APRIL

Jackson looks at me like I've suggested he hand over his entire fortune, house included.

"Getting to know each other?" he asks, aghast.

"Yeah," I say, tucking a piece of wet hair behind my ear. "Is that crazy, or something? Why are you looking at me that way?"

"I'm not looking at you in any sort of way," he says, frowning. It's a common expression of his, that frown. I've already come to memorize the lines on his face when it appears. He should stop, or they might stick.

"If we act like strangers, the gig is up," I say. "And according to you, your mother, and Calliope, that's the last thing that should happen."

He sighs, frustrated. "You still don't understand how important this is, do you?" he says.

"Don't talk down to me," I say. "I won't be spoken to like that. I'm not your underling."

He recoils slightly. I wouldn't have noticed had my eyes not been burning into him. When he uses that tone, my skin heats up and I'm sure I turn red, but I don't care. I've said it before; I'm doing him a favor as much as he's doing one for me. I'm not his employee, though he treats me as if I'm even lesser.

"I'm your equal," I say. "That's not something I should have to tell you."

His eyes change shape as he looks at me, studies me for what I'm worth. He shakes his head just slightly, seemingly baffled, and I stand my ground.

"You exhaust me," he says.

"I could say the same about you," I say. "I'm trying to extend the olive branch, and you're determined to snap it. Why is that? Is there suddenly something wrong with being kind? Is that beneath you, too?"

"Enough," he says, and though he doesn't raise it, his voice is intimidating enough to make me press my lips together and go silent. "You have your mind set on seeing me a certain way, don't you?"

"You've made it very clear that you only wear one mask," I counter back.

"And what would that be?" he asks, tone tilting as if he's teasing me.

"The mask of an egocentric, selfish prick," I spit.

"Oh," he says, eyebrows up. "Is that what you think of me?"

I nod.

"Well, do you know what I think of you?" he says, and proceeds without my prompting. "I think you're a stubborn, close-minded, traditional girl who's never seen the world outside her four walls. And it shows."

"As if I've been given the chance to," I say.

"I'm giving you the chance now!" he says, a bit louder now. "And you're squandering it to fight with me. What good is this doing either of us? Are you having a good time?"

"No," I state.

"Well, neither am I," he says. "But we might as well get used to it. I've heard marriage isn't always about good times."

I scoff. "Like this is any real sort of marriage."

"You're hell-bent on making it not so," he says. "Aren't you?"

"So are you," I retort. "Because anything else would make you feel something."

"I feel nothing for you," he says, squinting like I've said something totally unbelievable.

"The feeling is mutual," I say, cheeks burning. "But that doesn't make what I said any less true. We do need to get to know each other, or else the media is going to see right through us. Sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but you're not a good actor, Mr. Avery."

"It's Jackson," he says. "Call me Jackson."

"What a luxury," I say, crossing my arms.

He bristles, jaw set so firmly his cheeks bulge. I know I'm upsetting him, but I'm getting a sort of rise out of it. It's refreshing to see some emotion provoked in him; it's better than the usual robotic, glossy facade. Plus, it takes a weight off to finally say those things that have been boiling inside me for days.

"Fine," he says. "So, we'll get to know each other. All I know about you is that you're dirt poor-"

"Not anymore," I say, holding up my left hand where diamonds sparkle on my ring finger.

"Thanks to me," he notes. "You lived on the South Side, and you're a pitbull in an argument."

"Married couples fight," I point out.

He concedes and says, "True."

With the air significantly cooled between us over an unspoken agreement to end the useless spat, I start with a question. "What's something about you that no one else knows?" I ask.

Something flashes across his face, something like a secret. I'm well-versed in the world of keeping those, so I know what they look like on someone. He's hiding something, and he didn't let it show for long. It's tucked away again, back in the recesses of his mind where I'm sure it usually stays. I can't imagine how many secrets must come with a life like his.

"I played the violin when I was nine years old," he says. "I hated it. I stomped on the instrument one day, and told my nanny it broke so I wouldn't have to go to my lessons."

"Interesting," I say. "But not enough."

"What are you talking about?" he sputters, frustrated that he wasn't up to my standards. I'm sure he's not used to that. "I told you something no one else knows; that was the parameters. No one knows that but me. And now, you."

"It's a good story, but it's not deep enough," I repeat. "I want something that you never, ever have even thought about telling someone else."

"So, why would I tell you?" he refutes.

"Because," I say, looking him dead in the eyes. "I'm your wife."

That silences him immediately. He physically pulls back, stunned and maybe even vulnerable. He doesn't argue any further. Instead, he takes a moment and retreats inside his head, hopefully digging up a sheltered memory to share.

"Um…" he says, clearing his throat.

I'm acutely aware that his guard is at least a little down; even his voice sounds different, and he won't look at me. I feel bad even trying to make eye contact, so I stop. I stare down at the comforter and wait for him to speak.

He laughs, but it's humorless. It creates a pain in my chest, a physical pain that I press my hand against to try and massage it out. Now, I definitely can't look at him.

"Okay. You want deep? Sure. I thought my nanny was my mom for the first two years of my life."

I blink hard, eyebrows knitted together. I heard his words, but I can barely put them together. I can't wrap my mind around anything but a close family relationship; I've never lived anything different.

I look up and meet his eyes very briefly before flitting away again. "What do you mean?" I ask, so I can understand.

He rolls his eyes and cracks his knuckles. I don't tell him to stop. "It's not a huge deal, I was just a kid. Kids think stupid shit. And because she was around so much, I thought she was my mom. It's not really all that far-fetched."

I take a wavering breath. "But she was around so much because… your mom wasn't."

"Has anyone ever told you that you should be a detective?" he asks, laced with sarcasm.

"Don't do that," I say, frowning deeply.

"Do what?"

"Push me away like that," I say. "I'm trying to get to know you, and you're intent on keeping up that stupid facade." I pause for a moment, and we challenge each other with our eyes. "How many years did-"

"So, how about you?" he asks, cutting me off entirely. "What's something that you've never told anyone?"

I should've known the question would volley back, but I wasn't sure we'd make it this far. I assumed he'd storm out of the room in a toddler-esque tantrum once I asked him to give more than the bare minimum, so I never expected to have to answer the question myself.

Though my life is simple compared to his, I do have secrets. Plenty of them. There's only one I won't tell him - or anyone. Something not a single person outside my immediate family knows, not even the one I should have told.

"I'm an open book," I say, straightening my shoulders.

"Liar," he says, shaking his head. "No. You made me go deep, so you're going there, too. No questions asked."

I know I won't get out of this without telling him something, but suddenly my mind is blank. Maybe I am the bland, uninteresting person he assumes I am. My confidence is shaken as that thought crosses my mind, and I feel small like I did the first time I walked through these mansion doors.

Thinking that makes me remember the first night here, just days ago. I remember sleeping alone, and how much I'd hated it. Then, I realize what I should tell him.

"I'm scared of sleeping alone," I say, laying it out bare-faced and open.

"What?" he says, raising his upper lip.

I shrug. "I don't like sleeping alone."

"What, you sleep with your boyfriend back home?" he spits.

"No," I say, keeping my voice the opposite of his - cool and calm. "The first night here was so bad because I'm not used to being in a bed by myself. Not with a boyfriend, or any boy. With my two little sisters, Kimmie and Alice."

"Aren't you a little old to be sharing a bed with your siblings?" he asks, forehead wrinkling.

"Yes," I say. "And they are, too. But there wasn't another option. Libby, my oldest sister, was already on the couch. And Mom needed her own space. So, me and the two little ones shared a room and a bed. I got so used to it; ever since they were born, I haven't known anything else."

It strikes me how true that is. When Kimmie was born, I was thirteen and already sharing that room with Libby. For a while, Kimmie slept in a crib in Mom's room until she got too big and could climb out of it, then it was just assumed that she and I would share. There was no questioning it, since there wasn't room anywhere else. And when Alice came along, the same thing happened. I never complained, because it didn't bother me. I liked having them close at night and knowing they were there. My two biggest sources of happiness, right by my side. Sleeping alone, in contrast, is daunting and somewhat terrifying.

"How many rooms did that house have?" he asks.

"Two," I say, holding up my fingers. "Just two."

"Jesus Christ," he says. "How did you guys have any room to breathe? Any room to do anything, to get away from each other?"

"I never wanted to get away from them," I say, trying to make him understand. "I love them."

"Still, at night? What if you wanted to bring a guy home?"

"It wasn't..." I trail off, diminutive. "My life wasn't like that."

"So…" he says, leaning forward a bit. "That's your thing? You're scared of sleeping alone." I nod, hearing how silly it sounds coming from his mouth. "Well, you don't have to, you know," he says. "I'll sleep in here. It'd probably help our situation, anyway." He laughs a bit at what he's about to say. "And I won't try anything, unless you ask. Which you might, eventually."

My face flames and I press my palms to my cheeks in efforts to hide my blush. My eyes dart around the room while he smirks, so pleased with himself, and I shake my head. "I won't," I say.

"But would you like it if I slept in here with you?" he asks.

The last few nights I've been alone, I've been plagued with nightmares. The bed is too big and empty, and I toss and turn until the sun comes up and I can't bear to lie there anymore. I can imagine that having someone next to me - their presence alone - would only help.

"Yes," I answer.

"Okay, then," he says. "I will. And I won't hold you to what you said, about not wanting me to touch you."

I let a loud breath from my nose. "You are so inappropriate," I say, flicking hair out of my face.

"Wait," he says, tipping his head to get a good look at my face. "Are you a virgin? Is that what this whole act is about?"

My stomach churns and boils, and a bad taste appears in my throat. Sex isn't an easy subject for me, for reasons I don't plan on getting into with him. I already told him one secret, and today isn't the day for more.

"No," I say, folding my hands and sitting up straight. "No, I'm not."

"April, you're not a good liar," he says, lightly.

"I'm not lying," I insist, frowning to put across the seriousness of my point.

"Okay," he says. "Sure."

I don't let him say anything else. I want this subject changed as quickly as possible, so I start talking before he carries on any further. "So, what do you like to do for fun?" I ask.

"What is this, the first day of school?" he asks, scoffing. "I don't do 'fun' anyway. That's a kid's word."

I start laughing; I can't help it.

"What?" he snaps. "What's so funny?"

"You just basically said that you're above having fun," I say. "Do you hear yourself? Ever?"

He shoots me a look. "I don't like being made fun of," he says.

"Yeah, 'cause you don't like fun," I say. "What do you do in your spare time? Stare at yourself in the mirror?"

His head twitches, and I come to realize that might be a tell of his. I think that comment really bothered him, and I feel guilty as soon as I've said it.

"I'm sorry," I say, growing meek.

"What do you do for fun?" he asks. "If you're the expert."

"I meant something more like a hobby," I say. "Do you have a hobby?"

A strange expression crosses his eyes again, and I take note of it. There's something he's not telling me, but it's definitely on his mind. I don't pry, though. It's not the time. I'm not sure if it will ever be the time.

"I go to clubs," he says. "I show up at parties."

As superior as he would like to sound, I can't help but feel sorry for him. It doesn't sound like he's known fun a day in his life, and that's no way to live. My family might be poor, but we know how to have a good time - especially with each other.

"I want to take you somewhere," I say, finding myself getting excited. "Somewhere I used to go in my free time."

He looks at me warily, wondering if he can trust what I'm saying.

"I promise, it's fun," I say, then rest my fingers on his wrist. He stares at my hand like he's never felt human touch before, but I don't move. "You might like it, if you try."

…

Seeing Jackson Avery standing at the end of a dock wearing loafers, pressed pants and a button-up shirt is enough to make me giggle, but I keep my composure. I don't want to make him feel silly. That's not why I brought him here.

I brought him here to loosen up. Lord knows, he needs it.

"You can sit," I say, getting comfortable with both legs hanging over the side.

Before we left, I packed a picnic basket with a simple lunch inside. And on the way here, I had the driver stop at a bait and tackle shop nearby so we could buy two fishing poles and bait.

"I'm fine up here," he says, crossing his arms.

I smirk to myself, squinting at the sunlight reflecting off the water. "Bet you didn't know we had places like this in Chicago," I say.

"Hmm."

"You just have to know where to look," I say, then pull off my shoes and scoot forward so my toes touch the water.

"April, that water is filthy," he says.

"God made dirt, so dirt don't hurt," I say. "That's what my mom used to tell us."

He grimaces. I have no idea what's running through his mind, but I'm not bothered. I have a feeling he'll loosen up in time. This spot has a way of doing that to people, and I won't rush him.

"My baby sister, Alice, caught her first fish here at the beginning of spring," I say, opening the bait box to pull out a colorful, plastic lure.

"Aren't those supposed to be live worms?" Jackson asks.

"I can't," I say.

"What, you don't like touching them?" he asks.

"I don't like killing them," I say, seriously. "I won't do it. Why kill an innocent creature when plastic works just as well, and it's reusable?" I hold it up for him to see. "Look!"

He glances at it, but only for a moment. "What did you say about your sister and a fish?" he says.

"Oh," I say, casting my line. "She caught her first one… maybe a month ago? Two?" I laugh, remembering the day.

It's such a good memory - it was perfect weather. The right amount of breeze, balmy air, and pleasant sunshine. All my sisters came out that day - Libby and I didn't have to work and we wanted to take the girls someplace special. We spent all day laughing and eating jelly sandwiches; I can still taste the sweetness of the raspberry jam on the back of my tongue.

"I swear, it was almost bigger than her!" I smile widely. "Given, she's very tiny. Oh!"

I exclaim as something tugs on my line, and I keep my balance on the dock as I reel it in. I keep the oscillations slow and even, making sure not to tug too hard - and before long, a flopping fish comes out of the water attached to my hook.

"I got one!" I say.

"Whoa," Jackson says, taking a step back. "What is that?"

"A fish, I don't know," I say, setting the pole down as I grab hold of the fish. "He's kinda cute, though, right?"

"Um…"

"He kinda looks like you when you frown," I say, imitating the downward slope of his lips.

He rolls his eyes, but doesn't argue or get offended. "What happens now?" he asks. "Are we supposed to bring that thing home?"

"No," I say, unhooking him with ease. "You just… toss them back."

And with those words, I gently let the fish go back into the water and watch him swim off. Jackson does, too.

"What's the point?" he asks, thoroughly confused.

"Fun, Jackson," I say, tilting my head towards him and squinting against the sun. "Fun."

…

"Put your feet in. It's really nice."

"I'm already sitting with you. That should be enough."

I set my fishing pole in a hole so it stays upright and turn to face him. "It's not," I say. "You have to get the whole experience."

"This is plenty experience in itself," he says. "The fresh air, the wildlife. The… you."

"The 'me' wants your shoes off," I say, scooting closer. "Come on. Let loose."

"I don't let loose."

"Being married to me," I say. "You - do - now."

Between each word, I yank both of his shoes off as his legs are extended in front of his body. "Hey!" he exclaims, but does nothing to stop me.

I take off his socks next, which are entirely too fancy for pieces of cloth that just cover feet. I toss them to the side without any care and make quick work of rolling up his pant legs, exposing his masculine and hairy shins.

"I look like an idiot," he says.

"Good thing no one's looking," I say. "No one but me."

"Christ," he says, then rolls his eyes harder than he has yet.

"If you keep doing that, they're going to roll back in your head," I say.

"How come you have a comment for everything?" he grumbles. "Everything I say, you have a quippy retort."

"How come you don't?" I counter, then snort. "It's called making the best of a situation. You should try it sometime. My dad taught me that."

"Yeah, well maybe that's my problem," he says, finally lowering his feet into the water. I don't make a big deal out of it; instead, I just watch him. He seems to enjoy the way it feels lapping around his ankles.

"What?" I say.

"Nothing," he murmurs.

I know it's not nothing, though. I know his dad is dead, that's become pretty obvious since he's not around and hasn't yet been spoken about.

"My dad's gone, too," I say, not waiting long before saying it.

He closes his eyes for a moment and I watch the tension creep back into his shoulders. "I don't talk about my father," he says, so quiet I almost miss it.

"What about your grandpa?" I ask, trying again.

He shrugs. "He was around, but he wasn't crazy about me. I didn't know him past the surface."

"He liked you enough to leave you a fortune," I point out.

"Half of it, on a condition," he says, barely moving his lips. It's clear he's not comfortable talking about this either, but that's okay. It's good to get out of the comfort zone.

"Half?" I say, curious. I don't know anything about him only getting half. "What do you mean, half?"

"It doesn't matter," he says. "Please, leave it alone."

He uses a tone that's firm and unwavering, and it causes my train of thought to stop in its tracks and not push any further. We were starting to have a good time, and I don't want to ruin it.

"Loss is hard," I say. "Ever since my dad died, my family hasn't really been the same."

He scoffs. "Yeah, did The Brady Bunch turn into The Addams Family overnight?"

"Don't be mean," I say. "You don't know what it was like. He made most of our money, and he made sure we ate. And after he passed, all of that was gone. That's why… you know, we had so many money struggles. My mom's still in a huge amount of debt from the medical bills when she had Alice. He had just passed, which meant we had no health insurance. Everything fell apart when he died. So, I'm just saying, I know how it feels to have your life torn apart."

He's quiet for a moment, pondering what I've said. I don't know if I've ever spoken about it in such plain terms before, but it feels good. It feels like a weight lifted from my shoulders. Even if it did fall on deaf ears.

But I don't think it did.

"I'm sorry," he says, and the words sit like two gemstones in my chest, shining and precious. I want nothing more than to wrap my fingers around them and squeeze tight, releasing the feeling to the rest of my body. "My father died when I was fourteen. I do know what you mean. Nothing has been the same since."

I let the words ruminate just like he allowed mine to do. The only sound between us is that of the waves splashing against the wood of the dock, rhythmic and soothing.

"I'm sorry, too," I say, then close the space between us and clasp his fingers inside mine.

Not only does he let me, but he opens his palm and squeezes my hand in return. I turn to look at him, but he's staring out at the pond - pants rolled up, feet in the water - so I turn and look, too.

"April," he says, disturbing the silence. "Would you like to go see your family?"

…

I can't hold still during the car ride. I don't know where we're headed - they've already moved into a new house, and it's apparently in Lincoln Park. That's a neighborhood where my mom has always wanted to live, for as long as I can remember.

"Breathe," Jackson says, though he's been reserved and a bit checked out since offering this.

"I'm sorry," I say, both knees still bouncing. "I'm just so excited."

When we pull up to the curb, I burst out of the car without waiting for him and storm the front path, knowing which walkup is theirs because of the number Jackson told me. I take the stairs two at a time and nearly trip over my feet, but I make it to the door eventually and ring the bell incessantly, over and over.

"Coming!" Libby shouts, and huge emotions flood through me just hearing her voice.

When she opens the door, her entire face lights up and she lets out a sound mixed between a sob and a laugh. "My baby!" she cries, and wraps me up in a huge hug. So huge, my feet lift off the ground and she swings me around in a circle.

"I'm here," I say, once she puts me down.

She doesn't let me go, though - she cups my face and stares, then holds me at arm's length. "Look at you," she says. "You're… you're a lady. Your hair, your clothes… April, you…" She starts to cry again, and buries her face in my neck to try and quell her tears.

"I missed you so much," I say, rubbing her back heartily.

"Who's here?" a little voice calls from the top of the stairs.

"You have stairs," I say, gasping as I look at them.

"Sissy?!"

Little footsteps come clambering down those magnificent stairs, and I catch sight of Kimmie and Alice racing to get to me. They look cleaner than they have in years - with fresh haircuts, wearing new clothes. I start to cry because they look so different, so big, in the handful of days I haven't been with them.

"Sissy!" they both scream, and hurl themselves into my arms.

I fall backwards onto the floor and they come with me, arms wrapped around my middle, dropping wet kisses all over my face while squeezing me as tight as they can.

"I thought you were never, ever coming back, ever!" Kimmie says, eyes wide as saucers.

"I told you," Alice says, thumb in her mouth. I wouldn't dream of pulling it out.

"I missed you guys so much," I say, hugging them and pressing a hand to the backs of both of their heads. "I love you. I love you so, so, so much. Look at this place! Look at all of you! You look so darn fancy."

"I gotted new clothes!" Alice announces. "No rips! No rips for you to sew, sissy, that okay?"

I tear up again and kiss her chubby cheeks. "It's okay, baby," I say, voice waterlogged. "It's more than okay. You guys needed new clothes so bad."

"New everything!" Kimmie says, throwing her arms into the air. "Also, Mama's at work."

"She should be home soon, though," Libby says. "Why don't you… and him… come inside and wait for her?"

At the mention of Jackson, I look over my shoulder to see that he's still lingering by the door. With our exuberant reunifications, I hadn't given him much of another option, but he still looks awkward and stiff.

"Jackson," I say, nodding him over.

He gives a little shake of his head and waves one hand subtly, signaling that he's fine where he is. But I won't stand for it.

"Jackson," I say again, beckoning him with one arm. "Please. They're my family."

It takes a moment, but he gives in slowly. He walks with calculated steps over to where my sisters and I are standing, and smiles tersely.

"Guys, this is my husband," I say, trying to get used to the word. "Jackson."

All three gingers blink at him with wide, green eyes. He looks between all of them, clearly unsure of what to do, and nods his head politely.

"Jackson," I say. "This is Alice, the baby. Kimmie, and Libby, my older sister."

"Nice to meet all of you," he says, and extends a hand for Libby before giving her a firm handshake.

"Me, too!" Alice says, and stands up on her tiptoes while reaching a hand out for Jackson, fingers spread wide.

"Oh," he says, and shakes her hand while looking her warmly in the eyes. "Nice to meet you as well."

"And me!" Kimmie chimes in, mimicking what Alice had just done.

"And you," Jackson echoes, and if I'm not surprised, a ghost of a smile finds its way to his lips.

"Come inside!" Alice says, and surprises us all when she takes Jackson by the hand and tugs him into the house. "It's so big. You can't even believed it. Look! Look at the big lights!"

"Wow," Jackson says, trailing behind her.

My heart splinters and oozes feeling into my chest as I watch them. Then, subtly, Kimmie's grip slips out of mine and she goes to take Jackson's other hand.

"Look at how big our fridge is! And we even get a mico-wave!"

I follow them into the kitchen and see that they're right; this is bigger than anything we ever knew. It's not as big as the kitchen where I live, but I don't plan on telling them about that.

"Also, sissy, you're fancy," Kimmie says, turning around. "Does being married mean you dress fancy?"

I look down at my outfit, which was the most casual thing I could find that wasn't loungewear. It's a fitted, yellow patterned dress with a red belt, and I can see how it would count as fancy for her.

"I guess so," I say, shrugging and playing along with her.

"And guess what?" Alice practically shrieks. "We got a TV! We got a real life TV!"

"For our very own house!" Kimmie sings. "Sissy! In our house! I bet you don't even have one in your house."

"You're right," I say, smiling. "I don't."

"Hey," Alice says, tugging on Jackson's hand. "Get my sissy a TV, please."

He smiles a little awkwardly, but it's cute anyway. "Will do," he says.

Libby pours us all glasses of water from a Brita filter, which she has to explain in great detail to me. I hadn't even known something like that existed. We sit at the counter and nurse the glasses, Jackson staying completely quiet, until we hear the front door come open.

"Mommy!" both little girls shout. "Mommy, sissy's here! Sissy's here with her boyfriend man!"

There's a thump as whatever Mom was carrying falls to the floor, then the sound of her footsteps as she rushes to meet me. At first, shock is painted all over her face, then it crumples into tears of joy.

"My baby," she sobs, and pulls me into her arms even tighter than Libby had.

I start crying too, returning the hug just as tightly. I let her hold me for as long as she wants, because I need it so badly, and finally open my eyes after a few long beats have passed.

Through my tears, I blink into Jackson's face standing a good distance away. If I didn't know better, I'd think that he was doing a horrible job at trying to conceal an impeccable amount of sadness.