Before I can think better of it, I reach over, brushing my thumb along the crease that has settled between her brows. She turns her head, startled. “You look too beautiful to be frowning like that,” I murmur. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
A shaky laugh slips out of her. “Just…everything. The people, the cameras, the press. All of it. I’ve never been comfortable with this kind of stuff.”
“I know,” I say, reaching for her hand, which has a death grip on her purse. I peel her fingers from the bag and thread them through mine. “But you’re not alone. You’ve got me, okay? I won’t leave your side. Not once.”
“And if I completely freeze up?”
“Then I’ll be right there,” I assure her. “I promise you. I’ve got you, Madeline.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
“Okay,” I echo, with a smile. “Now stop worrying, because you’re going to walk in there and make every person in that room forget their own name.”
Her laugh this time is real, so damn soft and sweet, and it hits me right in the chest.
The driver eases to a stop, and the noise of the crowd seeps into the car. I sense her tense up again beside me, so I trace my thumb slowly over her knuckles to calm her. We’re here.
“You ready? Just follow my lead.”
I get out, round the car, and open her door. Madeline places her hand in mine, looking up at me nervously. One of the photographers asks us to pose in front of a backdrop, but I angle us away, steering her toward the entrance before they can crowd her. “Let’s skip the photos,” I say quietly, my mouth against her hair. “They’ll survive without us.”
She looks up at me, surprise and gratitude reflected in her pretty brown eyes. And it’s all for me. That flicker of relief, that quiet gratitude that softens her face when she realizes I meant what I said, that I have her back.
I like how it feels to be her person. To be standing next to her, looking out for her, here for her when things get overwhelming. I look down at her, see the trust in her eyes, and I know without a doubt that I want to be that person for as long as she’ll let me.
The ballroom is a blur of black suits and sequinned gowns, the air thick with perfume and money. Crystal chandeliers scatter light over polished marble floors, and every person in the room looks like they stepped straight out of a magazine. Madeline straightens beside me, shoulders squared, her hand clasped firmly in mine.
“Ready?” I murmur.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she whispers back, lifting her chin. Brave girl.
We’ve barely stepped through the doors when she spots her parents, surrounded by a group of people who look just like them: polished, practiced, and perfectly poised. Her mom looks toward the door, seeing us. Her eyes sweep over Madeline, as her mouth forms a thin, polite smile that doesn’t touch her eyes. We cross the room to them.
“Madeline,” her mom says, voice sweet as a blade when we reach her. “I’m glad you were able to make it after all. You should have stopped by the house today, but I suppose you were too busy doing whatever it is that you do that is clearly more important than your father and I.” Her eyes cut to me, lingering for half a second. “And who is this? I didn’t realize you were bringing someone.”
Madeline’s spine goes rigid beside me. “Mom, this is Jesse Winters,” she says, her voice calm and even. “I told you about him. From Cove.”
“Ah,” her mother hums. “The marketing man.” She says it like it’s a lesser species. “Yes, how very…entrepreneurial.”
I offer my hand anyway. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Ashcroft.”
She shakes it briefly, gaze already sliding past me to source out the next social opportunity. “So, Madeline,” she continues after a moment. “Your father and I were talking about how we haven’t seen you in weeks. But of course, you always do keep yourself busy with things that don’t involve your family.”
Madeline’s lips press together. “I’ve been working, Mom.”
“Working.” Her mother repeats the word like it’s foreign. “Yes, well, I do hope it’s worth you missing your niece grow up. It’s really too bad you’re not able to help Cara. She has her hands very full. I’m sure she’s disappointed.”
“Cara is happy for me, Mom. I wish you could find a way to be too.”
Her dad hasn’t even looked up. He’s mid-conversation with a man who could be the poster child for generational wealth. Their laughter booms across the room, drowning out other guests’ conversations.
“Dad,” Madeline says softly, a flicker of hope in her voice.
He glances her way for a fraction of a second, just long enough to give her a distracted smile. “Hey, Madeline,” he says, and then turns back to his conversation without another word.
I feel something twist in my chest. Madeline swallows hard, that flicker in her eyes dimming before she smooths her expression back into polite indifference. Her mom doesn’t notice or doesn’t seem to care. “You could try calling once in a while, you know. We do worry.”
Madeline’s voice is steady but faintly brittle. “The phone works both ways, Mom. You only seem to call when there’s a fundraiser to attend.”
