Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
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. Too me.
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. His hair 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.
“Everything okay over here?” Jesse’s voice slides through the space between us, low and calm, threaded with confidence that makes my pulse skip.
My mother speaks first, her smile sharpening. “Oh yes, just fine. I was introducing Madeline to this fine young man. Elliot’s been working with her father. Such a wonderful man.”
Jesse nods politely, returning her smile with that easy charm that could disarm a firing squad. Unfortunately, a firing squad is nothing next to my mother. He turns his attention to Elliot. “Good to meet you, Elliot. Though I’m starting to think Madeline’s mom is trying to replace me already.”
Jesse’s grin is pure mischief. My mother’s is frozen in place.
Jesse steps closer, extending his hand. “I’m Jesse Winters. Madeline’s boyfriend.”
The word lands with precision, like a small explosion. It’s almost comical, the way three different reactions collide in real time. Elliot’s brows shoot up. My mother freezes, her painted smile faltering. And me…my heart drops straight through my heels.
“Boyfriend?” My mother repeats the word like it’s offensive. “As in…romantically involved?”
Jesse nods. “Yes, Mrs. Ashcroft. Madeline and I have been seeing each other for a while now.”
Elliot hesitates for half a beat before shaking Jesse’s hand, his polite smile tightening just enough to show he didn’t see that coming. “You’re a lucky man.”
Jesse’s grin is natural, but there’s a glint behind it that could cut through steel. “Yes, a very lucky man. Madeline is incredible in more ways than one.”
My mother blinks, her expression finally recovering as she forces out a brittle laugh. “Well, that’s…news, Madeline.”
“Good news, I hope?” Jesse places his hand on the small of my back as he says it. His tone is light, but it’s impossible to miss the undercurrent.
“I haven’t decided yet,” my mother says. “It is unexpected, though. Dating your boss, Madeline? Seems like a recipe for disaster if you ask me.”
I feel the intense urge to stand up, to run out of this room and never look back, but Jesse doesn’t flinch. His hand moves to my waist—a silent anchor, protective and grounding. “Actually,” he says smoothly, “I’d say we make a pretty solid team. Professionally and otherwise.”
Elliot coughs, clearly wanting to escape. “Well, it was nice meeting you both,” he says, offering me one last polite smile before disappearing into the crowd.
My mother watches him go, her lips pressing into a line before she turns back to Jesse.
For a long moment, no one says anything.
My mother’s assessing eyes dart between us, cataloguing every detail for later use.
Finally, she exhales a short, clipped laugh.
“Well, I’ll let you two get back to your evening.
I still have so many people who’ve been waiting to talk to me. ”
She walks away, leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume and a pressure in my chest that won’t quite lift. “God, she never quits.”
“Hey.” Jesse’s voice is soft and steady. He studies me for a beat, his brow furrowing in that way that makes him look unfairly good even when he’s serious. “Forget about her.”
“I wish I could,” I say quietly. “She’ll always find another way to make me feel twelve again.”
“Then maybe we change the channel for a bit.”
I blink. “The channel?”
He extends his hand, palm open, eyes glinting with mischief. “Dance with me.”
“What?”
“Come on. You could use a distraction.”
I hesitate, scanning the glittering ballroom, but he’s already stepping closer. “Mads,” he says, low enough that it’s just for me. “Trust me.”
So, I do. I slip my hand into his, and he leads me toward the dance floor.
The music softens to something slow and romantic, the kind of song that presses against your ribs and stays there.
Jesse pulls me close, one hand warm against my back, the other lacing through my fingers, and everything inside me goes quiet.
For once, I don’t overthink. I just move with him.
His chest is firm beneath my hand, his cologne subtle but dizzying.
The heat of his palm seeps through the thin fabric of my dress as we fall into step easily, and I don’t know if it’s the champagne, the music, or the man in front of me, but my pulse won’t slow.
“You’re quiet,” he murmurs.
“Trying not to step on your toes.”
He chuckles against my temple. “You’re great. A natural talent.”
“Hardly,” I say, glancing up at him. “You just make it easy.”
That earns me a soft and deliberate look that lingers so long, it sinks right through me. Then he dips his head slightly, so his lips are at my ear. “You know, you look beautiful tonight.”
I swallow hard. “You already said that.”
“I know,” he says. “I just thought you should hear it again.”
My breath catches. All I can feel is him and the steady rhythm of his heart under my palm, the heat of his hard body pressed against mine, the way his gaze drops briefly to my mouth before finding my eyes again. Is he going to kiss me? Right here, in the center of the crowded ballroom?
His chocolate eyes are locked on mine with such sharp, unblinking intensity it feels like he’s holding me in place—like one wrong breath might shatter whatever fragile, electric thing is tightening between us.
He shouldn’t look at me like that. I shouldn’t want him to. But God help me, I do.
“Jesse,” I whisper.
He exhales, a quiet laugh escaping. “Yeah. I know.”
We keep swaying, caught somewhere between wanting and restraint.
His thumb strokes the small of my back, and I think I might melt right here.
For a few perfect seconds, there’s no past, no parents, no expectations.
Just us—his breath near my ear, his hand warm and sure, the world held still.
The lights dim a little as his thumb continues to brush an idle circle against my spine. My pulse stumbles.
When I glance up, he’s watching me. Really watching me. His eyes drop to my mouth, linger there, and the room disappears. The chatter, the clinking glasses, the hum of the band…it all blurs to nothing.
He leans in. Just slightly. Barely a breath between us.
“Madeline,” he murmurs, my name catching low in his throat
My heart hammers. I should pull back. I should remind him that he’s my boss, that there are so many people around, that this is reckless and stupid and a hundred different kinds of dangerous. But all I can think about is how close he is. How much closer I want him to be.
His hand drifts higher, fingertips grazing the bare skin between my shoulder blades and every nerve in my body lights up. I tilt my chin up without meaning to, drawn toward him like gravity, and for a suspended heartbeat, we hover right there caught between what’s safe and what’s inevitable.
Then someone brushes against me on their way onto the dance floor and the spell is broken.
He doesn’t kiss me. But he doesn’t step back either. Instead, his voice drops low, a rough whisper only I can hear. “Mads, if we weren’t in a room full of people…”
I swallow, heat rushing through me. “Then what?”
His mouth curves in a dangerous, devastating smile. “You’d find out.”
The words settle between us like a secret we both already know.