Page 6 of Heartless
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.
