Madeline
I can still feel the echo of it. The flirtation, the pull, the way Jesse’s eyes lingered on mine a little too long. And I liked it. I liked the way he looked at me. He flirted. I flirted back. None of it felt calculated or forced. It just felt good.
Good to be wanted.
Good to be seen.
Especially tonight, when being in the same room as my mother again had made me feel like I was an awkward, imperfect, perpetually disappointing sixteen-year-old again. Every word out of her mouth tonight had been a reminder of the fact that I will never quite measure up. In her eyes, I’m selfish. I’m a failure. I’m too common, too rough around the edges. Toome.
I was mortified that Jesse saw my dysfunctional family up close, but he didn’t judge me for it. Not once. He didn’t make excuses for my mother’s behavior, didn’t tell me to try harder or rise above it. He just stood there, quietly protective, steady in exactly the way I needed him to be. That’s what got me most of all. That quiet loyalty. The certainty in his eyes when he looked at me, like I wasn’t some lost cause to be fixed.
Now, sitting at the table after dinner, champagne glass in hand as a senator drones through his speech, I can’t stop replaying one moment in my head. The way Jesse leaned in close at the bar, his voice low and teasing, his smile too sincere to be faking it.
He made me feel like I am enough, and that’s something I haven’t felt in a long time. And even though I know better than to let one moment mean too much, I can’t quite stop the flutter in my chest when I think about him.
The clinking of silverware draws me back to the present. I glance toward the empty seat next to me, where Jesse has been sitting with his arm protectively resting on the back of my chair. He slipped away to the restroom a few minutes ago, leaving me alone long enough to collect myself. I tell myself I’m fine. I’m good. Except I’m not, because here comes my mother.
She glides across the ballroom like she owns the place, the soft hum of conversation parting around her. A familiar tightness pulls in my chest. She’s smiling her “campaign smile,” all teeth and poise—but I know better.
And she’s not alone. Trailing beside her is a man who looks like he walked straight out of one of their fundraising ads—perfect hair, a pressed suit, and the kind of smug charm that screams up-and-coming politician. I sigh, knowing exactly what this is before they even reach the table.
“Madeline, darling,” my mother purrs, one manicured hand brushing my shoulder. “There’s someone I’d love for you to meet.”
Of course there is.
I force a polite smile, but my stomach twists. Of course she would pick now, of all times, when Jesse’s gone, when I’ve finally managed to breathe, to parade another one of her hand-picked potential sons-in-law in front of me.
The man my mother ushers forward looks to be around my age. He’s handsome in a polished, forgettable kind of way. Hishair is gelled into place, his smile is perfectly rehearsed. He’s the kind of guy who’s been networking since birth.
“Madeline, this is Elliot,” my mother says, sounding very pleased with herself. “He’s one of the youngest cabinet advisors in the province. Such a bright future ahead of him. You two have so much in common.”
I doubt it. But I still stand and paste on my most diplomatic smile, the one I’ve spent years perfecting at family functions just like this one.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, extending a hand.
Elliot grins and wraps his hand around mine. “The pleasure’s mine. Your mom was just telling me you’re working in marketing. She mentioned you might be looking for a new opportunity. I’ve actually been looking for someone to help me with my campaign strategy.”
I sip my champagne instead of replying, already feeling the heat of annoyance crawl up my neck. My mother laughs, too loud, too practised. “Madeline’s brilliant at what she does. But a change of pace would be good, wouldn’t it, darling? Maybe even a little sabbatical. You work too hard.”
I swallow hard, the fizz of the champagne burning down my throat. I can feel the pressure building behind my ribs—the familiar cocktail of irritation, humiliation, and exhaustion that always comes with being around her.
Elliot’s eyes narrow, curious. “Sabbatical? That sounds nice. I don’t think I’d know what to do with a day off.”
Of course he wouldn’t. “I imagine you’d find something to fill it,” I say, trying not to sound as exhausted as I feel.
He laughs again, leaning a little closer, like we’re in on some shared secret. “Your mom said you’ve recently taken a new job in a small town. It must be nice to come back to Bluewater and reconnect with your family.”
“‘Nice’ is not the word I’d use,” I say, too quietly for my mother to hear, but Elliot catches it.
He chuckles, though I can tell he doesn’t really get it. “You’re funny.”
I smile tightly, fighting the urge to check my watch or fake a phone call. My mother’s watching us like a hawk, her expression smug, already mentally designing our wedding invitations.
“How long will you be in town, Madeline? Maybe we could grab a coffee? A couple of great new places have opened recently, I’d be happy?—”
A throat clears from behind me, and I turn to see Jesse a couple of feet away, his tie loosened, jacket draped over one shoulder. His dark eyes are locked on me, looking every bit the confident, self-assured man any woman would sell her soul for, except, he’s mine. If only for tonight.
My mother’s smile tightens when she sees him, her expression frozen somewhere between suspicion and barely veiled irritation. Elliot, meanwhile, looks like he’s just spotted the competition. His back straightens, his chin lifts.
