He has a black eye.

Even her mother's lips part in quiet confusion and shock beore she catches herself. Mother turns to Mrs Hawthorne, with a polite, confused look.

"Eleanor," she says in that cool, polite voice of hers that always manages to sound condescending too. Madison would wonder in awe, at how her mother would accomplish such a feat so delicately, but now she can only stare at Nick, fight to keep her concern from overwhelming her, and feel utterly embarrassed for everyone. "Is your son... quite alright?"

Mrs Hawthorne lets out an embarrassed little laugh, as she quickly reels off a quick, bumbling apology and excuses herself, lifting herself from her seat. Mother's gaze follows her, narrowing in thought. Madison tears her gaze away from the way Nick's mother fusses over him and turns to her mother. She relishes the little amount of time they have together and smiles softly.

"Mother," she asks. "What exactly is this meeting about? Why are the Hawthornes here?"

"You told me he was your friend," Mother says, texting. "And, despite his appearance now, he's the only boy, that I don't absolutely abhor on sight, of course, that can also work with the height difference."

Madison is so surprised at her mother's response that she can barely summon a response. Before she can even try to give an answer, her phone lights up with a new text. Mother's gaze flickers over to it curiously as Madison looks over the text briefly, before letting out a huff.

How are you, Madison? How is school? Do you want to meet up for a cup of coffee? I hear all the cool kids these days like Starbucks. My treat?

Her heart tugs a little but Mother is eyeing her coolly.

"Is it that man again?" Mother asks, taut and careful.

Madison swallows down her panic quickly. "Mother, I –,"

"I told you to block him," Mother says, and her voice is utterly cold and devastating as she reaches for Madison's phone. She scrolls through the mass of texts that Madison has not been able to make herself delete, her scowl perching at the edge of her lips. "He's been texting you for how long? Desperate son of a bitch." Mother's lip curls in disgust. "I thought we had established this, Madison. Your father is a disease."

"Yes, I know, but Mother –,"

"Then why do you still have these?" Mother asks, before she deletes all of the texts carelessly, to Madison's horror.

Madison swallows quickly before she attempts to make a careless, cool voice, like her mother. "He's not going away, Mother," she says, trying to sound as flippant as she can. "What does he want? Why is he here?"

Mother lets out a huff. "Your father is in some government job now," she explains. "He's high up but he's a leech, so he still wants our money. That's not going to happen. He left us. He forfeited his right to come back when he left. Right, Madison?"

Mother's voice is utterly shattering and her gaze is unyielding as she stares down at Madison. Madison swallows thickly before nodding her head, something oily and uneasy slithering within her stomach. Her hands are trembling so she puts them in her lap, attempting to make it look as though she's simply straightening her pastel designer dress.

When Nick comes to the table, accompanied by his mother, who has exhausted her efforts to clean up his face as best as she can, she and Mother make a concentrated effort to avoid looking at his black eye and his bruised face. Nick doesn't offer them the same mannerly courtesy as he reaches across the table, puts his elbows on the table, and eats everything before him like a starved horse. Mother's eyebrows climb higher and higher as Mrs Hawthorne's cheeks flush an embarrassed red, and Madison wants to either die of humiliation or reach across to put her heel into his neck.

"So," Mother announces, making an effort to smile as her lips lift. "Madison. Nicholas –,"

"Nick," Nick corrects, with a grin that's blinding.

Thrown off, Mother swallows. "Nick," she amends politely. "We are organising together a ball for charity, for illiterate children in third-world countries. You must have a lot of practice with illiterate children, Nick." Madison's lips part in horror as Nick stares at her mother, affronted. But Mother is continuing, completely blind to the carnage she's created. "During the ball, I require my daughter to dance with a good partner."

Madison's gaze lifts to meet Nick's horrified eyes.

No, she thinks. Mother cannot possibly be—

"I know that the two of you are good friends so I thought it could be a wonderful thing for the two of you to do together. Of course, the two of you will be taking lessons together so don't look so panicked. I'm not throwing you into the deep end, I have some heart, no matter what the tabloids might say. But I do expect perfection," Mother says to them, as Mrs Hawthorne smiles hopefully at her son.

Madison parts her lips urgently but Mother sends her a warning look and her voice promptly dies, crumpling within her throat. She's left to hope that Nick has enough sense to refuse this. She can't stay with Nick for longer than ten minutes without wanting to kill him. The same could probably be said for him, she supposes.

Stuck together in dance lessons with the clumsy Hawthorne boy will slowly but surely drive her out of her mind.

Nick opens his mouth. "Mrs Sutton –,"

"Ms Sutton," Mother corrects delicately, though she and Madison's father aren't, yet, divorced.

"Ms Sutton, with all respect," Nick begins and he winces as the motion of speaking looks like it is hurting his bruise. Madison makes a conscious effort to stop herself from staring in concern. "Madison and I – we're not – we –,"

God, he can't even speak, let alone string together a sentence.

Madison wants to despair.

"What's the problem?" his mother asks him, her voice soft.

As Nick turns his face to his mother, looking utterly hopeless, Madison can see the same light, can recognises the same yearning for his mother's love, that she has, too, within him. Takes one to know one, she supposes. Nick isn't such a hard heart, after all.

God, they're doomed.

"We're not good dancers," Nick says finally, looking proud of himself.

Madison holds herself back from planting her face into her palm.

Mother is looking at him strangely. When she speaks, she speaks slowly, as though talking to the illiterate child of the charity she so badly wants to help. "That's why I'm giving you the dancing lessons, Nick," she says.

"Oh," Nick says, looking faintly panicked. "Right. Yeah. I – I forgot."

Idiot. Madison closes her eyes.

Mother is continuing, clearly pleased with the turn of events. "Of course, I won't be here, seeing as I have to go Monaco for a couple of weeks. But I will be back in time for the ball, so I expect the two of you to be utterly flawless, okay?" Mother reaches to adjust Madison's dress and brushes her lips briefly against her cheek. "Don't forget, Madison –,"

"Perfection is key," Madison murmurs, repetitively. "Always."

Mother's lips spread into a satisfied smile. "That's my girl."

*

He can't stand Madison Sutton.

And dancing with her for who knew how long is not going to make that go away. She's a bitch, pure and simple, sent from Hell to torment his stupid ass, Nick thinks as the Suttons leave. He scowls towards his food, furrowing his brows in annoyance.

"I am so glad," his mother begins, her voice warm, "that you were so civil about this all, Nick. And thank you so much for accepting to offer – we're hoping to raise a lot of money for those children. It's so good to see that my own son is so invested in my business, too."

Nick feels a thick barrage of guilt lurch within the pits of his stomach as he presses his lips together. He thinks quickly. "Look, I'm all for the dancing stuff," he begins, "but does it have to be with Madison?" She's the reincarnation of Satan, he wants to say. "I mean, can there be anyone else? Literally, I will take anyone else. I will take a dog."

He mother only laughs at him, as though he's telling a joke. "Don't be silly, Nick," she tells him. "This is mine and Elizabeth's work finally being put to fruition. Wouldn't it be just perfect that our children would also uphold our legacies, too?" She's so excited, Nick realises, and the rumbling protests within his throat die. "I'm so grateful that you're doing this for me, Nick. I really am."

When Madison's urgent texts blow up his phone, Nick doesn't even question how she managed to snag his number. The devil always has her ways, after all, he thinks and he picks up.

"We have to sort this out."

*