Page 17 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year
“Nothing. I just thought you’d be a little roll-y suitcase kind of person, not...” He gestured to the giant bags.
“I used to be,” she said, but she still couldn’t move.
“You don’t know what to wear, do you?” He gave her the kind of grin that said he’d figured her out, cracked her like a safe. She couldn’t possibly have any more secrets.
So she whirled on him. “No. I don’t know what to wear for Christmas cocktails with Eleanor Ashley!” She threw her hands out wide, then grabbed her toiletry bag and most basic little black dress and ran into the bathroom to change because that was no doubt faster than trying to push Ethan out.
“Technically, it’s Christmas Eve Eve Eve,” he called from the other side of the door.
“Get out!” she called back.
“You’re gonna need help zipping that,” he said as she threw water on her face and some dried-out mascara on her lashes. It flaked and got in her eyes and she only had twenty seconds to brush her teeth.
But the worst part was when she pulled the dress over her head and remembered why she hadn’t worn it in a year. First, because she’d barely left her apartment, but also...
She remembered standing in a dressing room and watching Emily roll her eyes.“Come here. You never were good at zipping.” Maggie turned but Emily caught her eye in the mirror. “Just make sure you wear it when Colin is home. And make sure he doesn’t just unzip it,”Emily had said with an exaggeratedwink wink.
Maggie couldn’t wear that dress. She couldn’t evenzipthat dress. But there was a voice on theother side of the door, calling, “Oh, Margaret Lavinia, we’re going to be late.”
So Maggie twisted and turned and—“Ow!”—banged her elbow on the doorframe, trying to ignore the little voice that was telling her she really only had one option.
“Come on, Margaret Eugenia.”
Reluctantly, Maggie opened the door and Ethan went silent at the sight of her.
She’d barely had time to twist her hair on top of her head and slap on the only lipstick she owned—something calledHeathenthat Emily had gotten in a goodie bag at Milan Fashion Week. Maggie had always liked the color but from the look on Ethan’s face she probably had it all over her teeth or something. And she didn’t dare say he was right about the zipper. She’d rather die first. But she somehow managed to step into the room and turn around.
She waited for a joke about the fact that she was wearing the world’s most utilitarian bra or how she had two freckles on her back that were positioned like teeny tiny nipples. Colin used to tease her about them. Ormockher? Maggie was no longer sure of the difference, but Ethan didn’t say a thing.
He just studied her face in the mirror, and when she met his gaze, she didn’t recognize the Ethan who stared back. There was no teasing, no taunting, no too-cool, too-clever, too-charming grin. It was as if a mask had slipped and for one split second, she sawEthan, the manand notEthan, the Guy in the Leather Jacket. And for that split second Maggie forgot how to breathe.
“Hey. She’s gonna love you.” A warm finger brushed down the line of her spine. He was looking at her like he knew her—like he’dalwaysknown her. Better than Colin. Better than Emily. Better even than she knew herself. And all Maggie could do was stand there as one heartbeat turned into two. Then three. And then her heart stopped beating altogether and Maggie felt herself sway. The touch broke and the moment ended and Maggie watched his mask go on. The persona flickered to life ashe said, “Besides, your boobs look amazing in—”
“Zip it,” she ordered and the zipper slid into place and he didn’t say another word as she stormed back into the bathroom and slammed the door.
“Do you want me to wait?” he called. Wordlessly, she opened the door and pointed. “Downstairs. I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
Chapter Thirteen
“You’re two minutes late to my party.”
Maggie skidded to a stop on the stairs, breathing hard and still trying to put in her earrings. For a split second, she wondered if she was hearing things, but then she saw Eleanor in the foyer below, standing at a window and looking out over the drive.
“I’m so sorry. I only meant to lay down for just a minute, but...”
Wait. Was it supposed to belaydown orliedown? Maggie didn’t know. Maggie never knew! But if she was wrong, Eleanor hadn’t noticed or cared. In fact, she hadn’t even turned. She just kept staring out the window and Maggie tried to keep her footsteps soft—like Eleanor was sleepwalking and she didn’t want to wake her.
“Thank you for having me. Your home is”—Massive? Just as intimidating as youare?—“lovely. It’s—”
“Too old and too big for its own good and worth far more money than it should be. Just like me.” Eleanor didn’t laugh and didn’t smile and Maggie didn’t know what to say as her idol’s breath fogged against the cold, dark glass. “It’s quiet, though. I like the quiet.”
Maggie remembered the long drive and empty landscape—twenty thousand acres of no neighbors and no streetlights. On a clear night, they could probably see a million stars.
“I was born in a house with a dirt floor, did you know that, Maggie? The biographies like to talk about how poor we were, but they always miss that detail. Which is a pity. It’s a good one. My mother was sixteen and her parents had kicked her out. She was basically squatting in what was basically a shack and... The only thing she knew how to write was her name.”
“She must have been so proud of you.”
Outside, snowflakes streaked through the porchlights, making little white dashes in thesky. The wind howled and the house moaned, but Eleanor Ashley seemed stronger than it all. A force of nature.
