Page 165 of Lovers' Dance

“What are you doing, Madison?” he asked in a calm voice.

“Trying to get through my birthday the only way I know how,” I replied as calmly, even though my palms were becoming a touch sweaty.

Matt’s features hardened with disapproval as he took a few steps further into the bedroom. I clutched the bottle tighter.

“By getting sloshed? By taking drugs? You’re twenty-seven years old. Act like a bloody adult, not some Uni student whose sole intent is to party.” His words ended in a shout and it startled me, immensely.

Matt and I had arguments, as all normal couples do, but he rarely shouted at me the way he was shouting now. I blinked slowly, trying to shrug free from the fog of alcohol and pot so I could clearly articulate the many ways he should get fucked.

“Look at you,” he continued yelling. “Practically half naked without a bra, parading around in front of your friends who, by the way, are complete arses for letting you get in this state.”

“Don’t talk about my friends that way,” I yelled back. “I am an adult and, if I choose to get wasted, it’s my damn prerogative. And what’s wrong with my clothes? I’m in my house. If I want to walk about naked, I’ll damn well walk about naked.”

Things descended pretty quickly after that. Levels of maturity, of stupidity, were the common thread of our shouts. Lack of respect featured, too. His overbearing dominance. My inability to deal with my problems in a logical manner. But I lost it when he yelled, “For God’s sake, speak proper English. You’re in England, not the hood.” No one cracked on my adopted hometown or the way we spoke. I called him all levels of snob. He called me petulant and combative…and a drunk. I took a swig from my bottle, for spite. The clear grey of Matt’s piercing eyes darkened to a virulent silver. He was past mad, and I was speeding down that same highway of rage with him. My birthdays usually sucked. This one was no better.

Nathan glanced up at the ceiling and winced. The muffled shouts were getting louder. His sweet Bella was high, but upset over the argument taking place above their heads.

Madi’s friends also cast a few upward glances, but they seemed less concerned than he was.

“Should someone go up there?” he finally asked. They were watching football, or soccer as her friends referred to it. He’d spent the last fifteen minutes trying to explain the offside rule to Bret and Marie-Sol.

“No,” Dante said. “It’s good that she’s arguing.”

“I beg your pardon?” Nathan asked in confusion. What sort of friend was this Dante?

The three of them, Dante, Marie-Sol, and Bret, looked at each other and nodded in agreement. Whatever their secret look meant, Nathan didn’t care. Bella was upset and he would do anything to ensure she wasn’t. Matt and Madi needed to stop this nonsense at once.

“Well,” he said, getting up in a huff. “I’ll go then.”

They turned to regard him with varying degrees of irritation on their faces. Nathan felt his ire raise. Did they not know who he was?

“Look, man,” Dante said. “It’s better if Madi’s arguing.”

“If she’s fighting, then she’s not crying,” Bret continued.

“Judgemental asshole!” came from above.

Nathan shook his head and started towards the stairs. He’d had enough. With determined strides, he found himself outside the bedroom they were in. He forwent knocking. They were shouting so loudly they probably wouldn’t hear it anyway. When he opened the door, the sight that met his eyes filled him with surprise. Matt had discarded his jacket and his tie had been tugged into a haphazard way around his collar. His hair was no longer neatly brushed back, instead standing on end around the sides, an obvious indication of him running his hands frequently through it, with a whiskey bottle held behind his back.

Madi was glaring up at him, hands on hip, showing no signs of backing down, her face twisted into a sneer, and the look she was giving Matt made Nathan pause. People didn’t argue with Matthew Bradley. They tried their utmost not to displease him. Yet, here she was, this slip of a woman, yelling defiantly into his best friend’s chest. Bloody hell, she was tiny in comparison to Matt.

But it was Matt’s behaviour that made Nathan realize how much she’d truly changed him. His friend didn’t rage like this. He didn’t create scenes. Matt was a private man who conducted his business, both personal and professional, behind an aloofness that was inbred in him. He didn’t have quarrels within the earshot of others. In fact, Nathan had never seen Matt so incensed with a woman before. He never cared enough about them to react in this way. Usually, he’d simply ignore any unwelcome behaviour and move on. Now he was going at it like a raging bull. He was not acting like a Bradley. He was not acting like his usual detached self.

Nathan slammed the door shut, startling them both and finally drawing their attention to him.

“Stop this foolishness at once,” he stated without humour.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing in here, Nathan?” Matt growled at him. “Get out.”

“Get a hold of yourself, Matt,” Nathan retorted. “Both of you actually. This behaviour is unacceptable and downright unpleasant. You’ve upset my fiancée, and I’m not having that.”

Nathan watched as Madi tried to reach for the bottle Matt was holding out of her reach and responded curtly, “And I’m trying to take care of mine.”

Nathan was sure neither one of them realized what Matt had said. They were too embroiled in their anger for the importance of Matt’s words to sink through the haze of fury that surrounded them.

“Stop that,” Matt grumbled at her, catching her wrists with one hand and holding the bottle well out of her reach above his head. “You’ve had quite enough to drink these past few days.”

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