“Nice trick!” Eden hisses when she reaches me. “Oh, very nice trick!” She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and then opens her eyes and lets out the breath. “Why did you want me to see it, Maddox? Eh? What possible reason could you have for wanting me to see it? Is it some kind of sick joke, is that it? But I bet you didn’t think she’d tell me, did you?”
I take a step back, feeling like the man who was sucker punched earlier. What the hell? I open my mouth to speak, but I’m too stunned, and for a few moments nothing will come out. I just watch Eden, her face twisted into anger, contempt, her lips trembling, and her eyebrows stern lines.
“She told me everything,” she says, voice trembling, but under control. “She told me how you were charming and arrogant and cool at the start. You know, all that shit us little women love do damn much. And then she told me what you turned into. And I know people, Maddox. I know them. And I’d bet my life on it—she wasn’t lying.”
“Cassandra,” I murmur, anger flaring. “You spoke to Cassandra.”
“I spoke to the woman whose photograph you had me look at!” she cries. “And she told me, Maddox. She told me all of it. You cheated on her, didn’t you? Poor woman, I don’t think even she knows how many times it happened. You cheated on her, and if she had the gall to ask you to stop, you hit her. You hit and hit her, didn’t you, and I… you made me believe you were different!”
I step forward, opening my arms. She’s staggering on the spot, and her eyes have that glazed-over, drunk look. “I can explain all of this, Eden,” I say. “But you need to know: none of it’s true. Nothing she said is true. She’s crazy.”
“Oh, there it is!” Eden roars, throwing her hands up. “Here it comes! Whenever a woman makes accusations like this, she’s always crazy, isn’t she? She’s always psycho. Do you know how many men have used that excuse before, Maddox? Do you know how pathetic it is?”
“It’s true,” I say. “It’s the goddamn truth.”
“Get me the driver. I want to go home.”
I make to hug her. She thumps my chest, shoves me back.
“Get the driver! I want to go home!” She turns toward the mansion. “Nat!”
Natalie, her friend, emerges from the mansion, walks down the stairs, and throws a fiery, feral gaze at me. She takes Eden by the arm and leads her toward the porch. “We’ll wait here for the driver,” she says.
“None of it’s true,” I say, head pulsing. “Not a single word. You’re drunk, Eden.”
“I might be drunk!” she calls from the porch. “But I’m not an idiot.”
I take out my phone and shoot a text to the driver: porch.
I approach the porch, stop at the bottom of the steps when Eden growls, “No closer!”
“Listen,” I say. “I’ve called the driver, okay? But you need to listen to me. None of it is true. Nothing she said. I’m not trying to smear her. I’m telling you the truth. Cassandra is insane. I’ll tell you all about it. I’ll tell you the whole thing.”
“What about the screensaver?” Eden murmurs.
“What fucking screensaver?” I snap.
Eden and Nat flinch at my outburst. She’s drunk. She’s drunk, and she’s not thinking straight. Just like that Harvard kid, but I’m not about to put Eden in a headlock. Goddamn, what did that crazy bitch say to her? What poison did she trickle into her ear? Goddamn Cassandra! I need to find out exactly what she said.
“Eden,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “I swear to you, on my parents’ lives, on my own life, and on the life of every member of The Miseryed, that nothing Cassandra said is true.”
“Sure,” Eden grunts, collapsing into Natalie’s arms. “Sure, sure, sure.”
The car pulls up, and Natalie helps Eden to her feet, and the two of them walk to the car. I go toward the door, meaning to open it, but Natalie says, “We’re fine, thank you.”
They climb into the backseat. I hold the edge of the door and poke my head into the back. “None of it’s true,” I say. “None of it.” Eden is crumpled in Natalie’s arms, curled up like a child, and Natalie is stroking her hair and staring at me. “I’m going to talk to her, and I’ll call you tomorrow. I’ll get this whole thing straightened out.”
Natalie turns to the driver. “We’re going to my apartment, sir. The address is…”
I stand up and close the door, and the car drives away.
“Goddamn,” I mutter, my fists smacking my thighs. “Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn.”
I turn to the mansion; jaws clenched, teeth rattling, temples pulsing. Goddamn Cassandra.