Page 11 of Mad for Madison
A sudden wave of anxiety over this entire plan came over me, making my spine tingle. This was real, this crazy little charade. We had to make everyone, or Dane Pierce at least, believe that I was Madison’s boyfriend.
Much later, after I’d spent my evening with Lily and Gran, pretending that everything was normal, I stood before the bathroom mirror and wondered how in the hell we were going to convince anyone that Madison would go after someone like me.
Madison was on time. The rich leather of the limo seat was cool against the back of my neck as I leaned against it, staring out the window at the city lights flickering past. My tie—if you could even call it that—felt foreign, like I’d wandered into someoneelse’s life. The tailor had called it an “avant-garde statement piece,” but to me, it was just another reminder that I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Not that I’d ever been to Kansas.
The deep charcoal-gray suit I wore fit like a glove, all clean lines and subtle sheen that hinted at midnight blue under the right light. The lapels were sharp and slightly asymmetrical, breaking just enough from tradition to make me nervous. Beneath it, the black silk shirt clung to my torso, open at the collar just enough to make me feel like a rebel—or maybe like I was underdressed for the occasion. The tie—or scarf, really—was a soft ribbon of satin that hung loose around my neck, artfully knotted but not tight. “Relaxed elegance,” the tailor had said with a flourish, but I felt like I’d been dressed for a fashion shoot I hadn’t signed up for.
Madison, on the other hand, looked as if he’d stepped straight out of a fantasy. His suit was burgundy, a shade so rich it could have been wrung out of a bottle of the finest wine. It shimmered faintly with a satin finish that caught the light every time he shifted, the effect amplified by the tailored perfection of the jacket that hugged his slim frame. Beneath it, his crisp white shirt was buttoned up, but the collar wasn’t boring—no, it had these subtle silver embellishments that matched the chain glinting in place of a tie. The slacks were tailored just enough to show off his legs, and the whole look was finished with sleek black leather shoes that could probably double as mirrors.
Sitting across from me, he smirked like he knew exactly how good he looked. Which he did. He always did.
“You’re pulling off that suit pretty well,” Madison said, his gaze raking over me appreciatively. I fought the heat rising in my neck and shrugged.
“You don’t look half-bad yourself,” I shot back. It was meant to sound casual, but my voice came out rough, like gravel.
“Just half?” he teased, leaning forward slightly. The movement made the light dance over the satin of his suit, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
“Fine,” I said, shifting awkwardly in my seat. “You look incredible. Happy?”
“Very.” His grin widened, and he settled back, one leg crossing over the other effortlessly. “You’ll thank me later for dragging you to that tailor. We’re going to steal the spotlight tonight.”
I wasn’t sure about stealing anything except maybe a breath or two when I caught my reflection in the window. But as Madison leaned his head back, eyes half-closed, exuding confidence like it was something he wore as easily as his suit, I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d be stealing something else, too: trouble.
Madison had warned me before we’d arrived at the shop that we needed to be physical if anyone was going to believe the ruse. I guessed it was my creeping blush that provoked a more detailed explanation. “You know? Arm touching, whispering to each other, your hand on the small of my back. Nothing compromising.”
“Oh,” I’d replied, wondering why I sounded disappointed. It was a role—just like the roles Madison played for everyone watching his work. It wasn’t real.
The limo slowed as the gleaming facade of the Orbit Hotel came into view. The building stood like a monolith of polished glass and steel, reflecting the vibrant glow of the city back at itself. A crimson carpet rolled out from the curb, guiding an endless parade of guests into the hotel’s soaring atrium. Cameras flashed in rhythmic bursts, capturing suits that cost more than I made in six months.
My throat tightened as the car eased to a stop. This was another world—a world where people walked with theirspines impossibly straight, their every movement calculated for maximum elegance. The valet opened Madison’s door first, and the outside sounds rushed in: laughter, murmured conversation, the hum of expensive engines idling nearby.
Madison stepped out with an effortless grace that I could never replicate. As he stood, he adjusted his suit jacket with a practiced flick of his wrist, a small smile already in place like he’d been born knowing how to work a crowd. Then, he turned and offered me his hand.
I hesitated for a heartbeat before taking it. His fingers were warm and steady, a stark contrast to the icy panic flooding my chest. When I joined him on the sidewalk, I felt like every eye was on us, cataloging every inch of my not-good-enough self and finding me wanting.
“This place is…something,” I muttered, my voice barely audible over the ambient noise.
Madison leaned in, his shoulder brushing mine. “You belong here just as much as anyone else.”
I didn’t reply, my gaze glued to the red carpet as my feet carried me forward on autopilot. Each step felt heavier than the last, and the doubts started creeping in like cold tendrils wrapping around my chest. I wasn’t suave like Madison. I wasn’t rich, famous, or part of this glittering crowd. What if I said the wrong thing? Or did the wrong thing?
What if I ruined this for him?
But just as the weight became unbearable, Madison’s finger brushed against mine. It was barely a touch, a fleeting connection, but it was enough to snap me out of my spiral. I glanced at him, startled, and found his eyes on mine, calm and steady.
“You’re doing great,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
It wasn’t much, but it was everything. I nodded, forcing myself to take a deep breath. My shoulders relaxed a fraction, and I straightened my posture, letting his quiet confidence carry me forward. We reached the entrance, and as we stepped through the towering glass doors into the opulent warmth of the hotel, I realized something surprising: Madison’s touch wasn’t just grounding—it was anchoring me to the moment, to him.
The moment we stepped into the lobby, the air seemed to crackle with energy. Photographers crowded around the entrance, their cameras firing in quick succession as Madison and I emerged from the revolving doors. I tried to keep my expression neutral, but the sheer thrill of it—walking into a room like this with someone like Madison—was impossible to ignore.
Madison’s hand found its way to the small of my back, just like he’d said it would. The touch was light but grounding, like a secret tether between us in the chaos. He leaned in as if to whisper something to me, his lips close enough to brush my ear. The photographers ate it up, their shouts blending into a chorus of “Nico! Over here!” and “Who’s your date?”
I didn’t need to fake the flush spreading across my cheeks. It felt surreal and a little intoxicating to be part of this world, even if it was just an act. Madison, ever the professional, tilted his head toward me with a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners like he wasn’t just playing a role. For a moment, even I could almost believe we were what they thought we were.
He’d warned me there would be cameras, but these were hardly the kind of magazines that Gran read. Besides, she would understand if I ever had to explain my actions.
Then we were past the cameras, gliding through an archway draped in black-and-gold fabric into the private area where the guests were gathering. The vibe shifted instantly. Gone was the frantic energy of the lobby, replaced by a more refined hum of conversation and clinking glasses. The space was stunning—marble floors gleamed under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers, and waiters weaved gracefully through the crowd with trays of champagne.
