2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Madison
I walked into the main building of The Gemstone Hideaway Retreat, noticing that every inch of the place screamed luxury. Polished marble floors gleamed under soft, ambient lighting, and floor-to-ceiling windows framed the surrounding hills.
The lobby felt more like a museum—oversized armchairs upholstered in fine fabrics, and sculptures strategically placed to whisper wealth without trying too hard. Parker had spared no expense. But beneath the surface, The Gemstone had a coldness to it, a certain rigidity that matched its owner. It lacked warmth, the charm that made a place feel alive. I appreciated the opulence - the attention to detail was flawless - but it was the beauty that kept you at arm’s length, inviting you to admire it without ever feeling welcome .
I dropped into an armchair, moaning in pleasure as I sank into the cushion. Comfortable. Parker got that right. I dialed Becca. The fight with Parker wasn’t over, but one thing was clear: he would not say no directly, and that gave me leverage. Leverage I intended to use.
Becca and I agreed to schedule another meeting at The Gem around Annie’s availability, and now it was time to break the news to my family. Just as I was searching for my mother’s contact, a shadow fell over me. I glanced up from my phone to find a young woman in uniform staring at me.
“Can I help you?” I asked, annoyed she was standing so close. What kind of training did Parker give his staff, if any?
“Hello, Miss. My name is Melany. You’re not a guest at The Gemstone Hideaway Retreat, correct?” Her tone was polite but firm - she already knew the answer.
“Correct,” I clipped. “I am not.”
“In that case, I’m going to ask you to leave or I’ll call security.”
Security? What was that about?
“Actually,” I leaned back in the armchair, “I like the atmosphere here. I’d like a cup of coffee, Mel. Black. Thanks.”
Melany cleared her throat. “There’s a coffee shop fifteen minutes down the road.”
“Great. I’ll try it after I’m done here - see which coffee is better.” She just stared, so I added, “One black coffee. Please.”
“I don’t serve coffee. I work at the reception desk. You came here to meet with Miss Annie Foster. She left, and you have to leave, too. The lobby is for guests only.”
Did she think I was paparazzi? Or a stalker? Had she seen my shoes? These weren’t made for chasing people.
I knew she was just following orders, and if she hadn’t thrown the word security at me, I might have let it go. But she had, hadn’t she ?
“Book me a massage then, Mel. I get that a cup of coffee might be too much for your skill set, but since you work the reception, you should be able to handle a phone call.”
Mel straightened, nodded once, then turned and left. I dialed my mother.
“Hi, honey.”
“Hey, Mom. What are you doing for dinner tonight?”
It was still afternoon, but I’d been eating early dinners for as long as I could remember, a habit my mother drilled into me as a girl to keep me as skinny as possible, all for her aspirations of my hypothetical ballet career. I’d ditched ballet sixteen years ago, but the early dinners and relentless weight-watching had stuck ingrained in my psyche.
“Mike and I are going out. Why?”
“Can I join?”
“Join?” Her tone held a hint of surprise.
“Yes. I flew in today. Work stuff. I’ll explain when I see you.”
“I’ll text you the address. We’ll meet there at six. You’re still doing the early dinners, right?”
Not that I’d expected her to show a human emotion, but a simple ‘I’m glad I’ll get to see you’ would have been nice.
“Send me the address,” I said, ignoring her question about my eating habits. “I’ll see you there.”
I was running my hand over the tapestry of the armchair, wondering where I could get one of these, when I noticed a tall, muscular man approaching, dressed head to toe in black with a serious expression on his face. Hopefully, he was charming and funny, because a face and a body like that would be a waste if he didn’t know how to talk to a woman.
Against my better judgment, I compared him to Parker. I liked Parker better - the square jaw, the less bulky frame, and that brooding alpha male thing that always attracted women to highly dysfunctional men.
Not that I was attracted to Parker Wilson. But I could at least admit, in the privacy of my mind, that he was obscenely handsome.
“Hello,” the man in black stopped right in front of me. Up close, I now saw he was younger than I.
Hard pass.
“Hello,” I smiled at him.
“Mr. Montgomery,” I heard Mel’s voice from behind me. “This is the woman.”
I shot her a disapproving look. I’d thought she was off fetching me coffee and booking a massage, but she’d called Mr. Montgomery from the security team?
“Thank you, Melany. I’ll take care of Miss…?”
“Madison Hartley.” I extended my hand, and his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. His gaze swept from my heels up to my face. Not that I minded the attention, but this man wasn’t doing it for me, even if he was pretty as a picture.
“Ryan Montgomery,” he said, shaking my hand. “Do you, by any chance, have a brother named Tyler?”
Anyone who knew Tyler would see the family resemblance, but I confirmed his statement. “I do. Are you one of his high school friends?”
“No,” he shook his head. “We met recently. Congratulations on becoming an aunt again. You must be over the moon.”
“Ecstatic,” I said in a flat tone, and he chuckled.
“Not much of a baby person?”
“Not really, no.”
“Me neither,” he said, flashing a well-rehearsed smirk .
“How did you and Tyler meet?” I asked, not because I cared about my brother’s douchebag friends, but because I knew how to have a polite conversation. Another thing my mother had taught me.
“Parker introduced us,” Ryan explained. “He and I go way back.”
Parker introduced Ryan to my brother? That seemed weird - and far more complicated than the level of interest I had in this conversation. I stood up, ready to leave. “Good for you.”
Melany must have figured out by now that Ryan Montgomery wouldn’t be dragging me out by the hair after all. I could stay and enjoy that coffee. But I didn’t need more of Parker Wilson in my life - even in the form of one of his friends.
“Are you leaving?” Ryan asked, surprised.
“Yes.”
“I thought you ordered coffee. How long are you in town?” His gaze traveled down my body again. “Want to grab a drink tonight?”
“I don’t date coworkers.”
The shock on his face was priceless. “Coworkers?”
“Yes. I’m here to organize a wedding.”
“Here?”
“Yes. Annie Foster’s wedding.”
“Parker agreed to that? When? Did he ask you to come?”
“I’m sure he’ll fill you in on all the details,” I said with a smile, stepping to the side and walking out of the lobby.
***
I stood in front of the restaurant, waiting for my mother and her boyfriend, jotting down ideas for Annie’s wedding on my phone .
“Maddie, honey,” I heard my mother’s voice before I saw her. I glanced up from my notes and took her in.
She was wearing white. She and I were that type - the ones who wore white all day without a single dot on the fabric. Her dress was identical to mine, except mine was lavender.
For a second I wondered what else had I been subconsciously doing like her, day after day.
She reached me, and we exchanged an air-kiss, careful not to smudge our makeup. Her gaze swept over me, assessing, and even at thirty-two years old, it still made my heart beat a little faster. It was like my nervous system had been trained to always expect a bad review.
“You look nice,” she said.
An unwelcome wave of pleasure surged through me, followed quickly by self-hatred. I felt like a dog wagging its tail after getting a treat for good behavior.
“You too,” I managed, and offered my hand to Mike, who pulled me in for a hug.
“Sorry for crashing your date,” I apologized.
He waved me off with a warm smile. “Don’t be silly. You never visit.”
How my mother had caught this nice man’s attention would forever be a mystery to me.
The restaurant my mother had chosen was elegant in the way only old money could be. No flashy lights or modern minimalism - just soft candlelight flickering off dark wood paneling and plush seats made for long, drawn-out dinners. The air smelled of truffles and herbs, and the waiters moved like ghosts, always present, never intrusive. It was exactly her kind of place: quiet, exclusive, just traditional enough to give her a sense of control .
We took our seats and my mother launched into a ten-minute monologue about every dish she’d ever eaten here. She was half-way through the shrimp risotto when Mike placed a hand over hers and said, “Sylvia, should we hear about Madison’s visit?”
I gave him a quick, grateful smile.
“Oh, yes. Of course. Tell us about your work thing, honey.”
I cleared my throat. “Do you know who Annie Foster is?”
“The movie star?” she asked.
I nodded. “She just got engaged and wants to get married at The Gemstone Hideaway Retreat. Someone told her about Clem’s wedding. Long story short, she wants me to plan the event.”
My mother’s mouth fell open. She blinked, then blinked again, as though searching for words. “At The Gemstone?”
“Yes.”
“But Parker Wilson doesn’t like you.”
“We don’t have to like each other to work together.”
“But,” she stuttered. “You… Are you capable enough? It’s Annie Foster.”
Not the reaction I expected.
Every cell in my body worked to contain the rage that shot through me. My mother hated all displays of emotion, and she’d forced them out of me at an early age.
“I’ve spent the last decade planning high profile weddings. So yes, Mom. I am capable.”
“You organized weddings for investors, Madison. Lawyers. Athletes. Annie Foster is a Hollywood celebrity. Her wedding will be a spectacle. Magazines will pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for her wedding pictures.”
“Your point?”
“You’re out of your depth here. ”
The waiter appeared just then with our drinks, cutting my mother off for a moment.
I couldn’t believe her.
No, that wasn’t true. I could. She’d been this way for as long as I remembered. Nothing was ever good enough.
What I couldn’t believe was that some part of me still thought there’d come a day when I would finally do something that would make her proud.
Why did I still yearn for her approval?
After the uncomfortable silence, Mike spoke up again. “So, you’ll be staying here for a while, then? If you’re planning Annie Foster’s wedding?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “I’ll stay for a while.”
“You’re staying here?” My mother sounded outraged. “What about your clients in New York?”
“They have Dorothy.”
“And she’s okay with that?”
My mother had never met my boss, but she talked about Dorothy like she knew her better than I did.
“Of course she is,” I lied.
“Hadn’t she stepped down from the day-to-day?”
“She hired someone to help.” At least that part was true. “I know it might seem strange, but this is the right move for me. Annie Foster’s wedding is a huge step forward.”
“I’m just worried it’s too much for you. And working with Parker Wilson, after everything that happened...”
“I can handle both the wedding and Parker Wilson, Mom. Don’t worry about it.”
I should have been used to this by now - her unique ability to take something as monumental as planning Annie Foster’s wedding and reduce it to nothing. How could I still crave her approval after all these years? Every success I achieved, every client I left impressed, none seemed to measure up. And yet, here I was, bristling under the weight of her doubt in me.
But maybe that’s what I needed. Fuel. Annie Foster’s wedding was my chance to show everyone - my mother, Parker Wilson, Dorothy, and everyone else who thought I wasn’t up to it - what I could do. I would handle this wedding flawlessly. And when it was over, my mother would finally be proud.