❛ 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 . . . ❜
022. PETUNIA
━━━━━━━━━━━
SEATTLE
It's kinda funny, isn't it?
Beth had spent all of this time and all of this energy on being a better person–– on being the better person.
She'd bit her tongue and bided her time and let the whole world just pass normally, like she hadn't wanted to yell and scratch and bite like a mean dog backed into the corner––
But as she sat in that Church, in a home of peace and virtue and grace, she realised that being the better man was no longer an option.
No.
Had it really been an option at all?
Honestly, she wasn't sure of that answer.
But what she was sure of, now, was this:
Wouldn't it be fun?
Wouldn't it be fun for Beth Montgomery to ruin Mark Sloan's life?
Just like he'd ruined hers.
──────
NEW YORK
If you were to ask Beth what she thought about the sudden friendship that bloomed between her boyfriend, Calum, and her fake boyfriend, Mark, she would've laughed and answered with one very definitive statement:
I couldn't be happier!
(Translation: I'm killing myself tonight 🙂)
When Addison had stated that, alongside this media circuit, she wanted to completely revamp everything about Mark Everett Sloan, she'd understated exactly the lengths she wanted to go. Somehow, the word 'revamp' didn't capture the military format of the operation Addison launched that day while Mark tried on different suits––
And Of course, out of all of them, there was only one that could fit Addison's vision.
"What do you think?"
It'd been the night of the gallery opening when Mark had asked her that question.
He'd called it across an overcast, twilight-drenched street in mid-October along with her name.
Beth was mid-step, making her way across the sidewalk as she saw him for the first time. Windswept, collar perfectly placed and hair gelled meticulously. It was the kind of sight that made her pause.
Maybe she wouldn't have even recognised him if he hadn't called her name.
But there he was, leant against a town car with a golden smile, the kind that told her he knew the exact answer to the question, even before he'd repeated it.
Goosebumps raised on the back of her neck but she knew it was, more than likely, just the westerly breeze.
Beth bit on the tip of her tongue and blinked, once and twice as she registered the man standing in front of her––
"Jesus fucking Christ," she mumbled under her breath.
A grin flashed across his face, crooked and wide and already convinced that he knew the answer––
"What do you think?" He repeated.
What did she think?
She thought that she was going to need something a bit stronger than champagne to survive tonight... especially when Mark looked like that.
There was something about a meticulously dressed Mark Sloan that set Beth on edge.
Before, when he'd been thrown into Derek's clothing, he'd looked like a tall child playing dress up.
Sure, he'd looked handsome in the way that he always did, but Beth hadn't missed how the pants had cut a fraction short on the leg and the blazer had bunched at his shoulder blades–– she'd noticed every detail and would notice every detail about him until she was exhausted––
But this...
Ah.
When Beth didn't speak, he answered for her:
"Like a God, right?"
As she just stared at him, cogs turning at the back of her head, he adjusted his cuffs and leant forwards.
A wave of his cologne stretched out towards her, as if to drag her into her death.
"Fits like a glove––"
He filled in her silence and Beth could just about manage a scoff.
"––that's exactly what you're thinking, I can see written all over your face––"
Her face contorted and she rolled her eyes, walking towards him with the reluctance of a woman who knew tonight was going to be a really long night. Her cell phone was in one hand, a handful of band aids in the other, just anticipating the way these shoes would pinch her toes.
And yet, out of everything, she was convinced Mark's ego would be the most painful experience to come out of today.
"Wow," Beth remarked, "Did Calum teach you to read minds too?"
"Turns out he kinda knows a lot," Mark shrugged off-handedly and Beth's eyebrows rose. It was a statement that she hadn't expected at all."...and, owns one hell of a wardrobe by the way––"
"Mhmm––"
"He actually knows how to clean up alright––"
"Oh c'mon," Beth said, trying to play off the way her hair stood upright, "Don't make me say told you so––"
"Never," It was Mark's turn to scoff and she was close enough for the sound to go right through her: she faltered in her step as he grinned at the ground, "I'd never give you the satisfaction, Montgomery."
"Never?"
"Swear on my heart," He said, but his smile was too wide and almost childish.
Beth rolled her eyes.
For the record, Mark and Calum getting on like a wildfire had not been on Beth's bingo card for this lifetime–– all it had taken was one casual conversation over a couple of beers and Calum had reported that Mark wasn't as bad as he'd heard.
And, more detrimental to Beth's sanity, he'd agreed to help out.
The man standing in front of Beth was now deeply debriefed like a witness heading for a testimony stand.
She didn't know much about Calum's history with witness prep, but, if she could judge from everything else she knew about her boyfriend, she could only guess he was ruthless and perfect at it.
"I'd never prove you right," Mark declared to the Manhattan street as Beth's head tilted to the side, "I'd never be able to live with your ego."
"My ego?" She echoed, eyebrows raised, "Sure, tell me all about my ego, Zeus 'Almighty."
And Mark chuckled as he stepped back, opening the door so she could slip in and sign herself up for whatever misery this evening would bring. The sound of his laugh practically chased her across the sidewalk––
"Like a God," Mark said lightly as she passed, "Not A God–– I just happen to have that, uh, classically sculpture-like way about me––"
"Now I remember my line," Beth said dryly, and she slipped herself into the back of the car, placing her purse down on the seat beside her. "Not a God but Hot Shit. Shit but Hot. I remember."
And all Mark did, again, was smile.
But before he closed the door and left her to the very brief silence of an empty car, he paused.
"Well," Mark said, "Would you look at that..."
He opened his jacket, showing off a label sewn into the inner lining.
"Look at that, Montgomery–– see what it says?"
She didn't look.
She wouldn't if she could help it.
Looking at Mark wearing her boyfriend's best suit felt a whole lot like looking right at the moon. It'd probably change a tide somewhere and she didn't want to think about that more than she need to.
She knew it wouldn't burn her but she did know that it might take a little piece of her with her.
But Mark beamed, all teeth, proudly shoving a thumb in the direction of the tag:
"Right there," Mark said, and he winked, "Looks like, tonight, I'm 100% boyfriend material."
──────
One conversation with Calum March, apparently, had been enough to make Mark Sloan a changed man.
She'd heard all about it: how boyfriend bootcamp had happened in a bar, with Calum handing down the kind of chivalry lessons that he'd been taught in the pressure cooker of Manhattan Law.
Mark had walked in a wild thing and left a virtuoso, ready to pledge monogamy like he was saluting the American flag––
But Beth was inclined to believe it when she saw it.
"There something on my face, Montgomery?"
He asked the question lightly as he held open her door, eyebrows raised as Beth gently eased herself out of the towncar on heels that were pinching her toes. He'd shone brightly in the corner of her eye and now she had to blink up at him, brow furrowed slightly as he just kept on grinning.
"You're smiling," Beth stated.
"I'm smiling?"
"You're smiling," She repeated, nodding and then, after a moment's pause, she added: "A lot."
Mark laughed, the sound catching on the wind as the car behind them glided away, back into the heavy Manhattan traffic.
"I'm in a good mood," He said, but Beth just continued to frown lightly, eyes casting over the already very building in front of them. "I'm in a very good mood... can't I be in a good mood?"
"I mean there's a good mood and then there's..." Beth trailed off. She looked over at him, eyebrows raised, "Did you get laid back there like... or did I like miss something––?"
And again, Mark laughed.
He was laughing a lot tonight––
Was he––?
Scratched laid–– was he high?
What?
The Fuck??
???
"Do I need a reason to be in a good mood?" He asked.
"I mean..." Beth trailed off, "No... but... it's still..."
"It's still?"
Mark prompted her to finish her sentence but she just sighed.
She didn't want to say it out loud, but Beth was pretty sure that it wasn't natural to ever be that happy.
"I look good, of course I'm in a good mood..."
Mark filled her pause and held out his arm. Beth took it, throat slightly tight as his smile imprinted itself onto the inside of her eyelids.
"I look good... my girl looks good–– life is good, Montgomery... life is good..."
Well.
Life didn't feel very good to Beth.
Not sober anyway.
(And with Mark a grinning, sly flicker in the corner of her eye.)
"You're so full of shit," was all she could say, "C'mon, something's going on, right––"
"What can I say?" Mark shrugged, "Maybe I'm a changed man."
Beth's head turned to stare at him.
He faltered.
"Let it be a surprise," He said.
And it was the worst thing he'd said in weeks.
A surprise?
What was there to be surprised about?
Beth wasn't very good with surprises.
She walked into that room full with an uneasy feeling in her chest. It was different from the one she was used to–– it was the sensitivity to the fact that tonight felt especially contrived––
But it worked. Of course it worked. People gravitated to the pair of them with nothing but curiosity and thrill in their eyes.
This is why I'm here, Beth reminded herself as they turned heads, This is why we're doing this.
When she'd finished playing the game and faking the smiles, she'd thank herself one day, Beth was sure of it.
Hell, maybe Calum would even thank her too.
They outlined a fake trip to Cabo that had never happened (although Mark had admitted in the car he'd slept his way halfway through Mexico during Spring Break in college) and Beth forced herself not to flinch every time their shoulders bumped or Mark's hand flickered over her hip.
"Ease up," He mumbled in between their smooth transition to a business pitch, "You're gonna need a breathe at least once, Montgomery, otherwise someone here is gonna end up doing mouth to mouth––"
"If you put those lips anywhere near me..."
Beth began very quietly, but they were both smiling to other people as they said it. Mid-conversation, their eyes didn't even flicker to each other as a private benefactor dragged them through an anecdote. Her grasp on his arm tightened as if to make a point.
"You will ended up being the one choking, Sloan––"
In the corner of her eye, she saw his lip twitch.
"That a promise?"
"Shut the fuck u––"
"––and you make such a darling couple together."
The benefactor smiled between the two of them, oblivious to the conversation they'd just interrupted. Immediately, as if they were snapping back into place, Beth and Mark's chins raised.
"Thank you," Mark said and he squeezed Beth's waist in emphasis as he finished: "I'd have to say I agree."
──────
Agree my ass.
Beth was pretty sure this whole thing was just glorified babysitting.
That's what this felt like.
Balancing Mark Sloan and this room sometimes felt a whole lot like babysitting. He was playful and wild, even as New York's very serious elite towered around them. That smile from the towncar was still as unnerving as ever–– she found herself shaking her head slightly as Mark asked her if it really was so weird that he could be in such a good mood.
"You're weird," Beth said to him as the benefactor walked away. Her eyebrows were raised as she looked over his shoulder–– anywhere but the way he looked at her so closely, "You're really fucking weird––"
"Really?" Mark said, "The word you're looking for is handsome."
"Jesus Christ––"
"Give me some credit, I look damn fine tonight––"
"You take cash?"
He snorted, "Got a spare couple of 'mil lying around?"
"Oh shoot, I just spent my last one––"
"I'm heartbroken."
"Fake date a cardiologist, then––"
"Oh really?"
"Uh huh," She said, "Maybe then they'll suture it back together and tell you your aorta looks pretty––"
But she cut herself off as she looked at him–– she felt her heart clench and her mouth go dry. This time, he seemed to notice it. As Beth just stared at him, listless and as tongue-tied as she'd been on the street, Mark eyebrows raised.
For the love of fucking God––
Beth tore her eyes away.
To that Mark's head just tilted to the side.
"You wanna talk about acting weird––?"
"Don't––"
"You're weirder."
Beth rolled her eyes, murmuring a Jesus Christ under her breath.
He was grinning again, dimples shining as she shook her head.
"I'm not acting weird," Beth denied, but Mark leant close. She found herself looking over his shoulder as he murmured in undertone, goosebumps raising on the back of her neck––
"You are," He said, and her nostrils flooded with a confused mix of his cologne and the remnants of Calum's that dry cleaning couldn't wash out. Beth's chest got tighter. "But something tells me you're full of surprises too––"
The brunette just snorted.
"Yeah, surprise," She said, "Something tells me you're not going to survive the night."
But when Beth looked back at him, again, Mark's attention was elsewhere. She studied the expression on his face, the slight calculation in his eyes as he gazed over her head and towards something else in the room.
"There's, uh, someone I need to go catch up with," He said, distracted in a way that made Beth hold her breath. She quirked an eyebrow but Mark didn't look away from whatever it was that was holding his attention, "Are you okay to fly solo for a bit?"
He was looking across the room at something she couldn't see.
Or maybe she wouldn't see it— Beth had the tendency to avoid eyes when walking directly into a room filled with sharks.
"There's a free bar," Beth deadpanned, "I'm a big girl. I'm going to be fine."
"Great," Mark said, and Beth didn't question it, "Meet you there in ten."
Great.
Beth didn't question it.
She slid her arm out of his and took a series of very precise and intent steps until she was front and centre on the bar. She let out a long breath, ordering the dirtiest martini she could get her hands on and beginning the kind of ritual that had left her with aching cheeks and chipped nails.
Weird?
I'm not acting weird––
"Y'know," a voice remarked dryly from beside her, "I would ask what you have stuck up your ass to make you that stiff, but I'm pretty sure it's a puppet rod controlled by your sister."
...
Oh fuck.
Beth looked to her right to see a wide and very amused smile that, she supposed, in any other setting, she would've been more than happy to see–– but if the opening to the conversation had been any indicator of what was to come, seeing Amelia Shepherd in a room like this, to Beth, was the equivalent of a thirteenth reason.
Oh fuck. (x2)
The brunette's eyebrows were raised as she leant against the bar beside her, head tilted very slightly to the side as Beth just shook hers.
A long incredulous laugh fell past Beth's lips and she mumbled a very quiet 'screw you' under her breath.
To say this was not Amy's kind of scene felt a whole lot like an understatement but she had sure dressed for the occasion.
She was unmistakable with that dark hair; the Shepherd hair, neatly placed for a woman who always seemed so hurried and ruffled. A blazer was thrown over a blouse that Beth wouldn't have been surprised was actually one of her sisters, and there was already a champagne balanced in between her fingers.
Her most dangerous accessory, however, was her smile.
"Amelia," Beth breezed out in acknowledgement, but she couldn't stop herself from sounding bewildered and slightly pained, "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this––?"
Amelia's smile was all teeth.
"As much as I love the flirting," The youngest Shepherd replied, "It doesn't really work when you look dead behind the eyes... it's like a corpse in there, y'know–– it's like a literal cadaver is hitting on me right now––"
"Nice to see you too."
To say that Amelia was the last person Beth had ever expected to see in a room like this felt like an understatement. She'd appeared like a mirage in a desert where Beth had been desperate for anything remotely alcoholic— maybe that was her perfect timing. Beth looked over to watch Amelia chew on an olive, eyes crackling like a live wire.
All the while, a muscle clenched at the back of her chest.
Weirdly, Amelia was the last person Beth would have wanted to see right now.
She wasn't sure what exactly it was, but whatever that dread was–– it was solidified by the way Amelia chuckled to herself in Beth's silence.
"So," She began, "How's the happy couple?"
Haha, Beth wanted to say, Haha. Fuck you.
Beth looked away from her grin and looked over at Mark–– specifically, the distance that Beth had put between herself and the very smiley man in the smooth tux.
It was the kind of distance that wasn't suspicious until you really thought about it; Beth hoped her hightailing for alcohol was the kind of thing that passed off as having a long day and walking in the steps of her parents careers in alcoholism.
(In reality, there was something about Mark tonight that made Beth feel like she was about to pass out.)
"Didn't you hear?" Beth answered, "We're really happy."
"You are, huh?"
"So happy."
Maybe she was getting a little too good at this.
Beth couldn't even hear her own sarcasm.
"Wow," Amelia remarked, "Happier than the rent-a-tux owner that gave that suit up for the night?"
This time, Beth could hear her own sigh.
She knew how this kind of room worked–– she knew that a whisper could get picked up and passed along like a venereal disease. If she looked at Amelia in the wrong way or even paused for too long, before she knew it, this whole thing would go under––
"Sure," Beth said as Amelia's eyes sparkled, "So much happier."
It was written all over the way Amelia smiled to herself and looked away: they could fool a room full of socialites, but they couldn't pass it by her.
(Later she'd say it, too. She'd grown up with Mark and Beth was one of her closest friends. She knew the duo like the back of her hand–– Derek hadn't had to say a word. Beth and Mark 'dating' had smelt like bullshit from the moment Amelia had heard about it.)
"I can't believe you're..."
Amelia gave her a look from out of the corner of her eye and Beth's lip twitched.
"Oh, me neither."
"I can't believe you agreed to it..."
"The heart wants what it wants, right?" Beth murmured and she found it way too easy to spot Mark in the crowd. "Star-crossed lovers... chalk and cheese... the yin to my yang and all that––"
"Is this what they taught you at Yale?" She asked, referring to the last college Beth had attended before she had moved to New York, "Take the complicated route to success with a couple of pitstops in Mark-Sloan-is-a-jerk-ville?"
And Beth laughed.
"I'm guessing that's why you're here," Beth said, watching Mark as his head bobbed through the sea of socialites, "Right? To see this, uh, public scandal––"
"No," Amelia denied with a shake of her head, "Not at all. I'm actually really into fundraising for, uh... whatever this um... What are these rich people crying about tonight?"
"It's a gallery opening," Beth corrected, "They're only taking donations for the art collection."
"Sure," She shrugged in reply, waving a dismissive hand,"I'm actually really fucking into oil paint or whatever."
"Sounds legitimate."
"...and I just happened to be in the neighbourhood––"
"You just happened to be on the completely opposite side of the island to your apartment?"
"Yeah," Amelia nodded, "And I just... y'know... happened to be in the mood to witness... I don't know... the, uh, closest thing we're ever going to get to a modern day Stanford Prison Experiment?"
Dryly, Beth chuckled to herself, giving Amelia a brilliant smile.
Despite how light-headed she felt tonight, she shrugged.
She looked over at Amelia and how the woman just looked at her sceptically, on the verge of a speech Beth had given herself over and over in the bathroom mirror.
This was a disaster.
Dating Mark Sloan, fake or not, was a disaster.
"Oh fuck," the neurosurgeon said.
"What?" was Beth's immediate reply, "What is it––?"
"Oh fuck," Amelia repeated, shaking her head slowly, "I wouldn't have come if I knew she was gonna be here––"
"What are you talking about––?"
"Over there," Amelia said, and she gestured over towards the crowd, "The woman Mark's talking to... isn't that...?"
She trailed off, giving Beth a chance to follow her gaze back to the lothario in the neatly pressed suit.
Very slowly, the brunette's brow furrowed as she tried to pick out a gallery-goer that was noticeably shorter than Mark's slender stature–– Beth shuffled to the side slightly as Amelia tried to help her see.
"I swear," Amelia said.
Beth finally managed to catch sight of thin blonde hair pinned into a tight updo.
"I swear... isn't that... it is... isn't it?"
Beth felt her stomach drop with dread.
"Oh fuck."
This time, it was Beth who said it.
She would've been able to recognise that woman anywhere, but she figured that, for the last few seconds, she'd just been trying to lean on that tiny bit of hope she'd had inside of her. She'd been staring, forlornly, hoping to be mistaken. But, for record, and much to her disappointment, Elizabeth Montgomery was very rarely mistaken.
"It is," She said, biting back the impulse to press a hand to her face, "That's Petunia Vanderbilt."
──────
The handful of seconds it had taken Beth to recognise her had all been wishful thinking–– it was Petunia and it was unmistakable.
Manhattan's premier socialite was wearing violet tonight. Her dress flickered in between the crowd of black tie. From here, Beth could imagine the sparkle in her eye as she played it off: Oh, I must've got confused with the invite, silly me. I hope Aviv forgives me. But it is Versace, of course.
Her silver-blonde hair pinned up tight enough to lift her aged features and she, as always, came with laugh so shrill that Beth felt it raise goosebumps on the back of her neck, despite not even hearing it––
And Beth fucking hated every inch of her.
The look that was exchanged from Amelia to Beth was not nice. If Beth had to describe it, she would've pinned it all on a trauma response–– the trigger?
A socialite that had swept Addison Montgomery up into her arms and dragged them all down with her.
If anyone had to be held responsible for the pain last year of her life, it was Petunia.
"Well," Amelia commented idly, champagne glass almost permanently stuck to her bottom lip, "I didn't say cunt three times, did you?"
Beth shook her head.
"I didn't," She sighed, "But now I'm definitely thinking it."
"Shit."
Beth's eyes stuck on the conversation that they were witnessing, one that had completely surpassed her the first time–– maybe her brain had blocked it out, post-it-noting it for a later realisation where she wasn't surrounded by people who reported back to Petunia like they were paid?
Mark and Petunia. Talking. Mark and Petunia. Smiling. Mark and Petunia. With her hand on his shoulder. Her manicured hand. Her perfectly manicured hand. Mark and Petunia. Mark saying something witty. Petunia scoffing and brushing against his––
"Isn't she the one that––?"
"Hits on Mark shamelessly?"
"Even when she was––"
"Married?" Beth said, nodding, "The exact one."
She wasn't trying to finish Amelia's sentences, it just happened, one after another. They were thinking the same thing and going through the same stages of grief as they prepared themselves for a conversation with humanity's closest equivalent to the lethal injection.
That's what the walk between this bar and Petunia Vanderbilt felt like right now.
It was the walk on death row, the walk that would only bring a death a rich white person said she deserved.
"Huh," Amelia said, her head tilting to the side as she watched the pair from afar, "If she wasn't the worst fucking person on the planet, I think she'd be my hero."
And then she paused.
"You should probably––"
"Go over there?"
Was it normal to know exactly what Amelia was going to say before she'd even said it?
"Yeah," Amelia said after a moment. She eyed her, eyebrows raising as Beth let out a long breath, "You good, B? Or do you need like a shot or something––"
"A shot?" Beth echoed, "You doing like mafia style hits now?"
Amelia's head turned to look over at the brunette beside her.
She shrugged, "I mean... if you need it... I know a guy––"
Of course she did.
Beth mumbled a curse word to herself as she set her glass, momentarily, on the bar. She found herself running a thumb down the back of her heels, adjusting her skirt and checking her hair in an ice bucket.
Amelia watched the whole thing, head tilting to the side inquisitively as Beth sighed twenty times in the span of a few seconds.
"How do I look?" She asked.
"Like Addison," Amelia answered immediately.
Beth's body froze, but her jaw was slack as she stared at the neurosurgeon, eyebrows aloft as Amelia seemed to realise what she'd just said. The youngest Shepherd blinked at her, then, after a brief pause, chuckled nervously to herself.
"Sure," Amelia added, "But like in a hot way, or whatever––"
Another sigh.
Amelia nodded towards the martini on the bar.
"Do you want me to hold tha––"
"Fuck no," Beth mumbled under her breath, grabbing it as she turned on her heel and off towards the unlikely duo, "I'm not doing this sober."
"Go on!" Amelia called after her, giving her a soft cheer with thumbs raised in the air, "Go claim your man!"
──────
Petunia Vanderbilt was just like the martini in Beth's hand––
Dirty, but not the good kind.
The woman standing with her back turned to her was pristine to the eye. She had the kind of folded, clean edges that would give you a papercut. Up this close, Beth could see the traitorous sleekness of her, like the scalpel she'd been begging to touch for years––
It was needless to say that when Mark had said he needed to catch up with someone, Petunia Vanderbilt was the last person Beth had ever expected.
"Petunia," She began, a stellar smile on her face, "What a surprise."
At the sound of her voice, Mark looked over Petunia's shoulder, eyebrows raising slightly as he watched Beth step around gallery-goers to reach them. It was quizzical, catch the slightly tension in the way Beth drawled the socialite's name––
The woman in question didn't turn to greet her.
She never did.
Petunia had the uncanny ability to let the whole world gravitate around her. If Beth had thought they'd had this room on lock, Petunia was the black hole draining their universe dry.
A pair of piercing eyes followed Beth as she attempted to piece together a relationship in the span of seconds. A glitched smile flickered across her face and she tried her best not to shudder under the weight of Petunia Vanderbilt's stare.
(Mark, meanwhile, adjusted to the weight of Beth like it was second nature. He didn't falter for a second, despite how hard he felt Beth's muscles clench–– his eyes flickered down to her hand as, ever so briefly, her buffed and manicured fingers squeezed his bicep.)
Don't you fucking dare, she almost said to him.
Beth was determined to smile until the muscles in her cheeks atrophied to stone.
Mark cleared his throat, inclined his head to the stiff brunette now attached to his arm.
Beth wondered if he thought she was rude.
If he did, he never gave it away.
"I don't need to introduce your to my date––"
"Elizabeth," Petunia finished for him, and just the way she said Beth's full name was enough for hives to cluster under the fabric of her dress.
It made Beth's smile flatten.
Beth didn't like the way she said her name.
She couldn't give an exact number of how many times Petunia had drawled it, but she never failed to make Beth's full, given name, sound like an intimate joke between friends–– and, from the way she looked at Mark, Beth knew that Petunia thought this was an amusement the two of them could share.
Elizabeth.
Beth took a mouthful of her martini, grasp tightening around Mark's arm––
Petunia, you fucking bitch.
With an unceremonious pause, she looked Beth over, in the scathing way that told Beth she recognised Addison's dress and Addison's shoes and then, as if the moment hadn't been insincere enough, she chuckled.
"How lovely it is for you to join us," Petunia began, "It's not often that I'm graced with your presence."
Yeah, that's because Beth had gone out of her way to avoid this woman at all costs. But, who would've thought–– tonight, her date for the evening, had gone out of his own way to seek Petunia out.
"What can I say?" Beth said and she wondered if her voice felt as strained as it felt, "Life had been very busy lately––"
"Oh, I'm sure," Petunia drawled, "I've heard all about it... I don't doubt your sister is keeping you very busy after her engagement. A lot of planning and running around after her, I'm sure––"
Right, because running her sister's wedding errands was all Beth had to live for. Sure.
"Well," Beth said, with her glass on her bottom lip, "That and medical school, so..."
But Petunia wasn't interested in that. Unceremoniously, her head turned back to look at Mark and Beth, for the thousandth time in the last sixty seconds, understood that Petunia wasn't interested in her––
And, it was around about here that Beth realised this wasn't going to be like any of their other conversations.
Petunia Vanderbilt was not just your average business pitch.
"I was just thinking to myself before you found me, Doctor Sloan," She said, all in the kind of nasally voice that made a part of Beth die inside. "When I saw you across the room... I couldn't help but think... what on earth is Mark Sloan doing in a place like this?"
Beth's eyebrow raised very slightly as her grasp on Mark tightened.
She glanced towards him too, almost expectantly, all too interested in his answer–– but Mark just looked up from the death grip on his wrist and eased into a very smooth reply.
"Well," He began, "A lot of people would call it divine intervention, but I'd just call it an eye for good art." And then he paused, inclining his chin to the brunette beside him, "Or... a very persuasive date."
Beth looked back just in time to see Petunia's heavily botox'd eyebrow stammer with the attempt at a raise. At the same time, Beth's did the same.
"You're an art enthusiast?" Petunia asked.
She sounded surprised.
Yeah, Beth thought to herself, head turning to engage with whatever bullshit Mark was about to pull out of his ass, So am I.
"If it brings me to the company of good people, then sure," Mark said, and Beth could vividly picture the smirk on his face as he placed that champagne glance of his against his bottom lip, "Next week, I'll, uh, I'll be thrilled by botany."
The sound of Petunia's light laugh made Beth's stomach roll.
"Is that so?"
"Honestly?" Mark replied, "I don't know–– I guess I'll have to check my social calendar."
And she laughed again.
And Mark laughed too––
This time, Beth's eye twitched.
Oh, what the fuck.
"I'm afraid I'm to blame for this guy being here," Beth mused her way through her words, smiling airily as if her head wasn't full of thunder. Petunia's eyes swung to her, slow but piercing. "But you secretly love it, don't you babe?"
As if coming into focus again, Mark's head turned to look down at her.
Right, babe?
She watched something zip through his eyes and his lip twitched.
Remember, babe?
He nodded.
"What can I say?" Mark chuckled, gesturing to her, "At this point, she knows me better than I know myself."
Beth smiled back at him in a way that felt so unnatural it was almost right––
All the while, Petunia's eyes slid between the two of them, face frozen.
It wasn't an impassive expression, but it wasn't giving away anything either–– it was just clean, wiped neatly by a careful hand.
Whatever Petunia Vanderbilt was thinking at any moment was hidden behind the business cards of every reputable plastic surgeon in Manhattan...
Well.
Almost every reputable plastic surgeon in Manhattan.
"How sweet," She drawled.
And just like that, the conversation moved on.
Beth found herself stuck in a very slim line between the two of them.
Mark and Petunia. Beth standing and listening. Mark and Petunia. Beth chipping in comments that Petunia ignored. Mark and Petunia. With her hand on his shoulder. Her manicured hand. Her perfectly manicured hand. Mark and Petunia. Mark saying something witty. Beth feeling her throat closing as she tried to make herself feel tall––
How sweet.
Jesus Christ, Beth could only think to herself, I think this is my idea of hell.
How the fuck had she ended up third wheeling Petunia and Mark?
Standing here as Petunia hit on Mark and he seemed to entertain it was not
It was echoed by the expression on Amelia's face as Beth glanced in her direction. Even from over there, the brunette was watching every moment.
What the fuck? Amelia mouthed across the room.
And Beth just looked away, ears ringing.
"I'm beginning to see why Addison's been hiding you," Petunia said.
"So I've heard," Mark said and the hairs on the back of Beth's neck bristled with his laugh, "I would say hidden per se... maybe just locked away in a padded room."
Again, the socialite laughed.
Beth, however, didn't quite feel like laughing at all.
"Well, I can't imagine why."
"Something about me not being on my best behaviour."
"Well, you seem perfectly well-behaved to me."
Mark glanced, fleetingly over towards Beth as she chewed on the corner of her cheek, eyes flickering between the pair.
"I wouldn't say that, exactly," He said.
"But from what I've heard, Mark, you are the social calendar," Petunia interjected, her eyes alight, "You're the talk of the town. No one can get enough of you... you and your little research project... your little passions––"
"I don't think I'd call a multi-million dollar medical research project little."
Beth's words brought the conversation to a sudden halt.
She'd been looking at the ground, frowning at the ground, when she'd said it. There was a dent in between her eyebrows as she continued to balance her half drained martini between finger and thumb. Her arm was still wrapped around Mark's side and she felt him shift in her direction as she cut Petunia short––
Oh.
Did she say that out loud?
In the corner of her eye, Beth saw Mark grin.
(It'd been the kind of grin he'd tried to fight, but it had crept through–– ever so surely, as Petunia looked in between them, a muscle ticking in her jaw like a timebomb, the grin bled through.)
"Sure," Petunia chipped back, her lips pursed.
"It's, uh," Beth shook her head, "It's a lot of work––"
"Sure."
"Seems wrong to just, uh..."
Beth trailed off and looked to her side over at the way Mark gazed at her expectantly, eyebrows raised as if he was interested in what direction this was going to go.
And again, Beth found herself suddenly stuck.
It wasn't like her to get tongue tied so often, but tonight seemed the night for it. Maybe it was the mass amount of alcohol she'd managed to consume in the last forty-five minutes or the fact that Petunia Vanderbilt was leaking spiteful poison through Beth's system––
But Beth did not like the way Petunia had dismissed everything Mark was working towards.
"He's just worked very hard," She said, tearing her eyes away and setting her gaze on Petunia's gingerly raised brow, "It's not little. It's a lot."
──────
For a woman like Beth, expressing her emotions eloquently, had always been important to her. She liked to be concise and she liked to be clear.
There was strength and power in spoken words. There was all of the time she'd spent in education, the hours she'd spent building a vocabulary, something that Bizzy Forbes had raised her to prioritise, almost above everything else. She was well spoken and she was strong and—
"Oh," Beth groaned, "Fuck me."
Voicing her discomfort, on the edge of a disaster, however, was not one of her strong suits.
Mark, however, seemed to like it just fine.
A low chuckle fell through his lips.
"Is that an invitation?" He asked, and it took everything within her not to slap his arm.
Petunia had walked away, waltzing into her own little world where canapes and Coco Chanel were life or death conversation topics, and left Beth to blink through the repercussions–– that was the kind of woman she was, the kind that left things unsettled.
For Beth, it was an uneasy twinge in her chest.
For her three ex-husbands it had been millions of dollars in alimony.
And now, Beth couldn't look away. She found herself staring at Petunia. The socialite didn't spare them a second look. She'd tilted her head at Beth and she'd walked away and Beth couldn't let it go. It was like looking into the barrel of a gun. She just couldn't look away... she just couldn't look away... she just couldn't––
"Y'know... I'm feeling a bit like a third wheel here, Montgomery."
Beth just blinked at him incredulously. Her inner monologue was cut short by Mark's dry interjection. His lip twitched as he looked over at her, eyebrows raised at the way she sighed through her nose.
She shook her head:
"Oh, cry me a river, Sloan."
"You're staring at her."
"I'm not sta––"
He cut in her line of view.
Mark reached around her for the table of champagne glasses behind, and in doing so, walked her back a couple of steps so she was trapped between a table and his chest. He wasn't too close, but close enough for her nostrils to be flooded with the scent of his cologne.
Beth tore her eyes away from the retreating socialite, just in time to see Mark nonchalantly shrug as if he had just proven his own point.
She was pretty sure there was a Monet to her left and a Van Gogh to her right–– and yet, in that moment, she just stared at the jump of Mark's jaw as he chewed an olive.
"You're staring––"
"––And you went out of your way to find Petunia Vanderbilt," Beth chipped back sharply, head tilting the side as Mark just hummed lightly to himself, "Are you sure I don't need to feel like the third wheel here––?"
"Oh," Mark said lightly, a smirk flickering across his face, "Right, yeah... that's her name... I knew it was some kind of flower––"
"Sloan––"
"––kinda divided between that and her name being Tulip or something more bohemian––"
"Sloan."
He sighed.
"I was just catching up with a friend," He said.
"And you flirt with all of your friends?"
"Why?" Mark asked, "Is this you saying you wanna be my buddy, Montgomery––?"
"You're impossible––"
"Careful now," He said, "Anyone would think you're jealous."
"Jesus Christ."
Beth exhaled heavily out from between her nostrils, shaking her head, but Mark didn't seem to be finished. He was still standing a little too close, leaving her stiff and antsy as she felt his knee knock hers. He fished another olive out of a martini glass.
"You're getting worked up," He said lightly, "You're staring at her and it's throwing off my game."
Beth snorted.
"I'm not getting worked up––"
"Don't get me wrong," Mark vollied back, his lip twitching, "It's all cute and everything... but I thought you were able to handle these kinds of people––"
"This is not me getting worked up," Beth repeated.
The statement made Mark pause.
In the corner of Beth's eye, she watched his eyes stray down the length of her, up and down like a TSA search. His eyebrows raised and he smiled to himself, shaking his head.
Beth's eyebrows raised.
"What?"
"This isn't what you look like when you're all worked up?"
"Excuse me?"
"It's not?" He asked, and then he chuckled.
Beth could almost feel it vibrate the small amount of air between them. It was his turn to shake his head, chewing on his bottom lip as her brow furrowed, a silent question and bewilderment shining in her eyes.
"Good god," He muttered to himself.
Beth just blinked at him, letting a pause play between them as her mind race a couple of hundred miles an hour. She let a beat pass and then another one and then, as Mark looked back over at her, the words came tumbling out of her mouth at a speed she couldn't quite grasp, herself––
"What do you mean by Petunia being a friend?"
Mark rolled his eyes, "Oh, sorry, was I supposed to use the word 'friend' in a sentence––?"
"Petunia doesn't have friends," Beth said, ignoring him completely, "She can't be your friend–– it's Petunia––"
"I thought she was Addison's friend?" He asked, brow furrowed.
"Petunia Vanderbilt is everything that Addison wants to be," Beth chipped back, "So, obviously she fucking hates her."
"Well," Mark said, slightly breathless as he shrugged again. His nonchalance made Beth's eye twitch, "Then I don't know what to say... maybe she's more of an acquaintance––"
Or maybe she's the sort of malignant tumour that's going to bleed this whole thing out.
"––either way," Mark shrugged, "Maybe you're just projecting with the whole thing about Petunia not having friends––?"
And Beth hummed it out under her breath like a gut response: "Suck a dick."
A long chuckle fell past his lips.
Mark shook his head.
"Ooh," He mused, "That's not something your boyfriend would do, is it––?"
"I don't know," Beth asked, her eyes flickering back towards Petunia in the far corner. She shrugged, "You tell me, asshole."
"God," Mark said without a moment of hesitation, "I love it when you're rough with me."
It made Beth pause.
He was too close to her to say something like that.
It made her want to scrub at her skin, at her brain and at her eyes––
"And," He continued, nodding off over her shoulder, "Someone really needs to stop staring at her sister's best friend from across the room. I might start getting jealous––"
"I mean it," Beth said, exasperated, "I am not staring at Petunia."
"You are," Mark murmured into her ear as he drew backwards, champagne glass in hand, "Don't forget, you're my fake girlfriend not hers––"
Sweet Jesus.
"Aw," Beth pouted, trying to shake off the goosebumps than ran down her neck, "But it's always been so real to me––"
His lip twitched.
"About as real as that flower woman's rhinoplasty, I'm sure––"
"Great," was her tut. She shook her head, sighing with all of the heartbreak she could force on such short notice: "Now I feel like just any other girl."
"Any other girl?" Mark echoed, and Beth felt those three words echo all the way through her bones. She wasn't sure what it was, but in the moment, she became so sensitive to every single thing that could go wrong––
His eyebrow lifted playfully.
"Haven't you heard?" Manhattan's most eligible bachelor asked with a good-natured wink, "Elizabeth Montgomery, you're the apple of my goddamn eye."
──────
If she was the apple of Mark's eye, Petunia was the malignant tumour in Beth's.
She couldn't think of a more poetic way to put it–– only that Petunia was the kind of presence that made everything feel wildly out of control––
Well, more specifically, out of Beth's control.
Beth's eye twitched slightly as she watched Petunia resume her evening peacefully. Never once did Beth let her escape her gaze. With Mark's hand around her waist and the odd comment in conversation, Beth followed the socialite with her eyes.
She watched Petunia sweep the whole room, going from friend to friend, smiling warmly as they engaged in the kind of gossip that made eyes glaze over––
And she watched each glance over towards her and Mark.
"What a sight."
There really was no welcome quite like that of Amelia Shepherd's.
A low chuckle chipping past her teeth as she gestured from girlfriend to boyfriend.
She'd approached them with a glimmer in her eye that had made Beth shake her head slowly, as if Beth could just feel the strain this conversation was going to take on the two of them. Mark glanced between the two friends, as if he was slightly confused about Amelia's sudden appearance.
Beth didn't blame him at all.
"I mean... Wow, right?" Amelia said with a rush of air. She placed her hands on her hips, "Wow–– Don't you guys clean up nice––"
"Amelia," Mark said eyebrows raised, "This is a surprise––"
"Really?" Amelia questioned, eyebrow raising, "I mean, c'mon... free alcohol... a room full of white old dudes... some classical shit on cello over there––?"
"It's Bach," Beth chimed in the background.
"––what about that doesn't make you think 'Wow, this is Amy's idea of a good time'?"
A smile picked at the corner of Beth's mouth.
But it was wobbly, betraying some of the discomfort that had wormed its way into her at the sight of Petunia–– it was that same feeling all over again–– Beth had been hoping she'd get through this thing without seeing anyone she would have to she knew––
"I'm surprised you're still here," Beth said, and in the corner of her eye, she caught the look Mark shot her. It was bewildered, but then resigned as if to say, 'Of course, you knew Amelia was here and didn't tell me'. The youngest Shepherd sibling just grinned, eyes flickering between the two.
"Well, I never say no to a show––"
"A show?" Mark asked, and he looked over towards Beth, eyebrows raised, "What sort of things have you been telling her, Montgomery?"
Beth just sighed.
"Montgomery?" Amelia echoed, scoffing slightly, "Oh whoa, this guy really knows romance, huh?"
The long breath that Beth had been sighing her way through dissipated into hot air, lungs crying slightly as she looked between the two adults who had practically grown up together. Amelia's eyes were shining, as if this was the greatest entertainment she could have been given in weeks–– Mark, at a disadvantage and needing someone else's help.
The plastic surgeon, in return, just blinked at her.
Beth cleared her throat.
"Can you go get me another drink?"
Can you go away so I can complain?
She turned her head and gave Mark a tight smile. He didn't really question it, just taking the glass from her hand and saying how it was good to see Amelia, how it'd been a while too. The two women just watched, occasionally glancing at each other until
"Sure," Amelia mused, "Right back at ya' pal."
"I'll take a martini with––"
Mark cut her short.
"Dry martini with olives," He said for her, and then he winked, "I've been paying attention."
And, without any other comments, Mark left.
"Well," Amelia remarked as they watched him go, "He's in a good mood tonight."
She said it as Beth's mind ran at a hundred miles an hour: the kind of brain cardio that would leave her slightly flushed in the face. She pressed her lips into a strangled line, brow furrowing very slightly as she stared at the back of Mark's smooth, perfectly laundered back––
"Something like that," Beth muttered, and the brunette beside her raised an eyebrow.
Amelia turned to look over at her, head cocked to the side a fraction as she saw the way Beth's face seemed to ripple with deep and intrinsic thought. There was too much deliberation going on behind those brown eyes. There was too much reflection, too much suspicion, too much––
Amelia chuckled to herself, shaking her head.
"Jesus fuck," She said, as if she still hadn't registered it all, "You two make a weird couple."
But Beth wasn't listening to Amelia.
She was too hung up on Mark and Petunia, two people that were burned into the backs of her eyelids–– hell, maybe even her corneas. When she blinked, there they were, the friendliest friends to ever friendship in the whole of friendly friendship history––
She sighed to herself, letting her jaw unlock as the muscles began to ache.
"Did you know that Mark and Petunia Vanderbilt are friends?"
Beth asked the question as she watched Mark smile his way through a crowd. Friendly and flirtatious conversation was always his calling card, even when he was on his way to get his girlfriend a drink––
"Are you sure Petunia has friends?" Amelia questioned, looking bewildered by the implications of it. She paused and it was her turn to frown: "I mean shit... are you sure Mark has friends––?"
"He said they're friends," Beth shrugged, "Petunia and Mark are friendly."
That made Amelia falter for a moment.
"Friendly?"
"So he said."
"But... Friendly?" Amelia repeated.
"Friendly," Beth confirmed with a shake of her head.
"Petunia is not friendly," was all the Shepherd could say, "Petunia is a vulture that's circling this room trying to find her next husband to kill and pick alimony off of––"
"I'm so sure she murdered her second husband," Beth muttered to herself, "There's no way someone just falls down eight flights of stairs––"
"––it's like she invented feminism, y'know?" Amelia finished, "It's like she's got so much girl power, she's a human Chernobyl––"
"––I bet she'd push Mark down eight flights of stairs."
Amelia blinked at that, head turning to look over at her younger counterpart. She watched the bunch of Beth's eyebrows and gave her a tentative, guilty smile.
"It's Mark," She said, "Who wouldn't push him down eight flights of stairs?"
Across the room, Beth watched how Petunia fell into conversation with another acquaintance. She watched how the socialite took them by the shoulder and smiled and greeted them as if they hadn't spoken for years. Then, inevitably, like a cycle that couldn't stop spinning, Petunia's head would incline towards Mark as he stood by the bar. Fleetingly, Petunia gestured to Beth, too.
It took everything in Beth not to roll her eyes.
"Oh," Amelia said, having caught it as well. She inhaled sharply between her teeth, "That's not good."
"She's chatting shit about us––"
"Well yeah, that's kinda what these people do––"
"She's shameless about it––"
"Yeah," Amelia snorted, "Look at it–– women supporting women. Celebrating their triumphs and tearing the hell out of their Mark Sloan failures-–"
"No," Beth said, shaking her head, "I don't think that's it."
She'd been trying to decipher the look on Petunia's face from the moment she'd seen it. All of the wary glances and the vacant stares–– those had been the puzzled deliberation of a Montgomery that was determined to figure out what felt off. In the same way Beth knew Bizzy Forbes had once drilled to the bottom of her husbands many affairs, Beth was trying to figure out this––
"I mean, we're chatting shit about her too," Amelia commented off-handedly, waving a hand in Petunia's direction, "But we're doing it because she's a terrible human being... although, yes, extremely inspirational in her ability to get exactly what she wants and still have people worship her for it–– and, yes, maybe she makes me question my sexuality a little bit every time she looks at me but... the wicked-milf-of-the-upper-east-side deserves to get shit chatted about her––"
"Oh."
The realisation had hit Beth somewhere in between Amelia's sexuality crisis and the Wizard of Oz parallel. It hit her with a slack jaw and a clenched muscle in her stomach like a sucker punch to the gut.
Either she'd figured it out or those hors d'oeuvres were past their sell-by date.
"What?" Amelia asked, brow furrowed, "You don't think Petunia deserves it?"
Beth just let out a shuddering breath of dread.
"No," She said, "I think Petunia is convincing everyone in this room that me and Mark are frauds."
Amelia didn't answer that suspicion immediately and Beth was glad.
She felt like it needed a moment. She needed her silence to piece things together–– the way people looked over at her and the way Petunia floated, ever so dainty, like a storm cloud about to drown Beth in thunder. The more Beth thought about it, the more she was convinced.
She wasn't insane, she promised–– she wasn't crazy––
Just like Amelia wasn't surprised.
The brunette beside her just sighed, nose scrunching as if this conversation had taken a turn that she didn't like. In her silence, Beth looked over at her, ripping her gaze away from the slowly changing feeling in the room. The expression on Amelia face felt a whole lot like that and Beth felt something in her, very gradually, rot.
"What?" Beth asked, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear the answer.
Amelia shrugged, taking a long mouthful of her cocktail.
"Amy, I swear to god," Beth said, "What is it––?"
"I just, uh," Amelia shrugged again, and this time, it made Beth's whole body burn as if she was coming out in a rash, "I heard something... a rumour... that's all––"
"Amelia––"
She sighed.
"People are saying Petunia's investing in Mark's research," Amelia said, "And by people... I mean Petunia..." And she rolled her eyes almost nonchalantly too, as if it was nothing, " and I mean... basically everyone else in this room."
Beth had stared at her listlessly.
But Amelia wasn't exactly finished.
She took a long breath, eyes stuck on the Montgomery that was short-circuiting right in front of her. Her voice was strained, as if she'd thought it was a joke from the moment she'd heard it, but was now beginning to see some sort truth in there.
"And when I say investing..."
Oh god, was Beth's only thought, How can this get worse?
"I mean she's the sole backer," Amelia finished, "Rumour has it... Petunia Vanderbilt's giving Mark the full ride."
──────
Somewhere towards the beginning of the evening, before Amelia had materialised and Petunia Vanderbilt had threatened to set Mark and Beth's conspiracy on fire, Beth had been passed a business card.
She'd been picked out of the crowd by a smiling woman, elbow steering her husband and placing him right in front of Beth's slightly apprehensive smile. She'd introduced Beth as the woman she'd spoken about last weekend, the student in medical school, the one that had spoken with her for an hour, passionately on Plastic Surgery research and innovation––
And then she'd introduced her husband as the Chief of Surgery at Clara Maass Medical Center over the river.
To that, Beth had almost choked on her own spit.
She vaguely remembered the woman from the event that Mark had gotten her into, remembered seeing the spark of interest that had played across that woman's eyes. But, what she would definitely remembered for days after, was the way the woman had sunk her nails into her husbands shoulder and shaken him gently, all after under five minutes of conversation on that gallery floor.
"Didn't I tell you, Donny?" She said, "Isn't she amazing!"
And her husband, in some vague agreement, had pressed a Clara Maass card in Beth's palm.
"When you're thinking about your surgical internship," He said, "Maybe don't be too quick to rule us out, huh?"
And, just as Mark had smiled, Beth finally did too.
Only, as she realised an hour later, they'd smiled for very different reasons.
──────
AUTHOR'S NOTE ! . . .
me? disappearing for 9 months? hahah no not at all haha no
this chapter has been the bane of my existence and not in a jonathan bailey bridgerton enemies to lovers kinda way!
happy post-barbenheimer society to everyone that celebrates, petunia vanderbilt has hit the flatline rewrite at things are about to get messy :)
next chapter: beth's slexie coping mechanism is revealed and it begins the very slow spiral of mark sloan's insanity. aka seattle is on fire and i've been feral for the past 9 months thinking about finally getting to it.
WORD COUNT ! . . . 9350
REWRITTEN ON 26TH OF JULY 2023