Chapter Text
Part 1: Marceline
Marceline hated when people told her that she had a shitty boyfriend–as if she didn’t know. In fact, Marceline could remember the exact moment she decided she didn’t like Ash. It was her seventeenth birthday and her high school friends (or whoever she was lenient enough to consider a friend in high school) brought her bowling. The bartender who used to work on Friday nights never carded, so her friends risked getting a beer or two. Buzzed, they flung neon green bowling balls down their lane and sang along to the outdated songs blaring over the speakers.
The entire time, Ash flirted with the girl at the front desk. It was shameless, really, but Keila seemed more perturbed by Marceline’s lack of a reaction than the fact Ash was two innuendos away from full-on cheating.
“Don’t you think it’s weird that he’s chatting up some other girl on your birthday?” Keila had asked. Marceline was two drinks past holding back her true feelings on the matter, so she didn’t.
“He drives me to school and pays for my food sometimes. The least I can do is let him flirt.” Marceline shrugged which caused Keila to give her an appalled look and a disappointed shake of her head.
“Love isn’t transactional, Marce.”
Marceline tilted her head, ignoring the cheers around them that indicated one of their drunken friends had just gotten a strike. “Huh? Who said anything about love?”
And that was how their relationship went. Ash flirted around, but he was never quiet about it. Marceline preferred that over him lying. He was kind of a jerk, sure, but she didn’t have a car, and getting rides from her not-really-lovable boyfriend beat taking the bus.
Marceline felt the same way toward Ash that she did toward high school. He was just something she needed to hang around until she turned eighteen, graduated, and escaped to the city. This was all temporary, she had convinced herself.
But then her father decided that college wasn’t in the cards for her. She couldn’t afford it and he sure as hell wasn’t going to allow it anyway. It wasn’t that her father didn’t love her, but he had been the first person to make her believe love was transactional.
She needed to help him get his business off the ground. Marceline didn’t know a lot about business, but she knew that it didn’t usually take fourteen years and practically holding your daughter hostage to get a business going. And “business” didn’t usually apply to forgery. But Marceline didn’t exactly come from a long line of honest men.
It wasn’t anything classy like art forgery or something of the sort. Nope. Her father bought cheap instruments–guitars, basses, drums–he fixed them up, keeping an eye on the little details, and sold them off as the best brands. Ever since Marceline was a kid, she was able to differentiate a real Bublé guitar (which went for thousands, even used) from a fake. It wasn’t the same talent that other kids nurtured, like tap dancing or softball, but it was a talent nonetheless.
Despite her keen eye for instruments and how they were made, Marceline promised to stay and help her father under one condition: she only helped with bookkeeping. She couldn’t afford to get her hands dirty, not when she needed to keep her eyes on the prize. Her prize, that was.
Every penny she made from working under the table at the pizza shop down the road or from helping her father with his very-super-legitimate business went into a mason jar that was shoved deep under her bed. It was her escape money and the day that jar filled up she would be out of this place and boarding a train to the city. That was where the music scene was. That was where she belonged. Cue emotional tears of inspiration, or whatever.
But for now, she kept her head down, worked part-time at the pizza shop, and full-time in her father’s office. It was exhausting, but the money was adding up–slowly, but it was adding up. The only annoying thing was that Ash started helping her dad out. They called themselves “business partners” and holed up in the home office for hours at a time as her father taught him how to differentiate a good set of strings from a bad set, and how to make the bad ones look decent enough to sell as the good ones.
Ash wasn’t nearly as good as Marceline was with the instruments, but he was and always had been a grade-A ass-kisser. It was no wonder her dad liked him. Marceline didn’t pay much mind to them or their dumb business or the fact that all of her friends were getting out of this town and going on with their lives. She just focused on getting that money.
It was an unsuspecting Tuesday in April when everything turned to shit. Marceline came home from her shift at the pizza place smelling like sauce and garlic, the latter of which she found pungent. Before taking her much-needed shower, she reached under her bed for the mason jar, prepared to stuff every cent of today’s earnings into the container. But when Marceline pulled it out from under the black bed skirt, it was empty. Like super empty. Like not-a-single-dollar-that-she-made-from-the-past-few-years-in-there empty.
“Marceline can you help me w-”
Hunson's words stopped short when he arrived at her bedroom door. Marceline’s eyes lifted to her father, then shifted between him and the empty jar. No robber would enter a home just to steal a jar of cash that was neatly hidden away. There was only one viable culprit.
“Look, Marcy, rent was coming up and-”
“Rent?” Her voice was shaky as she stood to her full height, tossing her “I HEART PIZZA” baseball cap to the side of her room. With a racing heart, she made her way over to Hunson, willing herself to look angry. Truthfully, she just felt exhausted. “There were thousands of dollars in here! What the actual fuck, Dad?” She cursed herself for not trusting banks. Irony was a fickle bitch.
At least Hunson had the nerve to look apologetic. She believed he felt bad about it, too. Still, he did it, and it was a shitty thing to do.
“I was only going to take a few bucks, I swear, but then I had some debt I needed to pay off and… and I guess I thought I needed it more than you did?” He ended it like a question as if Marceline would be more receptive to his uncertainty. She wasn’t.
Instead, she shoved past him and raced out the door. She didn’t have a car and the only two walkable places from their home were the pizza place and a small strip mall that had exactly two stores that weren’t “temporarily” closed: the tool store and the 24/7 laundromat. The latter had been Marceline’s escape ever since she was in middle school.
She did a speedwalk there that would make the fitness moms who did laps around her neighborhood proud. She ignored the cars speeding by, their headlights blurred as the sky turned from dusky to dark. When she got to the laundromat, she flung the door open. The tiny bell chimed and a middle-aged woman with a basket full of sheets glanced up with mild interest at the abrupt entrance before going back to shoving quarters in the dryer’s slot.
Marceline walked to the bench beside the shitty square tv that only played old cartoons. The remote was broken so no one could ever change the channel (and Marceline witnessed many people try to change it). She plopped down sideways and pulled her knees against her chest. She tipped her head back until it rested on the broken soda machine on the other side of the bench. Well, it wasn’t broken. It only ever had orange soda stocked up, which, in Marceline’s opinion, meant it may as well have been broken.
She let out a long and heavy sigh–once again ignoring the woman who looked up from her laundry–and pulled out her phone.
M: hey, i’m in a shit mood. can you pick me up?
A: sure
M: im at the laundromat. bring $
Twenty minutes and one car ride in Ash’s cigarette-scented old corvette later, the pair were at the bowling alley, pressed up against the bar. Marceline made a face when she took the first sip of beer.
“Gross,” she mumbled, more to herself than to Ash. Either way, he bit to start a conversation.
“You drink it, though.”
She shrugged. “Only because it’s cheap. If I got to choose…” She let the word hang in the air as she ran a finger down the drink menu. “I’d try a bay breeze. Sounds yummy.”
Ash laughed. “If you want that kind of drink, we shouldn’t have gone to the bowling alley.”
Marceline allowed herself a small smile, thinking of how ordering a fruity cocktail at the local bowling lanes was probably a record for an all-time low. But at this moment, a fancy drink–from the bowling alley or not–was a win she needed.
Marceline tapped at the wood of the bar with her chipped black nails. “Yeah?”
Ash smiled back, knowing fully well what scene was about to play out.
Marceline cleared her throat and brought her hands up to her eyes, smearing her eyelashes until the drugstore mascara coated the surrounding skin. She sat up a little straighter and let out a choked gasp.
“I can’t believe you’re breaking up with me here,” she said, impressing even herself with how genuine the pain in her voice sounded. Maybe it didn’t hurt that she had just gotten into that spat with her dad. She was upset, just not in the way she was pretending. But she wasn’t trying to convince herself, or even Ash. Nope, her real target was the bald man who just pulled away from his conversation with the local league patrons on the other end of the bar.
She let out another forced sob when she confirmed that the bartender was indeed looking at her. “On our anniversary, too? You’re awful.”
Ash raised a brow, his face turned towards her and away from the bartender. He knew his part as well. “I’m sorry, babe. I just couldn’t pretend anymore.”
They were both laying it on a little thick, but that was part of the fun. Besides, next year when she turned twenty, she wouldn’t have an excuse to keep acting like this. She wanted to savor being a reckless teenager while she could. That was still a thing, right?
Marceline cued her tears again and, just as she hoped, the bartender waddled over to their nook of the bar. His eyes were wide and sweat lined his brow. Clearly, this man wasn’t used to public breakups occurring on his shift.
“I can’t believe this,” Marceline said again. She purposefully kept her head ducked down and pretended not to notice the man approaching them.
“Everything okay here?” the bartender asked.
She sniffed, bringing her sleeve to her nose and wiping away fake boogers. “Yeah. I think I’ll be okay.” She flitted her eyes to Ash but kept her attention on the bartender. She looked at the nametag. “Joe” was written in sharpie next to a picture of a bowling ball definitely stolen from the first page of Google’s image results. “Thanks for checking in, Joe,” she said with a sheepish smile before her face became, once again, stricken with pain. “My ex-boyfriend just dumped me right before our yearly anniversary drink, but I’m fine. ”
Joe bit his lip, clearly unequipped to deal with the lovers' quarrels of young adults. He glanced between Ash and Marceline, and Marceline felt the left side of her lips quirk up when she noticed how easily Ash plastered on a guilty face. After a moment, Joe cleared his throat.
“What drink would that be, miss?”
She sighed and stared longingly at the drink menu. “It was supposed to be our yearly bay breeze. The drink I had when we first met.”
“I can still get that for you,” Joe said. He shot Ash a look that was equal parts pity and disappointment. She felt a little bad stressing this guy out, but she really, really needed a win today. Besides, the Abadeer motto had always been: If they’re dumb enough to fall for it, that’s not on you.
It wasn't the most poetic family motto, but it stuck.
“I can’t–I didn’t bring any money,” Marceline said as she looked at Ash again as if he was the one who usually paid. It was ironic considering she was usually the one spotting him for bills.
“It’s on the house,” Joe said with a warm smile. He shot Ash another uncomfortable look before heading toward the liquor shelf. As Joe busied himself making the drink, Marceline shot Ash a wink. Today was shit, but at least she knew she could get something out of it.
Joe came back with the bay breeze and Marceline profusely thanked him before he returned to take the league patrons' orders. Out of Joe’s sight, Marceline clanked her cocktail glass against Ash’s solitary beer.
“Cheers,” she chirped. She took one sip before mimicking the same disgusted face from earlier. The taste only soured her pride a little bit.
“Like I said,” Ash snorted. “We’re at a bowling alley.”
Marceline shrugged and took another sip.
“So,” Ash said, shifting in his seat. If Marceline didn’t know any better, she’d say he looked nervous. But Ash was a simple man who felt little to no shame, so that couldn’t be it. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Breaking up with me for real, then?” She laughed, not because she’d care, but because they both knew that would never happen. Just as much as she stuck with Ash out of convenience, he stuck with her. And it would stay that way until either of them had the means to move away. Which… would now take longer than she had expected.
He shook his head. “No, I just… need your help.” Marceline gave him an inquisitive look as she raised her drink to her lips. “I have something in the works that’s going to pay well. Like really well. It’s set for August, but I need someone I can trust to help with it.”
“How much money?” Marceline asked. In the corner of her eye, she saw Joe looking over at her and Ash with a confused look. He'd probably never seen a post-breakup couple looking so chummy before. Oh well. The drink sucked.
“Millions,” Ash answered. Marceline sputtered a laugh until she noticed he was looking dead at her. Oh, he wasn’t joking. She pulled herself up straight and sobered her expression.
“What could you possibly do for that kind of money, rob a bank?”
Other than helping her dad with instrument forgeries, Ash did odd jobs around town to line his pockets. Occasionally it was honest work, but usually not. She knew he’d done his fair share of scamming, and it wasn’t just in the form of fruity mixed drinks like Marceline’s was. She stayed out of it, though, just like she did with her father.
“You heard of Canditown U?”
Marceline rolled her eyes. Obviously, the question was rhetorical. CU was an upstate art university reserved for the richest of the rich. Trust fund babies, heirs, and up-and-coming stars with money coming out of the whazoo.
The school’s name was pronounced with a short “i” but most people said it like “candy town,” since everyone who attended the university shat out cotton candy and lived in sweet obliviousness that most people had actual problems that couldn’t be shoved aside with a credit card.
“What of it?” Marceline asked.
Ash grinned. “Remember when your dad sent me upstate to check out the new line of Bublé instruments?”
Marceline nodded. The company held a private launch event in the city for its new fiery red instrument line–the Bold Red line. Her dad wanted information on the details so he could sell some fakes while the prices were still at their highest. Ash had snuck in with fake photographer credentials and snagged some covert shots of the instruments despite the company’s confidentiality protocol. Marceline had fallen in love with the bass from that collection the second she saw the blurry photograph. All it took was one look at the price labeled behind it on the gallery wall to shake the thought. $25,000. Yeah, no.
“Well, I met an interesting girl at the party,” Ash explained. “Sole heiress to Bublé Production herself.”
This caught her interest. Bublé was the most expensive, top-tier instrument production company there was. If they had an heiress, she had to be worth millions.
“I’ve never heard of her,” Marceline said.
“Most people haven’t since she’s, like, super sheltered. She’s actually our age. Took a gap year and she’s headed to Canditown University to start in the fall semester. She was sweet.” Ash leaned in toward Marceline and whispered the next part. “Gullible. With access to Daddy’s money.”
Marceline shot him an incredulous look. “And how is any of this relevant?”
Ash rolled his eyes. “Patience, Marcy, geez. This chick is super fucking rich. Like I’m talking old money meets new money meets royalty. Okay, maybe not royalty. More like-”
“Focus.”
Ash rolled his eyes but continued. “She was telling me that her dad doesn’t want her to go to school. It’s a classic Rapunzel story. She wants to see the world but her dad wants her to stay home until she gets married to protect the family business and money. Apparently, her great-grandfather who started the business was, like, super sexist. The fortune belongs to whatever dude she decides to shack up with. It’s in some clause or something.”
Neither of them knew how contracts and clauses worked, but it sounded serious.
“Okay…”
“Well,” Ash continued. “Her dad is only allowing her to go to university if she meets a high-status guy when she’s there. If not, he’s going to try setting her up himself. He’s the only living member of her immediate family.”
While Marceline didn’t understand where Ash was going with all this, she felt her lips curl down at the story. That kind of a life… sounded sucky. Marceline wasn’t swimming in dough, obviously, but she wasn’t being forced to shack up with some dude because her dad was… wait. Okay, maybe she did understand that kind of life, at least a little.
“I’m going to marry her,” Ash said. This time, Marceline knew he had to be joking. She laughed freely, only to notice again that his expression didn’t falter. Was he being serious? She felt her nostrils flare as any trace of amusement left her face.
“Sorry to disappoint, babe,” she sneered, “but you probably shouldn’t be telling your girlfriend that you plan on marrying someone else.”
Ash flicked Marceline’s forehead. It was too playful for the mood but Marceline let him continue.
“I’m not going to actually marry her,” he said. His voice was impatient. “I’m just going to convince her to elope with me and then dump her as soon as her assets are under my name.”
Marceline bit her lip. There were a lot of things wrong with what Ash was saying.
“Yeah, we live in the middle of nowhere, dipshit,” was what she chose to start with.
He shrugged. “I’m willing to splurge to stay in the city for this to work out.”
“She may not like you.”
“She spent the entire launch party spilling her family secrets to me. She’s vulnerable and I’m a shoulder to cry on. She’s spent her entire life hidden away. It’s the same reason Disney princesses fall for the first guy they meet.”
Marceline scoffed. “You’re not going to fit in with that circle.” He was hardly a modern portrait of Prince Charming.
“I won’t, but Jack Felderman will.” Ash fished into his pocket and pulled out a second fake ID. (He "knew a guy" who gave him discounts on fakes.) It was his face alright, but the name and everything else was different. Most importantly…
“You’re not six feet tall,” Marceline said with a squint as she took the license from his hand and eyed up the listed height.
Ash rolled his eyes and snatched the ID back before pocketing it.
“Look, Marce, this will work. She was already into whatever character I had going on at the launch party. She’s naive. Really naive. Her dad is the only living family she has, meaning if she doesn’t get married before he croaks, there’s no telling if the company stays with her. And you know I can do this kind of shit. I do it all the time.”
Marceline frowned. “Yeah, with a few hundred, not a multi-million-dollar company.”
Ash shrugged. “I guess you don’t want in, then.”
That got Marceline’s attention because if there was one thing Marceline needed right now, it was cash. Without it… she may as well have sealed a contract with her dad as his permanent secretary.
Ash’s lips curved up. He knew he had her.
“The thing is, she’s as nervous as she is gullible. I don’t want to freak her out. I can smooth talk her as Jack Felderman all I want. I can pretend to be some swoon-worthy socialite, but she needs a good nudge in my direction. She needs to think she’s choosing to fall for me. That,” Ash said as he poked Marceline on the nose. She shuffled back and sneered at him. “Is where you come in. She said she was looking for a roommate. They don’t even need to pay rent, they just need to be friendly and moderately clean.”
The puzzle pieces were clicking together for Marceline now.
“It’s not like she’d want some random girl from downstate to be her roommate, Ash.”
Ash went into his other pocket and pulled something out. Another fake ID. (Seriously, were they growing on trees?) He placed it on the bar and slid it in front of Marceline, right next to her half-drunken bay breeze. He really thought of everything this time.
Marceline Alier. The ID listed her actual height and her actual birthday, but a different address.
“I figured you’d want to keep your cover as close to your actual story as possible. Not everyone is as suave at lying as I am.” He teasingly wiggled his brows for emphasis. “Just be yourself but… classier.” He shot her a cocky grin as if trying to challenge her, but Marceline was too busy eyeing up the ID.
“How long have you had this planned?”
Ash tapped his chin as if doing the math. “A few weeks? Pretty much right after the party where I met her. The party where I suggested she room with my acquaintance, Marceline Alier.”
Marceline swiped her thumb over the card. It looked legit.
“And she was okay with the idea of rooming with a stranger?”
“She said she’d prefer a kind-of stranger to an actual stranger. Besides, I said you were super friendly. Funny, right?” When Marceline didn’t laugh, Ash elaborated. “It’s funny because you’re actually pretty miserable most of the time.”
Marceline rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I got it.”
“Also,” Ash continued, “She’s super reserved. No social media. No real internet presence. She doesn’t have any friends to room with. She’s so desperate that she won’t question why someone like you would want to be hanging around and giving her advice all the time.”
Marceline was only mildly offended by the “someone like you” thrown in.
“Fine. Say this works. Say she falls in love with this dumb persona you put on and marries you and you get her money. Why would you want my help?”
Ash sighed exasperatedly and grabbed the ID from Marceline’s hand. “I told you. She’s been super sheltered her whole life. She’ll need a gal pal to tell her exactly what to do when it comes to dating sexy socialites.” He said that last part with jazz hands, indicating that it was him. He was the sexy socialite. What a joke.
“And what is Marceline Alier doing in the city?”
Ash grinned. “She’s also attending CU.” He paused. “That’s the other reason she was receptive to you being her roommate. And before you say anything about the cost or grades or whatever… I cashed in a favor from Tiff. He said he could forge the documents well enough to fake an admission and a scholarship, but it won’t take you to graduation. We get one semester. A few months. You think you can get her to fall in love with me in that time?”
Ash glided his knuckles against his jaw with a cocky grin. Marceline stared at the glass in front of her and let out a long sigh. She knew Ash. She knew he was good when it came to playing people. He was good at stealing. At forgery. What he wasn’t good at, even after all these years, was understanding exactly how Marceline felt about his line of work.
“Clearly you did your homework,” Marceline muttered. “But what about her? The girl? Don’t you think this is a bit cruel?”
Ash huffed. “Yeah, probably. But I’m sure one of her rich connections will swoop in with a million-dollar loan and she’ll be back on her feet. Those types of people look out for each other, Marce,” he said. His hand found her shoulder. The contact, like always, made Marceline feel sick. “We need to look after ourselves.”’
“I don’t know, Ash…”
“You want money to start your music career, right? In the city? This will more than pay for it. Besides…” Ash smirked. “CU has the best music program in the country.”
Of course, Marceline already knew that. It had been her unachievable dream school since she was old enough to hold a bass. It was just never in the cards. It was dumb expensive and super exclusive. The only way a girl like Marceline would get a spot in that school was…
Well, by forging a fake identity and scholarship.
Marceline shut her eyes, imagining Miss Bublé, bright-eyed and excited for the upcoming semester, somewhere in some fancy loft. She was probably drinking expensive wine and petting a small white dog or poodle or something. She probably had cucumbers over her eyes and was listening to classical music of whatever it was that super-rich people did. Whatever she was doing, she sure as hell wasn’t aware that two nineteen-year-olds at a bowling alley bar were plotting her financial demise.
“You think I can pull it off?” Marceline asked, which both she and Ash were acutely aware didn’t translate into a “no.”
He grinned and reached out for her cocktail glass before downing the rest of it in one gulp. When he exhaled, his breath smelled of cheap rum.
“You tricked that bartender, didn’t you?”
As if it would be that easy.
That night, Marceline scoured the internet for information on this Miss Bublé. She couldn’t find anything, just like Ash said. This girl’s father did a good job of keeping their family hidden from the world. That same pity from earlier resurfaced in Marceline’s stomach. To be so alone…
Marceline shook the thought, Ash’s words from earlier ringing in her head. She needed to look out for herself.
Marceline was a good liar. It was how she paid for most things she wasn’t able to afford willy-nilly, like seven-dollar bowling alley cocktails or fancy pasta at a restaurant she was “stood up” at. In her opinion, it wasn’t stealing if they handed it over willingly (again, the Abadeer family motto) and normally, the second Marceline gave her award-winning smile and “pitiful girl” routine, people handed it over willingly.
Normally she played this routine out on guys, but how hard could it be to butter someone up as a bestie? It probably involved the same fake smiles and the same fake intimacy she always crafted. Yep, Marceline was a good liar, so she didn’t have much doubt that she could pull off befriending this girl. If anything, she was worried that it would be hard to talk up Ash, even as Jack. After all, Ash wasn’t exactly the biggest catch.
“You worried?” he asked beside her on the train. She wrinkled her nose and pulled her black baseball cap lower over her eyes.
“Nope.”
Ash nodded as he drummed the faded denim on his lap. He’d looked more nervous these past few months than he had during the entire time Marceline had known him.
“We’ll stay at a hotel tonight and my buddy will deliver some stuff.”
Marceline raised a brow. “Stuff? That’s so ominous.”
“You remember Ric? My buddy in the city who makes knockoff designer clothes?” He asked. Marceline wondered why guys like Ash always had buddies. They were never friends or colleagues; they were buddies. “He’s going to deliver a shit-ton of clothes tonight and some Lewis Vitton luggage. You have to look the part when you show up at the girl’s apartment.”
Marceline snickered. “I think you mean Louis Vuitton.”
A subtle red covered her boyfriend’s cheeks, but he didn’t say anything else. He just made a stink of turning slightly away from her to stare at the fabric of the seat in front of them.
Marceline looked back out the window at the small towns flying by. The closer they got to the city, the more her heart felt like it was going to burst. She thought it was nerves for a while, and while that definitely had something to do with the pounding in her chest, she soon realized it was something else.
Shame. She told herself she wouldn’t end up like her father, and here she was about to scam some girl out of money and false love.
But, she reminded herself, this girl came from a different world. She’d be okay. Marceline, on the other hand, needed this money. She needed an escape from her father. It took Ash weeks of begging for Hunson to finally allow Marceline the next few months off work, and that was under the assumption that Ash and Marceline got jobs at Canditown U and would be sending cash to Hunson weekly. Marceline didn’t ask Ash how he was able to afford not only this gig but to send money to her father. She really didn’t want to know.
As Marceline stared out the window, she went over the details in her head. She was too nervous to write anything down on paper in fear of being caught, but she had her notes app hidden deep in her phone, and far, far, far down the series of lists was everything she knew about this girl, Bonnibel Bublé. And since this girl has no digital trace, most of the information came directly from Ash texting the heiress over the summer. Her boyfriend was smart enough to snag her phone number during that company launch party. Apparently, he’d been setting a flirty tone that this Bonnibel girl was loving. He relayed every important bit of info to Marceline, who, in turn, kept a detailed itinerary:
1. She has a strict “no picture” rule. She doesn’t like the spotlight, so don’t force it on her.
2. She has a major sweet tooth. Give her candy to earn her trust.
3. She’s an art major.
4. She’s nineteen and has no siblings. Just a father.
5. She has a taste for lavishness, so don’t be cheap when hanging out with her.
Marceline knew she’d have to add more information to her list when she actually met Bonnibel but, for now, this was enough. Based on what Ash said, this girl was sickeningly sweet, painfully gullible, and had a bank account bigger than Marceline could imagine.
It was still scary to think about the fact they were on a one-way train to steal everything away from this girl, but Marceline knew it was too late to turn back. Instead, she leaned her head against the window and let herself drift off.
Marceline had only met Ric once in passing. He stopped by their hometown to meet up with Ash for drinks and Marceline tagged along. He gifted her a knockoff Coco Chanel bag that, to this day, was tossed somewhere in the depths of Marceline’s closet. It wasn’t her style.
He had a crooked grin that sent shivers up her spine. Even now, years after she first met him, his expression was unsettling.
In their shitty hotel room, Ric laid out dozens of fake designer shirts and pants. Wow, Ash was really banking on this plan working. Who knew how much Ric was charging for this.
“Try this on, Marce,” Ash said as he tossed her a disgustingly poofy purple top. She slipped it over her tank top and looked down at herself before laughing.
“I look like a stick of cotton candy.”
Ric offered up a gruff laugh. “That’s what’s hot right now, Marceline.”
Doubtful. She pried the poofy shirt off of herself before tossing it haphazardly into the “no” pile. That pile alone was bigger than her entire wardrobe back home, but she supposed they had to make this Bonnibel girl buy that she was a rich student at an art school.
“I’ve seen wealthy musician kids,” Marceline said as she tugged on the next shirt, a crisp white button-up layered with a gray checkered sweater vest. “Don’t they spend more money on drugs than clothes?”
“Yeah,” Ash said as he studied Marceline’s newest outfit. “But they still dress expensive. This one is actually pretty spot-on.”
Marceline turned towards the mirror and let out a little hum. It was definitely more suited to her than anything pink and fluffy; she didn't exactly have the look to pull off every aesthetic.
She peeled it off and tossed it into the keep pile, which also exceeded the size of her wardrobe at home. In fact, there was no way to do justice in describing just how many articles of clothing were in this room.
“Are we almost done?” Marceline whined. Her back hurt from contorting herself to fit into the weird shirts and pants and she had been hungry since before the train ride earlier. “I want pizza or something.” Marceline rarely craved pizza since she spent most of her waking hours baking and serving it, but it felt like a poetic way to say goodbye to home.
Ash rolled his eyes but acquiesced. He stood, giving the “keep” pile of clothing one last lookover before nodding and walking beside Ric. He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Ric, who, in turn, opened it and peeked inside before pocketing it.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” Ric said like some sort of movie mob boss. He then picked up the discarded “no” pile one by one and stuffed them away into his own suitcase, leaving the empty designer luggage for Marceline. The second he left, Marceline turned to Ash with a pout.
“Pizza?”
“Pizza.”
Despite how nervous Marceline had been the past few months, she was overcome with a sense of peace when she knocked on Bonnibel’s door the next morning with three, three giant suitcases in tow. She knew the second Bonnibel opened the door her mind would go into autopilot and the lies would flow out. It would be easier to set herself apart from how wrong this was if she was playing a part.
But when Bonnibel Bublé answered the door to that expensive apartment, Marceline was struck with one thought and one thought alone.
How come Ash didn't tell me how pretty she is?
Bonnibel had vibrant strawberry blond hair, nearly pink, and her eyes were doe-like and eager. Her cheeks were full and her teeth were straight and pearly. She looked… refreshing, which was a nice thing to be when you came from a life like Marceline’s.
It was about three seconds too late when Marceline realized her jaw was a bit slack.
“Um, hi?” Bonnibel said, offering a sheepish grin and opening the door wider. “You must be Marceline.”
Ash kept saying that Bonnibel was shy, but her voice sounded easygoing when she spoke. Her polite smile didn’t waver, as promised.
“Hi, yeah! I am. Marceline, that is.”
Not the best start, but nothing that a little schmoozing wouldn’t fix.
“Awesome, I’m glad you’re here.” She reached out to grab one of Marceline’s suitcases and pulled it inside. Marceline took the remaining two and followed suit. At least she didn’t comment on the obscene amount of luggage. Or maybe this was normal in these crowds.
Once inside, Marceline had to hold herself together to not ogle at the apartment. It was by far the nicest place she’d stepped foot inside of. It was the city, so the size wasn’t anything excessive, but it was definitely bigger than most college students had. The furniture was chic red and popped against the white carpet and fake brick walls. It looked like any coffee shop trying to be hip, but somehow homey. The ceiling was unnecessarily tall and had skinny cylindrical lights scattered across it like stars. The kitchen to her right looked brand spanking new, and, based on the extensive hallway Marceline spotted, they would each have their own room. Honestly, she expected that much.
“Nice place,” Marceline said. She figured rich people complimented each other’s apartments, too.
“Thanks,” Bonnibel said. She gestured her head back toward the living room even as they waddled through the hall, suitcases in hand. “I went hard on measuring the furniture to make sure the layout looked even. Nothing’s worse than getting a couch to a penthouse only to find it doesn’t fit properly on the carpet.”
She was in front of Marceline, so luckily Bonnibel couldn’t see the way Marceline’s brows furrowed. She had a feeling that obsessing over measurements wasn’t a rich person thing, but a Bonnibel thing.
Jesus, how long was this hallway? The stuffed suitcases were feeling heavier each second.
“Your room is fully furnished. I actually don’t know how much Jack told you about the setup.”
Marceline instinctively stiffened at the mention of her boyfriend’s alias.
“He mentioned that part. So…” Marceline trailed off as she and Bonnibel neared the end of the hall. She’d been careful not to scratch the wooden floor, but the suitcases were stuffed full of faux designer clothes and facial cleansers that she’d never heard of until this week. “Is there a reason you have a spare room?”
Bonnibel sent a small smile over her shoulder. “I’m not sure. My dad got me a two-bedroom and I already had an office set up in my room. I guess a guest room felt logical.” She swung open the door furthest from the living room at the way end of the hall. It was furnished, as promised, and reeked of expensive minimalist taste. The queen-size bed at the center of the opposite wall had a reflective black headboard that reached its way up to the nine-foot ceiling and the comforter was a crisp, plain white. The dresser next to the door was a matching sleek black material, and the giant window that spanned one wall overlooked the hustle and bustle of the city. Marceline tried not to gawk at the view, but her feet carried her over before she could stop herself. Dozens of stories down, the people looked like ants. Seeing the tops of offices, shops, and restaurants was a view Marceline never thought she’d see in person. It was kind of surreal.
“Pretty high up, right?”
Marceline nodded, willing herself to snap her mouth shut. High-society girls weren’t impressed by views like this, she reminded herself. Turning back to Bonnibel, and thus the open room, Marceline noted a walk-in closet near the entrance. Great, a perfect place to store this metric fuckton of clothes. Marceline nodded her head as she soaked in the sight.
Bonnibel looked nervous for a moment, glancing around the room as if it wasn’t enough. It was the first time since Marceline entered the apartment that Bonnibel fulfilled the picture Ash had laid out of her: nervous. She hastily added, “I can change something if you don’t like it. I mean… I’ve never had anyone stay here so I wasn’t sure what a guest room should look like.”
There it was again, the guilt deep in Marceline’s gut. This time, it was a little easier to push down. She smiled.
“No, this is perfect. I’ve been super into modern minimalism,” she said. She could practically hear Keila scoffing from her college hundreds of miles away. Marceline didn’t know diddly squat about interior design, but she figured modern and minimalistic were two easy enough words to toss around. When Bonnibel smiled, Marceline decided she guessed correctly. Bingo.
“Perfect. How about I give you some time to unpack and then we can do brunch and I’ll tell you all about the city? I bet it’s different from home for you.”
Marceline nodded, reminding herself that “home” to Marceline Alier was different than for Marceline Abadeer. Home, to her now, was Icek, a smaller yet equally expensive city on the other side of the country–a city that Ash assured her Bonnibel had never visited and had little-to-no knowledge about.
“Sounds like a plan.”
Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised her that Bonnibel changed her shirt and redid her hair before taking Marceline to brunch. She was wearing a pink cashmere sweater and slacks with a pair of booties that Marceline herself wouldn’t have worn in the summer heat, but she supposed beauty was pain, or whatever that dumb old saying was.
Objectively, Bonnibel Bublé was very pretty. She was the type of girl who wouldn’t be caught dead in a small town like Marceline’s, but, if she was, Marceline bet she wouldn’t even have to pretend-cry to get free mixed drinks from the bowling alley bar.
Five minutes into her and Bonnibel’s obligatory pleasantries, the waiter stopped by their table and placed down a plate of fancy little donut things that made Marceline’s mouth water. Still, she was present enough to notice the way the waiter–a thirty-or-so-year-old man with a heavy hipster beard–gave Bonnibel a noticeable smile before saying, “On the house.”
Wowee. Ash wasn’t going to have it as easy as he thought if all the guys treated Bonnibel this way.
“Damn, he definitely has the hots for you,” Marceline said as soon as the waiter was out of earshot. Bonnibel flushed and vehemently shook her head.
“What? No! My dad has been a regular at this restaurant for years.”
Marceline raised a brow. The fun thing about Marceline Alier and Marceline Abadeer was that they got to keep the same personality, and that meant giving her friends (real or fake) a good tease.
“I don’t know…” she said in a singsong voice, eyes lighting up. “Donuts are, like, the most sexual breakfast pastry there is.”
Bonnibel choked on the air almost like she was about to laugh before covering her mouth and shaking her head again. “What does that even mean?” she asked from behind her hand.
Marceline shrugged. She rolled up the sleeves of her expensive top–instantly regretting it the second Bonnibel’s eyes followed the action with curiosity–and leaned forward. “You know, holes and such. Bagels would be sexy too, then. Come on, you’re telling me you’ve never thought about which breakfast is the most appealing?”
In the distance, she was sure Ash regretted letting Marceline stick to her authentic self.
Bonnibel shook her head.
“Well, I have,” Marceline said, “and that waiter is definitely trying to seduce you with donuts.” To punctuate her point, Marceline grabbed one of the treats and popped it into her mouth. Bonnibel giggled before taking a pink-frosted donut and putting it on her plate, cutting it in half with a fork and knife before bringing it to her red-stained lips. Hm. Maybe Marceline should have waited for Bonnibel to eat first. Mentally, Marceline added a new line to her list.
6. Bonnibel eats weird things with forks and knives. Even donuts.
“Maybe the waiter is into me,” Bonnibel acquiesced when she was done chewing. She took a long sip of water before she let her eyes flit around the table. Being sheltered her entire life, maybe she wasn’t used to meals with friends. Then, realizing this was the perfect time to steer the conversation, Marceline piped up.
“I went to a place like this with A- a friend of mine. Jack. You know Jack.”
Yikes. It was too early to be fucking up like this. Marceline never fucked up. She was out of her typical ballpark right now.
“Oh?” Bonnibel inquired, prompting for the remainder of the story.
“Yep. He was friends with the head chef so we got a bunch of free breakfast items. It was really nice. That’s just one perk of knowing him, I guess.”
Bonnibel nodded thoughtfully as if digesting the words one by one. Marceline saw that same hesitation cross her face.
“Are you two… um. Is he… are you two an item?”
Marceline threw her head back and laughed, which was very ironic considering the fact they technically were. But if any stranger, Bonnibel included, saw the way they interacted, they’d think Marceline and Ash were begrudging colleagues at best.
“No, definitely not,” she said when the genuine laughter subsided. “I’m a bit too brash for his liking. He prefers… the more unassuming type,” she said that last part with a friendly smile, hoping Bonnibel couldn’t read just how gross a comment like that made her feel. Bonnibel, however, raised her coffee cup to her lips and hummed. Was… was that a blush? Already?
“So are you dating anyone?” Bonnibel asked. Marceline paused. She never really had to answer that question. She had been dating Ash for as long as she could remember, and she never made friends post high school. Even if she was playing a character, she decided to offer the truth.
“Not really. I was with this one guy, but… it was more out of convenience than anything else.”
At this, Bonnibel nodded eagerly. “I know what you mean. My dad always tried to set me up with his business partners’ sons.” No, Bonnibel didn’t know what she meant, but it was close enough.
“Um, yeah. But I didn’t really like him, so things ended.” At least one part of that was true.
Bonnibel brought another donut to her plate.
“Forget about that guy, then,” she said, her voice full of conviction. Marceline internally frowned. Other than a few fleeting moments of being flustered, Bonnibel was more than a few steps away from the “shy girl” image Ash painted of her. Or maybe she was only shy around guys? Marceline wasn’t sure. Before Marceline could ponder any longer, Bonnibel added, “You’re way too pretty to be hung up on some douche.”
Marceline felt her face heat up. Bonnibel didn’t even know her or her imaginary ex-boyfriend, and yet she was defending her. She called her pretty. Even with a full face of makeup and $40 conditioner that Ash got his hands on, Marceline didn’t feel like she was pretty enough to deserve a compliment like that from a girl like Bonnibel. On top of that, she had not been expecting curse words to be coming out of the heiress’ mouth.
Instead of answering, Marceline grabbed another donut–with a fork this time–and placed it on her plate.
Bonnibel must have noticed she was at a loss for words because she spoke up again. “So, you’re a music major?”
Marceline looked up, embarrassment forgotten, and grinned. “Yeah. I really like music and this is the first time I’ll ever get to do it in a setting like this.”
Bonnibel looked at her with a puzzled expression. “You’ve never taken classes?”
Whoops.
“Oh, yeah! Obviously I’ve taken classes and stuff. I meant in a larger class with other students. I always took private lessons.”
This time the save was actually good. Flawless, even. Bonnibel nodded, not looking suspicious at all. “That’s very cool. What’s your favorite instrument.”
“I always liked guitars, but a few years ago I got really into the bass.” She considered mentioning how much she loved Bublé’s newest Bold Red line but decided against it. The more she feigned ignorance about Bonnibel’s background, the better. Knowing she was an heiress to a company that produced instruments was one thing, religiously following said company's releases was another.
“You’ll love this city,” Bonnibel said with an excited grin. “The music scene here is really popular. Maybe we can see a show soon.” Her smile faltered. “Not that I’m forcing you to hang out with me or anything. Just… if you’re bored?”
Marceline spoke up, momentarily forgetting the donut she was still in the process of chewing. “Thath thounds fun.”
Bonnibel gave her a knowing smile. “I think I missed that.”
Marceline’s cheeks turned red and she chewed and swallowed before talking this time. “That sounds fun.”
“Great,” Bonnibel said. “Then it’s a date.”
And Marceline decided at that moment that stealing everything from Bonnibel Bublé would one day cause her grief, so it was best to emulate method actors and shut out all knowledge of her life back home with Hunson. She had imagined the heiress as some doe-eyed prey, but Bonnibel was witty and friendly and definitely didn’t deserve to be tricked like this. But Marceline had to keep her eyes on the prize. Feeling guilty wouldn’t help that.
“It’s a date.”