“Oh, there are exceptions to every rule. Anyways, Elliot andhis parents are expecting us at eleven. I don’t want to make them wait.”
My inner dread spikes. “Elliot?” I repeat flatly. “You came here because of Elliot?”
“I thought we told you last night,” my father says, stepping in. “His parents are looking forward to meeting you properly at brunch. I’d like you to get to know him better. There are…opportunities there.”
I laugh in disbelief. Of course, they would show up here still wanting to set me up with Elliot even though as far as they’re concerned, I’m dating Jesse. I shake my head. Everything with them comes down to a political strategy. They’re always assessing things, making calculations, trying to figure out what they need to do to end up on top. It’s Ashcroft 101.
My mother gives a tight smile. “Elliot is a very promising connection, Madeline. His family is extremely well positioned. You disappearing from the gala without saying goodbye to Elliot or introducing yourself to his parents didn’t reflect well on us.”
Jesse shifts behind me, silent but very much present. My mother looks at him like he’s a detail she’ll need to scrub out of a report.
I take a calming breath, trying to keep my voice even when I say, “You remember that I’m here with my boyfriend, right?”
The word hangs there like a grenade. My mother blinks slowly, followed by a long, pointed silence. Eventually, my father exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Madeline, you know how important these relationships are. This isn’t personal, umm…” He looks at Jesse but clearly can’t even remember his name.
“His name is Jesse, Dad.”
My father’s gaze shifts to me, then back to Jesse. “This isn’t personal, Jesse, but…” he trails off, then turns to me, leaving the sentence unfinished.
“Sweetheart…Elliot’s family controls one of the biggest political action committees in the country…donors, endorsements, media connections, all of it. They’re supportive of my re-election campaign but we need to develop a stronger relationship. Their backing is crucial. You and Elliot are similar in age, you have the same background. His parents only suggested that if you and he spent more time together, it might help…solidify things.”
My mouth falls open. “You can’t just?—”
“Oh, Madeline, please stop being so dramatic,” my mom interjects, smoothing her blazer. “Elliot is a lovely young man, with a very bright future. We are only asking that you spend a little time with him.” She sighs, looking at my father. “I knew she would make this difficult. Nothing is ever easy with her.”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” Jesse cuts in. “Madeline is a grown woman; she has every right to make her own choices. She is not a political pawn. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a plane to catch.”
His voice slices cleanly through the room. The silence that follows is deafening. My mother’s spine goes rigid, chin lifting a fraction—a tell that she’s silently seething. My father stands stiffly next to her, a vein visibly ticking near his temple.
“Madeline,” my father says. “This conversation is not finished.”
“Yes,” Jesse answers for me. “It is.”
My mother assesses him for a moment, eyes narrowed. Then a thin smile stretches across her lips. “We’ll be in touch,” she says sharply, turning toward the door.
The second the door shuts behind them, I let out a shuddering breath and cover my face with both hands, mortification washing over me so fast it makes my knees weak. “Oh my God,” I whisper into my palms. “I can’t believe?—”
It takes me a second to realize Jesse is talking to someone. He’s across the room with the hotel phone pressed to his ear,jaw hard, eyes set with that controlled fury I’m learning is more dangerous than any raised voice.
“Yes,” he says, clipped and firm. “The manager, please.”
My stomach flips. “Jesse. What are you?—”
He holds up a finger, not to shush me, but to tell me he needs one second.
“Yes, I’ll hold,” he says tightly, pacing once in front of the bed. My heart stutters.
“Hi,” he says when someone picks up. “This is Jesse Winters. I need to file a complaint. Two people were granted access to our room number without authorization. They showed up at our door this morning, uninvited, and I want to know how they were given that information. And before you give me some excuse, I don’t care who they said they were. You do not share guests’ information with anyone. Not for any reason.”
He pauses, listening, eyes flicking to me for the first time. They’re filled with fire and concern, causing a whirlwind of emotion to twist through my chest. I stand here, rooted to the carpet watching as he fights for me in a way not many people have.
It should be enough to wipe away the embarrassment and the sting of my parents barging into our hotel room.
But some wounds sit too deep, carved by years of heartache.
TWENTY-TWO
Madeline
