stormy eyes.

“Ellen, don’t fuck around,” he finally said. “You’re important to me, you know that. I’m begging you to not fuck around right now and play games and say things you don’t mean.”

“What, are we not friends?”

“Of course we’re friends.”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“Of course that’s what I want!”

“So? Anything else?”

Victor opened his mouth to shoot something back, but he stopped. He clenched his jaw and stood there, hands still on his hips. I stared at him coolly.

“Okay then,” he said, raising both his hands. “You’re right. Sorry I interrupted your cleaning. I’ll go.”

“Okay then,” I said, not moving from the couch. “See you later.”

“Yeah, see you.” He opened the door and walked out.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the empty space where Victor used to be. I felt tired, and I passively let the emotions riot within me without really noticing or caring. As anger and jealousy vied with pain, I steadily, quietly kept repeating my mantra to myself. But somewhere along the line, as the minutes ticked by, the mantra morphed into a new one:

I am not in love with Victor Valentine. I am not in love with Victor Valentine.

XXVI. Falling

The next week passed in a blur. It took me a long time to open the Christmas present Victor had left on the dining table. When I finally did it, I found two matching whiskey tumblers. Victor had included a note. He had written in his clean handwriting, “For next time.”

I saw Victor on campus. Since we’d started a new semester, we didn’t have a class together, but he often found me hanging out at the campus greasy spoon and my other usual haunts. I didn’t want to openly avoid him, so we bantered like friends do, but I knew I was being awkward. We even went for coffee again, and he told me some of his favorite jokes from the book I had given him. We laughed, but it was always followed by strained silence. He invited me to another one of his friends’ gigs, but I turned it down, saying I had other plans.

We never discussed Mimi again, but the fact was I still felt broken and betrayed. And the worst part was, I knew I had no right to feel that way. So what if he had told me Mimi was “ancient history”? Maybe he had believed it at the time, but a guy could change his mind. He and Mimi shared something real; they had had a long, committed relationship with each other. If they wanted to work things out, I couldn’t stand in the way. What did Victor and I have? Some physical attraction, a few flirtations, some dinners, and some text messages? He didn’t owe me anything. And it certainly wasn’t my place to bring up Mimi. I didn’t have any right. Victor and I were just friends.

During the week I had a few hook-ups with Warren, and the sex was hotter than it’d ever been. But it was less satisfying than ever. I found myself pushing harder, wanting more, and testing our boundaries, but none of it hit the right notes. It was as if I was trying to feel something with him that I knew I would never feel. I didn’t mean for him to notice, but it must have been obvious. Warren ended up commenting on it one night as we caught our breath after a particularly rough-and-tumble session. I was staring up at the ceiling and he was facing me, lying on his side, his head propped up on his elbow.

“Ellen,” he said softly.

“Yeah?” I kept staring at the ceiling.

“Is something up with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you take a horny pill or something?” he asked, laughing. “You’ve been so, like, insatiable lately. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s fucking killer. I love it. But you seem distracted too, like you’re not really here.” He paused. “With me,” he added timidly.

Finally, I turned to him. I didn’t expect his blue eyes to be boring into me so intently. I felt trapped. I didn’t know what to say. I had no idea Warren could be so perceptive. I guess I had never given him much credit.

“Hey, I just want to know what’s going on with my buddy,” he said, putting his free palm up in a mock shrug. But with the words “my buddy,” he looked at me tenderly, and it was the first time I’d ever seen him look truly troubled. His blue eyes searched mine, as if they were looking for something he desperately needed. 

“Warren, I…”

He was watching me so tenderly, so hopelessly, I had to turn away.

“I guess I just want to try new things. Whatever,” I said with a shrug. “That’s no big deal, right?”

There was silence between us. But it wasn’t the casual silence that we usually shared after sex, when we thought about other things like midterms or beer or another hot date we had. This time it was—on his part at least—a hurt kind of silence.

“Yeah. No big deal,” was his clipped reply.

He immediately started rustling around, pulling his shirt on and looking for his underwear. I just lay there as he fumbled in the dark. I wanted him out of my room. I didn’t want what was happening. This wasn’t supposed to be a part of our agreement. Warren was supposed to be my simple, mess-free, hurt-free zone. Tenderness, affection, heartache—these were things that we had agreed would
not
be a part of our relationship. I was relieved when Warren finally opened the door to go.

“See you around,” he said as he walked out. He didn’t look back at me, and I didn’t want him to. He closed the door behind him, and I stared at the ceiling.

Tenderness, affection, heartache. I don’t want these things. I can’t have these things. Not now. I’m in my last year of college. I have a future. I have goals. I have a life to create. And I can’t feel these things. Especially not for Victor Valentine. He has a woman in his life. He does not want me. He is not good for me. Please, God, please make me stop feeling these things for him.

As I repeated these thoughts to myself over and over, I continued to feel tenderness, affection, and heartache for Victor, who I knew I could never have.

XXVII. Valentine’s Day

The days passed by and soon I found myself on a shopping trip with Maggie to buy dresses for the Valentine’s Day gala. It felt good to be spending time with a girl for a change. All these boys in my life had been causing me constant grief, and as Maggie and I ate frozen yogurt and roamed the brightly lit halls of the city’s only shopping mall, I breathed a delayed sigh of relief. At least with Maggie I could just be myself without any danger of misunderstanding or heartache.

“So what’s going on between you and Warren?” Maggie asked me over a spoonful of frozen yogurt.

I tensed. “What do you mean? Nothing’s going on between me and Warren.”

“Well, that’s not what it looks like to me.”

“What does it look like to you?”

“Like he’s avoiding you.”

“How?”

“Well, the other day I was talking to him and the frat guys about the gala, and I asked if he was planning to go with you because you hadn’t mentioned anything about it. And he just kind of avoided the question. Weird, right? Usually Warren’s pretty straightforward—he’ll just say yes, no, or he doesn’t know. But he just kind of hemmed and hawed.
Then
, later that night we all decided to go see a movie and I said I would see if you wanted to come. And he told me not to call, because we’d be late to the movie waiting around for you! We were
not
going to be late, it was like an hour before the show.”

I heaved a deep sigh and groaned.

“What?” Maggie demanded. “What’s going on?”

“Well, Mags, I guess my unicorn was just a horse with a horn tied to his head after all.”

Maggie’s eyes got wide and round. “Oh, my god. Are you saying you’re not fuck buddies anymore? Oh, my god, does Warren have feelings for you?”

“I don’t know, but it kind of seemed like it the other night. He was looking at me all gooey-eyed and wanted to know why I wasn’t present in the moment with him.”

Maggie gasped, horrified. “Oh, no!”

“Yeah, I know. I feel terrible. But we had a deal!”

Maggie shook her head. “You knew you were playing with fire, El. I always warned you that such a good thing couldn’t exist.”

“I know, Maggie,
I know.
”

“You just had to have your cake and eat it too.”

“Mags.” I looked at her wearily. I really felt terrible and wasn’t in the mood to be browbeaten by my best friend. She heard my wordless plea and took my arm instead.

“Well, it’s not your fault, El. You made your terms perfectly clear and he agreed to them. But you can’t be mad at the guy for falling for
this adorable face
!” She pinched my cheeks and made cooing sounds until I shoved her away.

“Geez! You messed up my hair,” I grumbled, patting down my bangs, but Maggie stopped dead in her tracks and squeezed my arm.

“Look at this, bitch,” she said, pointing to a dress in a shop window. “That would look amazing on you.”

It was a gorgeous, all-black, satin ball gown. It had a halter top with a plunging neckline that came to a V just above the empire waist. The fabric clung to the torso for an accentuated waistline but flared just below the hips with soft folds of satin. The back was entirely open except for the bow of the halter.

“Oh, wow, that is beautiful,” I said. “But there’s no way I can afford something like that.”

“Well, we don’t know how much it costs yet, and we won’t look at the tag until you’ve tried it on and see that you absolutely
have
to have it,” she replied devilishly.

I bit my lip and hesitated.

“Come on, it’s our last formal event at college. Let’s knock everybody out.”

I smiled. “Okay, let’s do it!”

I tried on the dress, it fit like a dream, and it was definitely too expensive. But I bought it anyway and had no regrets. The dress made me feel stunning, and I needed to feel good for a change. At the same store, we spied a pale blue chiffon dress with a one-shoulder top. It also clung to the torso and hips, then layers of soft chiffon fell like cascading waterfalls to the ground. A sparkling diamond detail at the shoulder strap was its one eye-catching detail. It was beautiful, and when Maggie tried it on, she looked like a Hollywood starlet. The pale blue dress set off her golden hair, and I felt like I was looking at a modern-day Lana Turner.

“Holy shit,” I said.

“Seriously? That’s all you’ve got for me?”

“I mean, god, Maggie. Holy shit.” She looked so beautiful I was literally speechless.

She took it as a good sign and bought her dress, which was also too expensive. We went home happy with our purchases and spent the evening talking about hairstyles for the gala while we drank a bottle of wine. I was having a great time with my best friend, and there were moments when I almost didn’t think about Victor at all.

The next day was Valentine’s Day. I was distracted and I floated through my classes in a haze. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but I was dying to know if Victor was going to the gala. Back before winter break, I had entertained ideas of going with him. But since my run-in with Mimi a month ago, I hadn’t brought it up and neither had he. I had just assumed he was bringing Mimi, if he was going at all. I was torn between wanting to see him and not wanting to see him with Mimi. Despite my curiosity, I couldn’t call him up and ask. With the way things had been between us lately, it seemed awkward to bring up the gala now. So I went on plodding through my day, telling myself that I would find out soon enough.

That night, Maggie, Archie, and I gathered at my apartment to get ready. Archie, the dandy that he was, looked perfect in a midnight-blue pinstripe suit with a cream-colored cravat. Maggie was a showstopper in her blue dress, and I must say I looked pretty swell myself. My minimalist dress was sexy and elegant and showed off miles of my back, a part of my body that I was particularly proud of. Archie whistled when I stepped out of the bathroom.

“Va-va-voom! Look at you, girl!” Archie cried. “Victor Valentine is going to drool.”

“Thanks, Archie,” I replied with a laugh. I didn’t bother to correct Archie that Victor wouldn’t be looking at me with Mimi by his side. I hadn’t told either of my friends that I had seen Mimi at Victor’s house. For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to tell them. As far as they knew, nothing had changed between Victor and I.

“‘Warren McDowell is going to drool’ is more like it,” Maggie said under her breath as she sat me down to do my hair. I cringed, not looking forward to whatever encounter I was going to have with Warren that night. My plan was to pull him aside, talk to him, and apologize sincerely for any heartache I had caused. A shot or two of tequila would give me enough courage for that.

Maggie arranged my hair in a low side-chignon, the folds of my hair resting at the nape of my neck. Before she finished, she pinned a single white gardenia to the side of the chignon. I wore no other jewelry. It was just me, the flower, and the dress.

“There,” she said when she was done. She had curled her own hair and left it cascading over her shoulders, one side pushed back with a crystal comb. Crystal teardrop earrings finished her look. We turned to Archie for final approval.

“Yep,” he said, nodding, arms crossed. “If I weren’t gay, I’d do you both.”

Maggie and I high-fived. It was time to go. We downed our drinks, grabbed our clutches and coats, and were out the door.

*

The first thing that struck me as we arrived at the gala was how beautiful the house looked bathed in candle light. All the light bulbs in the house had been replaced with softer, dimmer light, and the romantic atmosphere was enhanced by white candles placed tastefully all around the house.

“Are you telling me a house full of frat boys pulled this off?” I asked Maggie as we walked through the front door, which was festooned with rose garlands.

“Please! They hired an event coordinator.”

As we walked through the front hall, we presented our tickets and gave our coats to a coat check run by hired staff. We walked through to the old-fashioned ballroom that the frat brothers normally used as a living room. All the musty, beer-stained furniture had been cleared away, and huge bouquets of red and pink flowers were everywhere—on the mantle, on end tables, on the buffet table that was now set up as a bar. It was lovely, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had descended on me as soon as we’d arrived. Walking through the front door, my stomach had twisted into nervous knots. It wasn’t the prospect of seeing Warren that bothered me so much as it was the possibility of seeing Victor, together with Mimi. So I made a beeline for a waiter with a tray of champagne flutes, dragging Archie and Maggie with me.

“Geez, what’s the rush?” Maggie asked as I grabbed flutes in each hand.

“Here’s your drink,” I said, handing one to her. “Don’t complain.”

When I finished the champagne, I felt a little better, so I took another and decided to loosen up come what may. Soon, the house was full of young people dressed to the nines. Archie stood out in his slick suit, but many dapper guys were giving him a run for his money. One of them was Owen, my editor at the paper. Ever since he’d approved of my Stu profile, I’d allowed Owen another chance. Dressed in an Oxford grey tuxedo with tails, a sprig of lavender in his lapel, he looked classy, I had to admit. I’d always thought of him as an image-conscious prick, but hey, at least he looked good in a ballroom. We caught each other’s eye and I raised my champagne glass to him. He raised his back.

We saw friends and acquaintances and chatted while light music played. The champagne flowed, many hors d’oeuvres were eaten, and all my nervous scanning around the room never produced a single glimpse of Victor or Mimi. Although there was a gaping hole in my chest that ached to see him, a small part of me breathed a sigh of relief. I decided to ignore the hole in my chest and to try to have a nice time.

At one point, I saw Warren regaling a big group of people with a play-by-play of a recent lacrosse game. He looked great in his classic tux with forest-green cummerbund, but his cheeks were pink and he was talking loudly.
Wow, drunk already,
I mused. When he caught me looking at him, I gave him a warm smile and a wave, but he just looked away.

I guess I should go talk to him. But I’ll have one more drink first to make sure I’m ready.

Maggie, Archie, and I were laughing with some kids who also wrote for the paper when “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole came on.

“Oooh, I love this song!” I said, putting a hand over my heart. “It’s so romantic.”

Just then I felt a tap on my shoulder. My heart stopped. Somehow, I knew who was standing behind me.

Slowly, almost disbelievingly, I turned to see Victor Valentine standing in a jet-black tuxedo and tie, his hands in his pockets, his lips curled in his sexy crooked smile. “Hey, friend,” he said.

I blinked. I was breathless.
You take my breath away
.

“Victor,” I said when I came to my senses, “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Surprise.”

We stood there, staring at each other for a moment, then he extended his arm to the dance floor and raised an eyebrow. “Care to dance?”

I smiled and handed Archie my champagne. Victor took my hand and I let him lead me onto the floor.

There in the soft light, we didn’t talk; we just danced. It felt unreal, being so close together, moving in time. I gazed up at him as he gazed down at me. I never wanted to leave the dance floor, with Victor’s right hand holding mine and his left arm wrapped around me, his hand resting gently on the bare skin of my back. We didn’t need words. I didn’t want to talk at all. I didn’t want to break this beautiful moment. I wanted to keep it pure and perfect to remember and cherish for the rest of my life. But he bent his head and whispered in my ear.

“You are so beautiful,” he said.

I sighed softly at the sound of his words. They filled me with soft, fluttering sensations, but they also broke the magic spell. Now, it was back to reality and eventually I knew I would have to ask him about Mimi.

“Thank you,” I said. “You look amazing too.”

He gave me a playful grin. “Get an eyeful now because I’m not doing this again until my wedding day. Tuxedo rentals are rip offs.”

I cracked a smile and laughed, but I felt the pit of my stomach knotting tightly.

It’s now or never. Just ask him.

“Victor,” I started, then faltered.

“Hmm?”

“Victor, is Mimi with you tonight?”

I stared at his tie, not wanting to hear his answer. But when silence engulfed us for several seconds, I looked up at him. He shook his head.

“Oh,” I said, confused. “I thought you might have brought her. But maybe this isn’t her kind of thing.” I laughed nervously and continued to talk to fill the silence. “It’s not really my thing either, but you know, sometimes—”

Victor hooked his finger under my chin and lifted my face. I fell silent as his dark brown eyes searched mine. The song had ended and another had started, but I hadn’t noticed. “Ellen,” he said, “I didn’t bring Mimi because I’m not—”