Less Than Perfect: A Bully Romance, page 9
“Alright my dears, the rules are simple. I’ll ask a question and each of you will write down the answer you believe your spouse gave. You’ll have six seconds per question. At the end, you’ll come forward one by one and list your guesses. The one with the most correct answers wins and forfeits any of their lost time. The loser, as I stated, will lose time from this week’s honeymoon phase.”
It wasn’t until that moment that it truly sunk in. Getting used to actually thinking of myself as married was one thing. I’d been distracted, naively so, from the fact that I had a 33% chance of winning $100,000. Before I’d met Maddox I would have thought my chances for winning were slim to none. My presence here was more of a statement than anything else. But Maddox and I got along surprisingly well. Better than the other couples so far at least. If we did well in the trials we could both come out on this competition on top.
‘I didn’t come here for a car, a paycheck, or a vacation…’
I winced at the not so subtle reminder before another thought sunk in. That kind of money could change our lives. If we won, we’d eventually need to move in together. Getting a job in an unfamiliar city would be a pain in the ass but the money would offer a much-needed cushion and I’d been looking for a way out of Mississippi since I first crossed state lines. While moving to Colorado permanently had never been a part of the plan, maybe it was time to go back to the drawing board. After all, we may not have come here for the prize money but that didn’t mean we couldn’t leave with it.
Kids on the block
I had no business being going to the dance.
Sure, I liked music. And sure, my body knew how to sway accordingly to a beat. But if I wanted to dance, home should have been the place to do it, just like all those other times. When Trenton showed up to my house, however, all my plans were about to be turned upside down.
Trenton and I, we had as much in common as a broomstick has with a fishbowl. He was paper-thin and I was book thick. He could blow into a trombone for hours on end without being short of breath and I…well, I was allergic to overexertion. Still, he was in front of me with a single sunflower clutched in his feeble hands. I hated sunflowers. There was nothing unique about them and of all the flowers in the world, they had the most uncreative name.
I shook my head at him. He flashed me his braces then straightened his thick glasses on his nose.
“Will you go to the dance with me, Cornelia?”
“Trenton,” I started, my head still moving from side to side in protest. Despite the little we had in common, I wouldn’t be lying if I said ‘it wasn’t him, it was me.’ I had issues. Confidence issues. Trust issues. Issues with men.
“Cornelia,” Momma Rachel beamed. How she’d managed to squeeze her way through the front door without me noticing, I’ll never know. I almost felt bad for her, though. She loved these kinds of things and the prospect of me having someone who wasn’t an enemy was a dream come true for her, I was sure.
I looked at her and I looked at him. I looked at the flower in his hand, already growing limp. “It’s just that I-” I started to say, but momma Rachel’s arm was now looped through mine and she was smiling like someone had just stuck a million dollars into the side of her bra.
“Of course she will,” she answered in my stead.
It was settled then. Before I had the time to present my rebuttal, Trenton was dragging his jaw all the way back to his bike. I sucked in a deep breath, one I hoped would be enough to save me from all the oxygen it felt like this conversation sucked out of my lungs. One, I hoped would be enough for all the missed breaths I’d have to deal with once I was actually at the dance.
It wasn’t going to the dance with Trenton that scared me the most. He had more friends than I did. Was nice enough. And sure, it would be a reach actually finding something to talk to him about, because, like I said, we had very, very, very, little in common. The problem was, Marcus would be there. And Marcus had dedicated more than half of his life to making mine a living hell. I didn’t want to go to the dance because going was just giving him an opportunity to ruin something else for me. Not to mention the fact that – illogical as it was – seeing him with that girlfriend of his felt like stabbing a hot knife into an open wound. She was new in town, but by the way she acted like she owned the place, no one would have ever guessed. Eloise, sure as rain felt a lot more comfortable here than I was ever made to feel.
She was confident.
She was brave – if one were inclined to believe that she’d actually gotten the massive scar on her leg when she wrestled a wolf to save her kitten.
And she was Marcus’.
Marcus’ third arm. Marcus’ extension to his hip and ego. And of course, another way for Marcus to get under my skin. She sung his insults almost better than he did. The perfect puppet, if there ever was one.
8
I’d never done well under pressure.
It was one of those little quirks that made my life more difficult than it needed to be. The three of us were separated on the stage and I was dead center next to the woman with the gray hair. The dry erase board in my hands felt heavy and since I was shaking like a Pomeranian on acid I was deathly afraid that I would drop it. Being filmed and speaking in front of a crowd were different beasts. The camera was impersonal, easy to forget. On stage I was forced to see every person, every whispered aside. I was hyper aware of their attention, of their eyes on me even shielded by their masks.
“If you were to win, what’s the first thing your spouse would want to do with the money?”
“What are their thoughts on monogamy?”
“When is it ok to lie?”
“What would be their parenting style?”
Shit.
I was hoping for easy questions like what his favorite color was or guessing his middle name. Those were the kinds of questions I could cover with relative confidence after spending the morning trying to get to know him. But these were on a different level. They delved beyond the shallow which meant the chances of us all getting them wrong had just skyrocketed.
‘What the hell are the producers thinking? The Honeymoon phase is supposed to be our learning curve. At this rate, we wouldn’t even make it to the next trial.’
Concentrating on each question gave me something to do rather than fidget in front of the crowd so maybe it was a blessing in disguise. It didn’t make them any easier to answer.
“How would your partner describe himself? How would he describe you?”
How would Maddox describe himself?
He didn’t like living by the rules, I could tell that much. He spoke his mind regardless of the situation, and he was surprisingly astute and thoughtful for a man who was capable of such rash decisions like being a part of this show in the first place. I bit my lip and wrote the first word that came to mind.
Rebel
One down and another to go.
How would he describe me?
I thought about our interactions up until this point and winced. Again, I chose the first answer that came to mind and by then it was time to cap our markers. The gray-haired woman, who’d revealed herself as Citrine as the crowd waited for her assistant to arm us all with boards and markers, stopped at Sheila’s side first.
“Let’s hear from Giles first. Giles?”
“I like to think of myself as a maverick.” His voice could be heard easily through the speaker system that had been set up in the room. “Maybe even a renaissance man. Why conform to societies rules when I can make my own?” He answered with such confidence and speed that it was obvious this was a line he delivered often. I wondered just how many people were asking Giles to describe himself to the point where he had a patented response at the ready.
“And Sheila?” Giles continued. “How would you describe your wife?”
There was a long moment of silence and when Giles spoke again he sounded stiff and disapproving.
“She overcompensates for her insecurities by sexualizing herself.” Came his lofty reply. “She’s honestly one of the most insecure women I’ve ever met.”
“Sheila?” Citrine turned to the other woman with one brow raised high. Sheila, face blank, turned her board around and held it up for the crowd and cameramen to see. I craned my head to get a better look and swallowed a snort. The rest of the room wasn’t nearly as polite, and laughter rang out.
For her first answer, Sheila had written; ‘Conceited momma’s boy. Inflated sense of self-worth.’ For her second answer she’d simply put down; ‘Insecure.’
Citrine, a slight smile on her face tsked into her mike.
“Not bad. That’s six for the Thompsons, which puts them in the lead.”
I’d expected her to unpack Sheila’s answers but there was no point. Even if she and Giles didn’t discuss the game back at the house, he’d see it for himself once the show aired. Citrine moved on to Phee.
“Pete? How would you describe Fiona and how do you think she would describe you?”
“Old.” Giles cleared his throat. “If I had to describe myself it would be old. Considering the age difference, I imagine my wife would agree. Either that or dull.”
Phee’s eyes widened and her lips, which had been tight with anticipatory disapproval, softened.
“As for Phee…” Here, Giles seemed to be at a temporary loss for words. “She’s strong-willed. Beautiful.”
The crowd awed like a bunch of third graders and Phee flushed. Citrine turned to her, eyes sparkling.
“Fiona.” The two women shared a smile and I was struck by how similar they were. Not in looks but in poise and overall confidence. “If you would?”
Phee turned her board and again I leaned out so that I could read what was written there.
‘Peter sees himself as a martyr. He thinks I’m cold.”
The rush of blood in my eardrums drowned out the crowd’s reaction and though I was tensed for her arrival, I didn’t notice Citrine approach. I looked up and there she was, smiling expectantly. My chest constricted. This was somehow worse than the other questions. Probably because it was so personal.
“Maddox?”
“My mother always called me a troublemaker, so I guess I’ll go with that.” He sounded so uninterested that it almost brought a smile to my face. “As for Cornelia…” The silence stretched out and my stomach crawled back down to my feet. “She’s a siren. Smart. Sexy. Fierce. If I had to pick one word for her it would be, ‘dangerous’.”
My jaw dropped, and the crowd lost its collective shit. Citrine made a show of fanning herself and then it was my turn. I hesitated, feeling sick. In the end there was no choice. My first answer was close enough to earn us a much-coveted point, but there was no way in hell I would have gotten the second one right. Even if I hadn’t written ‘annoying’ in large letters.
Citrine shook her head in mock disappointment and I ducked my head.
“Well there you have it. The winners of tonight’s mini-trial are Sheila and Giles Thompson. You’ve earned yourselves a romantic dinner for two tomorrow night here at the Winston and you’ll also have the rest of the week to enjoy some one on one time together.” She grinned. “As for the rest of you…the real fun starts in 48 hours. Make the best of it.”
9
It was impossible to fall asleep that night and when I woke up, I had a migraine. I’d spent the night tossing and turning for hours until exhaustion finally bitch slapped me into oblivion. As soon as the sun rose, and my alarm went off I regretted ever signing up for the show. Upon our arrival back at the house we’d been left with instructions to get a full night’s sleep since we’d need to wake up early for the onslaught of the trials.
I trudged downstairs dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, eyeing Maddox sourly. He was leaning against the pillar in the living room looking bored but otherwise bright and bushy tailed. To my disappointment he’d remembered to shave today, and his hair was carefully brushed back from his face. If not for the fitted black T that strained at his arms and chest and the dark blue jeans encasing his long, muscular legs, he might have almost looked respectable.
Robert was already there, and I knew by the expectant faces that turned to greet me that everyone had been waiting on me. I was too tired for embarrassment, so I just glared back. Maddox had the nerve to chuckle.
“Not a morning person.” It wasn’t a question and my answering scowl only amused him even more.
“I know, I know,” I muttered in disgust. “Noted.”
“You all must be anxious about what we have planned for the day,” Robert interrupted, clapping his hands together to get everyone’s attention.
Phee’s delicate snort spoke louder than any words. I couldn’t help but notice that some of the tension that had been between her and Pete had dissipated. At least last night’s debacle had been good for something. While Sheila and Giles would get out of the day’s activities, it wasn’t necessarily a win, considering how much the two despised one another.
“As I’m sure all of you know, one of the first strains to be placed on a marriage is when the couple has their first child. Quality time is harder to come by, personalities clash, and responsibilities are often disproportionately divided between family and providing for that family.” He eyed the four of us closely and a small smile spread across his face. Even at opposite ends of the room Maddox and I shared a look.
“Today we’ll be putting that strain to the test.” He nodded and one of the crew opened the French doors that separated the living room form the backyard. They came like a swarm of locusts, the small voices so high pitched that they sounded more like banshees than children.
“Both teams will have several chores to complete by six o’clock today. You’ll each be responsible for three of our adorable volunteers. You’ll be monitored closely via mommy cam.” He held up a small stuffed bear, “and, of course, our television crew.”
A little girl, between the ages of 5 or 6 was clambering up into Phee’s lap while another tugged at her bouncing curls. She looked suitably horrified. By comparison, Pete had already managed to cajole a toddler out of his toy train and seemed disgruntled, though not out of his element.
A little boy was staring up at me, snot smearing the bottom half of his face. He was breathing heavily through his open mouth and there was something pink and gelatinous on the palms of his chubby hands.
My eyes narrowed, hands coming up in karate master level defense when he rushed me.
“Not so fast kid. This one’s mine.” Before I was contaminated by whatever was coating the small, strange, human Maddox swooped in like a fucking Avenger and snatched him up beneath his arm. Already a little girl was wrapped around his calf, squealing each time he moved anywhere, and another little girl was thrown over his shoulder, diapered backside squirming and tiny fists flying like loaded projectiles. Robert handed me a small envelope and gave our spy-bear to the little girl on Maddox’s ankle. He winked at the child before moving to deliver the same missive to Phee and the girl hid her face in the bear’s plush stomach.
“The team to check the most off their to do list will receive a date night and a head start during the next trial.”
Ripping the envelope open I peered inside and the bottom dropped out of my stomach. There were at least twenty things on our sheet of paper and as far as I could tell all of them seemed impossible with three babies in tow.
“The limos have been replaced with minivans for the day. You’ll be driving yourselves. Diaper bags and juice boxes have been generously provided by their mother’s.” Robert lifted his arm and checked his watch. “Make the best use of your time. Remember that you don’t have to complete everything in order. Now…Go!”
Maddox handed me the smallest girl and bent to rescue the one wrapped around his leg. I stared down at the bawling, pink faced, infant for nearly a minute before snot-mouth stretched from Maddox’s arms so that he could grip my hair and give it a solid tug.
“You ready for motherhood?” Maddox’s eyes sparkled and I sighed, bouncing the child instinctively in my arms until her cries hiccupped and lost some of their intensity.
“Do I have a choice?”
He studied me for a minute, then grinned.
“Nope. We’re in it to win it. Let’s go sugar tits.”
“Don’t say t-i-t-s in front of the kids.”
He laughed. “Remind me to have you spell out your various body parts next time we’re in the middle of f-o-r-e-p-l-a-y.”
If I could have hit him, I would have, but my arms were full of infant. We trudged outside and the air was already warm and heavy with the scent of evergreens even though morning was only a few hours old. Phee and Pete were already in their car and driving away and I read through our list to determine what to work on first while Maddox packed the kids into their car seats. Considering the sippy cups, crumbs, and assorted detritus that marked the inside of the car, I was guessing that the show had enlisted the help of a pair of soccer mom’s in need of a break. They were probably already posted up by the pool with margaritas and laughing their asses off.
“Grocery shopping.” I said finally.
Maddox looked over his shoulder, ignoring the foot firmly plastered against his chin in favor of checking that the belt was securely in its buckle.
“Why?”
I shrugged. “Because we won’t have to get much. The list asks for just enough for dinner tonight and we can be in and out in time to hit the dry cleaner’s and the park.”
He looked doubtful but didn’t argue. Satisfied that our charges were secure, he straightened and slid the door closed.
“Works for me.” Stepping around me, he reached for the passenger side door. “You’re driving by the way.”
Awesome.
I’ve never been a fan of kids.
Or rather, they’ve never been a fan of me.
I didn’t know what to do with them and, natural born predators, they could sense my fear. Usually it was easier to avoid them rather than figure them out, though if I hadn’t spent several months babysitting for the neighbors I never would have earned the $1000 for the rundown ’95 Jeep Cherokee that eventually marked my milestone into adulthood.
