She nodded her head and changed the subject. “I’m looking forward to tonight. Anything I should know before we go? Are there any weird rituals or songs I need to be aware of?” She couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. Back at home, she knew what to expect at parties, and hell, she ruled them. But a few kegs and warm cans of Natty Light in someone’s backyard were a far cry from a black tie event.
“It’s a Mardi Gras krewe, not a cult,” George said, opening up the door to the hotel entrance.
She laughed and stepped into the lobby.
“But if you must know, we all dress up in hooded capes and sing Latin ritual songs by candlelight. Newbies in the group—like yourself—have to dance in the middle.”
“Pfft,” she said, then paused. “Wait . . . really?”
George laughed. “I’ll pick you up from your room at six thirty.”
? ? ?
MADISON TOOK A long shower and then snuggled up on the king-size bed, wearing the white cotton bathrobe she found in the closet. She ate the overpriced cashews from the minibar and sipped sparkling water while admiring her room. Blue and burgundy silk drapes framed the windows, thick striped wallpaper covered the walls, and gold mirrors hung above an oversize mahogany desk. This was the type of hotel the folks whose houses she cleaned would stay in, not people like Madison Blanchette, and all this luxury was thanks to George driving his gleaming Porsche into her life.
“Be jealous, losers,” she texted Claire, Gabby, and Laura alongside a picture of her hotel room.
After that, she dried her hair, put her makeup on, and walked over to the closet, where the old pageant gown she borrowed from Laura hung. The cut of the emerald strapless gown was simple, but the fabric shimmered with thousands of green sequins. She slipped into it, zipped it up, and admired herself in the mirror for a moment. Madison felt classy—an adjective she had never used when describing herself.
Back in the bathroom, she pulled her hair up in a neat bun like Laura had showed her. Her friend had packed an entire makeup bag filled with bobby pins and a travel-size bottle of hairspray. “Now, you’re gonna have to spray the shit out of this to keep everything in place,” Laura had said, bobby pin in mouth.
Madison wished Laura could be there to help her now. The bobby pins kept popping out of the bun and the spray made her hair look clumpy and stiff. She screamed with frustration after a third failed attempt to smooth it down, then furiously took the pins out one by one and flipped her hair over, letting the waves hover just above the marble tile floor. She scrunched the ends, then swung her head back up and looked in the mirror. Her hair was a bit wild, but it would have to do, especially since George was knocking on her door.
As Madison walked over to let him in, she almost tripped on the small train of fabric trailing behind her. She turned the doorknob and blinked.
George’s brown hair was combed neatly back, and there was even a slight sheen to it (maybe his friend told him to spray the shit out of it, too). His tux fit him perfectly, emphasizing the width of his shoulders and the narrow V of his waist beneath his black cummerbund. His bow tie was jaunty, and his shoes gleamed beneath his slim-fit pants.
“Wow!” George finally said, his green eyes shining. “You look stunning.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” Madison admitted, impressed. She thought of his immaculate house and wondered if he was one of those guys who was actually more comfortable in black tie than in a T-shirt and jeans.
George cleared his throat, then held out his right hand. Nestled in it was a robin’s egg blue square velvet box with the words Tiffany & Co. stamped across it.
“I thought you said there wouldn’t be any Pretty Woman stuff happening this weekend.” She kept her voice light and teasing, but she had to clasp her hands together to keep from reaching out and grabbing the present.
He chuckled and walked into the room. “Well, you don’t have to give this one back.” He opened the box, which held a long strand of pearls. “You’ll get a lot of beads around your neck tonight, but I thought you should have at least one set that was just as special as you are.” The words were rushed, like he had recited that line all afternoon and was hoping not to mess it up.
A knot formed in her stomach as Madison took in George’s earnest expression and shining eyes. Sure, she had hoped George was going to start buying her things—hell, that was pretty much the only reason she started hanging out with him—but seeing the look on his face now, she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty.
Snap out of it, she commanded herself as she ran her fingers over the smooth pearls. It wasn’t like she was stealing from him.
“I love it,” she said, doubling the strand around her neck. “It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me.”
? ? ?
“HAVING FUN?” GEORGE yelled, spinning Madison around the dance floor.
“Heck, yeah,” she cried, flushed from the heat of the bodies swirling around her.
The event was in the ballroom of an old mansion in the French Quarter, where a ten-piece jazz band presided over an increasingly drunk crowd of dancers. Of course that was after the five-course meal, the crowning of the krewe king and queen, and the debutante portion of the evening.
Finally, the stuffy society people were letting loose, dancing with martinis and gin and tonics in hand. Madison was completely sober; every time George went to the bar, he came back with club sodas with lime. He took that whole under-twenty-one thing very seriously.
Still, she was having a great time. George had introduced her to the mayor and a famous local musician who was up for a Grammy. He seemed to know everyone in the room. Who knew that nerdy George could hold court at a ball?
“Want to take a break?” George asked breathlessly as the song ended. Madison nodded and they stood off to the side, sipping their seltzers. A moment later, a middle-aged couple they had briefly said hi to earlier approached them. Madison had already forgotten their names.
“So, George,” the woman said, touching his arm. She wore a black satin gown with an elaborate bow on one shoulder. Her silver hair was in a neat bun, and teardrop diamonds hung from her ears. Madison tried not to eye them too hard; they could’ve paid for at least six months of her family’s mortgage. “We were really shocked to hear about Henry—I just couldn’t imagine him running off to St. Maarten to get married. It’s a little barbaric if you ask me.” She waved her white-gloved hand. “Why travel when he could have had his wedding at your beautiful family home.”
Madison tipped her head, wondering who Henry was.
“How was it, George?” the man said, swirling his glass of bourbon. “St. Maarten?”
“Oh uh, I . . . I couldn’t make it.” George paled slightly and tugged at his bow tie. “Had to work.”
“George, you need to remember to take breaks from work. Life goes by too fast.” The lady put her hand on his arm. “He’s your brother, after all.”