“Let me in.”
“No.”
“You either open this door or I make like a defensive tackle and break it down.”
“For your information, women are not attracted to brute force.”
“I’ll write you some sonnets later.”
She kept him waiting a good minute. Sixty long seconds standing outside her bathroom door like a complete idiot, useless and inept. It was almost enough time to calm his own nerves.
Because the woman was going to send him to an early grave.
Tonight was big. It was major. The whole world would hear the news of their engagement, and it had to be just right. This was the final secret strategy of his campaign. If they messed it up, it was over. And then where would he be?
Alex shoved the negative thoughts from his mind. Tonight would go perfectly. And he would win this election. And then he’d get that peace he’d been chasing after so hard. He’d finish up what his brother didn’t get to do, and he’d finally be able to close his eyes at night. He’d silence the voice that told him he was just a pretty face on a package of underwear.
Finally the lock clicked.
And the door opened.
And there Lucy stood. An angel with a halo of blonde frizz.
He stared at what they both knew was an absolute disaster and said the only thing he could. “I love it.”
With a quivering lip, Lucy sank onto the floor, her pink Quiddich: The Sport of Real Men shirt hanging over her shorts.
He dropped down beside her. “I know you’re nervous about tonight.”
“I’m not nervous. I’m absolutely petrified, you insensitive Neanderthal.”
Time was ticking. Now was the moment to pull out the big guns. “Think of your girls.” He ran his hand down her cheek, skimming the softness beneath the pad of his thumb. “You’re doing all of this for them. Do you have any idea how lucky those women are to have you?” Her confidence was as thin as parchment paper. “How lucky I am to have you?”
She leaned her cheek into his hand. “I don’t want to ruin this for you.”
“The only way that will happen is if you bail on me now.” His lips found their way to her forehead, then lingered on her cheek, seeking reassurance. For her. And for himself. “I need you, Luce.”
Three eternities passed before she ran a hand under her red nose and nodded. “Fine. I’ll go.”
Alex’s lungs expanded as he let the air back in.
“But the first woman who makes a crack about my hair—”
“I’ll punch her lights out.” Alex pulled her to her feet.
“You’re supposed to love me, so it needs to be more severe than that.”
“I’ll yank out her heart with ice tongs.”
“Aw.” Lucy patted his chest. “You would do that for me?”
He captured her hand, felt its warmth all the way through his shirt. “No amount of carnage is too much for my girl.”
She reappeared fifteen minutes later, a vision in off-white, her hair pinned loosely on top of her head.
“Is that the dress you’re wearing?”
It was the wrong thing to say. “What’s wrong with it?”
A gossamer thing, it dipped low in the front, revealing not too much, but just enough to give a man a focal point. Tiny beads covered the bodice, like it had been iced in sugar crystals. A slit stopped halfway up the dress, showing off Lucy’s long legs and shapely calves. She looked like something from the cover of Vogue. A Parisian runway. A Hollywood premiere.
“Take it off,” he said.
She crossed her arms. “You and I should probably talk about the fake premarital sex we’re not going to be having.”
“The dress has got to go.” She was not his Lucy. “I know you have something else you could wear.”
“But Clare said—”
“I don’t care what she said.” Did Clare think he wanted Lucy to look like the runner-up to Miss Charleston? Lucy probably had Vaseline on her teeth and duct tape on her bra. “You have five minutes to find something else to wear,” Alex said. “As long as you come out looking like you, I don’t care what it is.” His eyes went to her hair. “On second thought, I’ll get Julian.”
Thirty minutes later Lucy walked out on four-inch heels and stood before him modeling a retro teal dress. It was like something out of an old black-and-white Katherine Hepburn movie. A scoop neck revealed creamy white shoulders that begged for a man to trace the curves. The narrow waist gave way to a full-bodied skirt that stopped right past her calves. Three-quarter-length sleeves accented the arms that had held broken young women and offered them a home.
He knew she was waiting for him to say something. The truth would probably have her locking herself in the bathroom again. He had been tackled by men twice his size and not been knocked this off-balance.
“You’re beautiful.” His voice came out rougher than he’d intended.
She gave a weak smile. “It’s the hair.”
With her hand in his, Alex escorted Lucy downstairs to parade her before Julian and Clare.
“It’s our Goodwill find from last week.” Julian twirled his finger for Lucy to spin. “Vintage Dolce never looked so grand.”
Alex watched her cheeks blush as Lucy obliged, her skirt fanning around her. She was totally unaware how captivating she was. She didn’t have the polished and glossed beauty of the models and actresses he’d dated. But what she had was something more. Somehow better. He felt more himself around her. His name didn’t affect her, nor his money. He had to work harder to impress her, which, strangely enough, he found himself doing more and more lately. Just his competitive streak, he supposed.
Clare, dressed in a striking black floor-length gown, stood up and inspected her protégé. “Hmph. Not what I had envisioned for this evening, but not bad. I suppose it will have to do.”
Alex lightly held Lucy’s fingers in his. “She’ll be the envy of every woman there.”
Clare’s razor-sharp gaze went from Lucy’s red-painted toes peeping out of her heels to the top of her head. “The hair is an abomination, but you will hold your head up high,” Clare said. “If anyone breathes a word of insult to you, I’ll make sure it’s the last party they ever attend in this town.”
“Thank you.” Lucy gave a small nod. “I think.”
Ignoring the vibrating cell in his pocket, Alex held up Lucy’s wrap and settled it over her shoulders. With his hand at her back, he guided her out the door and into the evening air.
It was time for the next phase of his campaign to begin. By the end of the night, Lucy Wiltshire was going to wear his ring.
And send him to Congress.
Chapter Twenty-five
The sun began its slow descent as the Southern Mischief slid across Charleston Harbor. The homes lining the Battery provided a pastel rainbow of colors meant to calm. But Lucy’s stomach was tied in a perfect double knot, and her thoughts turned longingly to the Dr. Who DVD collection tucked in her suitcase at Clare’s.
Alex was going to ask her to marry him. Tonight. He wouldn’t tell her when or how, and that did nothing but agitate her frayed nerves. Last night she had dreamed that he had gone down on one knee, asked the necessary question, and the whole ship had erupted into laughter. People pointing. Staring. Alex had peered at Lucy as if seeing her for the first time. Then walked away.
“Son.” Marcus Sinclair walked toward them and shook his son’s hand as if they were business associates. “Good to see you. I guess you didn’t get my call about golf yesterday?”
“I’ve been busy, Dad. I have this little election thing going on.” Alex’s voice was dry as toast.
“You also have a family,” Marcus said.
Alex moved to kiss his mother’s cheek, then his sister’s. “Looking lovely tonight, ladies.”
“We’re just glad we got an invitation,” his mother said with a wry grin. “Political functions are about the only time we see you anymore.” She reached out her hands to Lucy. “Fabulous
dress. Somebody has good taste.”
Lucy turned to find Finley staring at her hair. “You hardly look like the same crazy lady who was walking down the street in her pj’s.”
A fifteen-piece orchestra had set up nearby, and the faint strains of Beethoven matched the elegance of the yacht. But Lucy knew if it had been up to Alex, they’d be playing Aerosmith.
Donna rested her hand on her son’s forearm, a gesture of comfort and familiarity. Lucy wondered what her own mother would’ve thought about tonight. She certainly couldn’t have judged Lucy for her duplicity.
“We need to talk about Fourth of July arrangements, Alex,” Donna Sinclair said. “You’ll be joining us at the beach house, won’t you?” She hastily explained to Lucy, “We have a family tradition of spending a few days together over the holiday.” Her smile was wistful as she looked at her son. “And it’s the boys’ birthday, of course.”
Tension swirled around Alex like morning fog on the bay. Lucy had no idea. Of course he would’ve just let it go by. “Yes, I’ve been counting the days until . . . Alex’s birthday.” As any future fiancée would. But how did a family celebrate the birthday of one son and the loss of another?
His mother sighed. “They were my Fourth of July babies.”
Lucy found herself reeled in closer to the hard wall of Alex’s chest. “Lucy and I might stop by for the day, but I can’t afford to be gone for much more than that.”
Donna’s face fell. “Oh. Well. All right then.”
“I see you’ve chosen yet another career to get in the way of your family.” His father looked so much like Alex. A head full of dark hair, yet threaded with gray. Tall stature he wasn’t afraid to use to intimidate. And eyes that missed nothing. “We need to be together as a family this year more than ever.”
“Forget it.” Finley checked a text on her phone. “It’s not like he cares.”
Alex stilled like a Roman statue. “I see some people I need to talk to. Enjoy yourselves tonight.” He reached out and tweaked his sister’s nose. “Stay out of trouble.”
The snarl Finley sent him was nothing short of art. Lucy studied it with appreciation, hoping to remember it for future use. Reaching out an arm, she grabbed Alex by the sleeve, holding him in place. The least he could do was have a conversation with his family.
“Lucy, we want you to join us for the Fourth of July weekend, of course.” The gracious smiled returned to Donna’s face. “We’d love to spend some time with you.”
Alex increased the pressure of his squeeze, but Lucy wasn’t having any of it. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll certainly see what I can do. And I agree—a person needs to spend time with family, right?”
Father stared at son. “Exactly.”
Alex’s hand snaked up her spine to massage the back of her neck. “We need to mingle.”
“I mean, what’s a holiday without the people you love?” Whatever rift was between Alex and his parents needed to be dealt with. He had pushed her toward Clare, so surely it was fine that she pushed back. Besides, the Sinclairs were unexpectedly nice. Lucy had thought they’d be snooty and perfectly awful, but they were so weirdly normal. Marcus had his arm around his daughter, and Donna couldn’t take her worried eyes off Alex.
“You talk my son into coming.” Donna smiled at her newest friend. “I put on a mean shrimp boil.”
Lucy risked a peek at her soon-to-be fiancé. “He’s been telling me how much he misses your cooking.”
“Then you guys will come?” Finley tried not to look interested. “For real?”
“He’ll be there. All weekend.”
Lucy looked into Alex’s face and knew the Southern Mischief was about to encounter choppy waters.
He wasn’t even married to Lucy, and she was already a meddling nuisance. With his strong hand at her back, Alex led his scheming girlfriend across the floor. “What was that all about?” he asked tightly.
“You were such a help in reuniting Clare and me, I just thought I would return the favor.”
He nodded to a few friends. “My relationship with my family is just fine.”
“You treat them like you can’t stand to breathe the same air.”
Alex made an abrupt stop and turned sharp eyes on Lucy. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You have a family who loves you.” She looked up at him with pity, and he wanted to howl. He didn’t deserve anyone’s sympathy. “Keeping them at a distance isn’t going to bring your brother back.”
A muscle flexed in his stubborn jaw, and Lucy reached out a tentative hand. Her cool fingers touched his cheek, as if to stroke the tension away. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
Lucy’s eyes widened, as if she’d caught herself by surprise. She lifted her hand as if it burned, but he grabbed it. And stared down into her questioning face. How could he explain his loss? His emptiness? There were no words for how his family’s kindness ate at him like a pestilence.
“They need you, Alex.”
He opened his mouth to argue, to say the words that would hurt her like he was hurting.
But not Lucy. The woman who saved homeless girls and bravely stood by his side night after night. He clamped his lips and turned his head toward the water. Inhaling the salty air, Alex stared at the fading sun and let the silence stretch. “There’s nothing I can do for them,” he finally said.
“You’re not supposed to fix it for them.” He wondered if she knew she no longer looked at him with that old resentment. “They’re hurting, too, and they just want to be near you.”
He shook his head, his expression as empty as his heart as he watched another ship pass by. “I can’t do that right now.”
Lucy stepped closer, and her light scent swept over him. “I don’t know where your guilt comes from, but it’s not from God. And it’s undeserved and hurting the people you love.”
Fire exploded behind his eyes. Who was she or anyone else to tell him to get rid of his guilt? Like it was that easy? He prayed to God every day to make it go away, along with the relentless fever that consumed him. He had to find his brother, and he had to win this election. Nothing else mattered.
He tore his eyes away from the sky and fastened them on Lucy. “Your job,” he said, “is to just stick by my side tonight. That’s all. I don’t need your counseling nor do I need your prying.”
“Right.” He could tell she was considering how she might throw his body overboard. “Because I’m just a temporary companion.”
She was becoming more than that. But he didn’t know what and didn’t have time to take it out and examine it tonight. “Are you up for this or not?”
“Don’t worry.” Her words dripped with venom. “I won’t fail you.” She took a step back, putting a mile of distance between them. “You may think you’re just lying to the world, but the real tragedy here is you’re lying to yourself.”
“Hey, there you two are!”
Alex’s blistering rebuttal died on his lips as Morgan and Chuck approached. Lucy’s words played in his head like a taunt as she completely ignored him and chatted with her friends.
“Nice party.” Morgan pulled Lucy into a hug. “Almost as good as the one we went to with the youth last weekend at Chuck E. Cheese’s.”
“Can’t beat a night of skeeball,” her fiancé said. Wearing a sleek black suit, Chuck looked more adult than Alex had ever seen him. And incredibly uncomfortable.
Lucy’s friend Sanjay squeezed past a small group of women to join them. Snagging a shrimp puff from a passing waiter, he winked at a busty blonde. He was a fashion disaster in his powder-blue tuxedo, gray athletic socks, and yellow sneakers.
“We almost missed the ship,” Sanjay said as some of the other Hobbits gathered. “I had a big fight with the lady.”
“Girlfriend trouble?” Alex asked.
“Yeah, I told her I would take out the trash when I was good and ready. I’m the man of the house, and she isn’t going to tell me what to do.”
�
�Things will be fine when you get home.” Chuck slapped a hand on Sanjay’s bony shoulder. “Just give your mom some time to cool down.”
“How are the wedding plans coming?” Alex asked Morgan.
“Busy, but good.” Morgan’s mama bear face melted as she took in her best friend. “Lucy, you look beautiful.”
“Yes, she does.” Alex reached for her. “I’m beyond blessed to be with the prettiest woman on the ship.”
“Does anyone else smell dead fish?” Lucy tried to step away, but Alex held a firm grip.
“The Hobbits’ meeting still on for Thursday?” Sanjay asked. “It’s your night to make cookies, Lucy. Make them in the shape of Ewoks again.”
“Actually, I’m not staying at my house right now.” She cast a pointed glare at Alex. “I should be soon, though.”
“Not too soon.” He liked Lucy where he knew she was safe. And even though he didn’t want to deal with his own family, it was just a matter of time before Lucy’s soft heart let her grandmother in. “But I’m sure Clare wouldn’t mind if you had your party there.”
“We’re not having a party.” Sanjay pushed up the nose of his glasses. “It’s an informational meeting for people with similar intellectual pursuits.”
“It’s a nerd social,” Chuck said. “But we have good snacks.”
Morgan pointed toward a table across the way. “The girls look stunning.”
“The girls?” Lucy looked over her shoulder. All thirteen of her Saving Grace ladies waved in her direction. She turned a questioning eye to Alex.
He merely shrugged. “I thought they might enjoy a night out.”
“That’s just the half of it,” Morgan said. “Today they got the works—a full day of shopping, spa, and hair.”
Lucy’s eyes widened in silent wonder.
“All his idea.” Morgan gave him a reluctant smile.
“Alex, I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
From the playground to the pros, Alex had always been first draft pick. He’d had reps from Nike buy him cars. Agents hand him trips to exotic locales and box seats for the Lakers. Women offer things that would’ve made his mama cry. But nobody had ever looked at him with the kind of awe he saw in Lucy’s face.
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