by Cat Johnson
“I wasn’t expecting you.”
She lifted a brow. “Would you like me to leave and make an appointment for later?”
His eyes flew wider and he shook his head. “No.”
She smiled at how adorable he was as she reached out and ran her hands up the lapels of his suit jacket. “Good. Because I don’t want to go.”
“No?”
“Nope. I want to do this.” She pulled him closer and smacked her lips against his.
A whoop and a “Go, Peter!” from some guys walking down the hall reminded her they weren’t alone. She couldn’t care less who saw them as Peter wrapped his hands around her waist and squeezed her tight.
She did, however, care what Peter thought about what she had to say. She pulled back and said, “I want us to date.”
He lifted his brows. “Oh. Okay. Is tonight good? Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t mean just go out on a date. I mean I want us to date. Each other. Seriously and exclusively. In a committed relationship. Are you okay with that?”
Peter’s lips twitched up in an adorable crooked smile. “Yes. I’m very okay with that.”
“Good.” She glanced down at her watch. “Do you get a lunch hour?”
He glanced back at his desk, piled high with what looked like legal books and files. “Um, sure. I can probably take an hour.”
She pressed her lips together and wobbled her head back and forth. “I guess an hour will be enough. But we’ll have to be quick. We should go to my place. It’s closer.”
Marty laughed as she saw Peter register what she was alluding to and that her lunchtime plans had nothing to do with food.
“You ready now?” she asked.
His eyes got that intense, desire-filled look she loved as he nodded. “Definitely.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Are you sure I shouldn’t put on my suit?” Peter asked Marty as they neared her family’s Maryland estate. “I can pull over and change.”
“Stop worrying. It’s Labor Day weekend. My father will probably be in shorts. You look fine.”
He tugged on the collar of his short-sleeved shirt nervously as he hoped his khaki pants wouldn’t be too wrinkled by the time he got out of the car after the drive.
“Maybe I could just throw my blazer over this shirt—”
“Peter, no. How many outfits did you pack, anyway?” She frowned.
“I didn’t know what I’d need,” he defended.
It wasn’t like he made a habit of spending weekends at many millionaires’ estates.
He’d gone to the library and read up on the history of the family in preparation for this weekend. Bad idea. All that had done was make him even more nervous and intimidated.
Peter glanced sideways at Marty in the passenger seat. “What if your father doesn’t like me?”
She sighed. “Why wouldn’t he?”
“I’m not . . . like you.”
She let out a string of unladylike obscenities he chose not to comment on.
When she was finally done, she said, “Peter, have you ever thought that maybe that’s why I like you? Because you’re not like everyone I grew up knowing?”
He pressed his lips together. “Okay, but just answer one question.”
Marty sighed. “What question?”
“If he doesn’t like me—”
“It won’t matter a damn. Because I’m completely in love with you.”
At the words, Peter’s hands jerked on the wheel and his eyes cut sideways to Marty.
It was the first time she’d said that word to him. Love. And though he’d felt it for a while, he hadn’t said it to her either.
On some level, he knew he’d been waiting for her to be ready to hear it. He didn’t want to rush her. Even after the past couple of months, he’d still hesitated, afraid this independent woman would run away if he told her the depth of his feelings.
But she loved him. Completely.
Emotion bubbled inside his chest and threatening to overflow and spill out of him.
It was stupid and risky, but Peter couldn’t help himself. He reached out and pulled her in for a kiss, keeping one eye on the road and only one hand on the wheel.
It would be tragically romantic, almost Shakespearean, for them both to die in a crash, all for one kiss and a declaration of love, but he had other plans. Plans that required they both be alive. So he broke the kiss and focused back on the road.
“What was that for?” she asked.
He couldn’t resist one more glance in her direction as he said, “That was because I love you. With every fiber of my being.”
Her smile was the only reply he needed and he basked in the glow of it until she said, “I’m so going to sneak into your room tonight when everyone’s asleep and screw your brains out.”
He glanced at her in horror. “We can’t do that in your father’s house.”
“Oh yeah? Watch me.”
He was about to argue more when she pointed to a large gate flanked by manicured hedges.
“Slow down. This is the turn.”
That’s when his nerves about meeting her family returned, replacing all of the joy her confession of love had brought.
His anxiety even ruined the tantalizing idea of her sneaking into his room tonight.
He drew in a breath and slowed the car, wishing he could slow his pulse as easily. He could do this. He would get through this. For her. For them.
There were a lot of people to meet. This was a bigger gathering than he’d anticipated. A full-on Labor Day bash for family, neighbors, business associates and friends. He met more people than he could possibly keep straight but there was only one he worried about.
Alfred G. Vanderbilt Junior. A hugely influential figure in horse racing. A direct descendent of Gilded Age royalty Cornelius Vanderbilt. And, most importantly, Marty’s father.
They’d met quickly when he first arrived, then Marty had pulled him away to meet some others.
Now, an hour later, Marty had gone to get them fresh drinks and Peter spotted Alfred. If he didn’t do this now, he’d be nervous all weekend until he did.
Braced for anything, Peter walked up to Alfred Vanderbilt. “Sir, can we talk?”
“Of course. Peter, is it?”
“Yes, sir. Peter Greenwood.”
Marty’s father nodded. “All right. Come into my study.”
“All right.” Peter followed the man through a set of open double glass doors that led from the outdoor patio to a wood-walled study furnished in large leather pieces and oil paintings of horses.
“Sit. What’s on your mind?”
Peter sat in a chair opposite the large carved desk, feeling very much like he was at a job interview. He’d aced his last interview with the senator. He’d just have to do as well now.
“I, uh, thought it only right to inform you that I’ve fallen in love with your daughter.”
The older man’s eyebrows rose. “All right.”
“And I want you to know that even though I wasn’t born into the same kind of circumstances she was . . . ” That was an understatement. Peter’s parents’ house in Pennsylvania wouldn’t even fill half of the horse barn he’d passed on the drive up. “. . . I have solid plans for my future and my career. And even though I’m not wealthy yet, I’ll work as hard as I need to take care of her.”
The man’s lips twitched. “Does Marty know you plan to take care of her?”
“No, well, I mean I haven’t said so in so many words.”
Her father laughed. “Good. That’s probably for the best. You might not want to mention that. She’s very independent.”
“That I do know.” As nervous as he was, he couldn’t help a small smile at that fact.
“I do appreciate your honesty, Peter. Though it’s not necessary. Marty makes her own decisions. You don’t need my approval to date her.”
“Yes, sir. I just wanted you to know my intentions.”
Her father pinned him with
his gaze. “And what exactly are your intentions, Peter? Besides taking care of her.
“Well, I’m, uh, saving for a ring.” He’d started his little savings account the day after she’d come to his office and told him she wanted them to be together.
Premature then, maybe, but he knew he wasn’t going to change his mind about his feelings toward her. And with the little amount he had left after his monthly expenses, he knew it would take forever to save enough for a decent diamond so he had to start early.
Peter continued, “It might take a while until I can afford one worthy of her, but I want to do it right. She deserves that.”
Her father smiled. “Lucky for you, I agree. She does deserve the best. And I just might have a solution for you.”
He went to the desk and took a key out of an ornate box on top. With it, he opened the center drawer and pulled out a small velvet box.
Opening the box, he said, “This belonged to my grandmother. Marty reminds me so much of her. I’ve been saving it for when, or if, Marty ever decided to settle down. When you’re ready to propose, you come to me. I’ll have it sized and ready for you.”
Peter felt the tightness in his chest at the knowledge that his dream, his future with Marty, could actually become reality.
Her father, against all odds, approved of him being with her. He even had a ring now.
Peter raised his gaze from the diamond nestled in the antique setting. “Thank you.”
“When were you thinking? Do you have a timeline in mind?”
He hadn’t had a specific date in mind before, because he figured it could take a couple of years for him to save up enough. But now . . .
He considered the question and then, an idea for the perfect day popped into his mind.
“Maybe her birthday in November,” Peter announced.
“This year?” Her father’s eyes widened.
Peter nodded with increased confidence. “Yes.”
The older man’s brows drew low. “How long have you been dating?”
“Since June.” He counted that weekend of the Greenpeace rally as the start of their relationship even if they didn’t officially put a name to what they were to each other until after the hijacking in July.
“You sure that’s enough time? That you’re both ready?”
Peter let out a short, sad laugh. “All I know is that the time she was in Uganda felt like years to me. So I’m sure. I’m more than ready.”
And after today in the car, for the first time, he had hope that by the time he asked her, Marty would be ready too. They could make it a long engagement if she wanted. He’d be happy with anything, as long as he was with her.
“I understand that. Believe me.” Her father drew in a breath and let it out. “All right. Well, Monday is Labor Day. So I’ll call the jeweler on Tuesday when he reopens.” He put the box back in the drawer and glanced up. “You know, her birthday is on Election Day this year.”
Peter sniffed at the serendipitous coincidence. “I know.”
Knowing her—and he did know her better than anyone else even after just two and a half months of being together—if Carter won, she’d want to celebrate. And if Ford won, she’d need the distraction.
Either way, it would be the perfect day to ask her, no matter how the election went.
“What are you two talking about in here?” Marty strode into the room, two icy lemonades in her hands.
“We were talking about this year’s election.” Peter told that half-truth and took the glass she handed him with a thanks.
She cut her gaze to her father with a scowl. “Did Peter tell you he’s a Republican? And a Reagan supporter, no less.”
Alfred Vanderbilt smiled. “No, but I knew I liked him for some reason.”
Marty rolled her eyes. “Great. Now I’m really outnumbered around here. But you’ll both see come Election Day. I can’t wait.”
Peter drew in a breath against the tightness in his chest at the thought of making it official with this amazing woman and said, “Neither can I.”
EPILOGUE
“. . . celebrating as the Berlin Wall comes down.”
The reporter on the television that was hung high on the wall of the hospital room relayed a steady stream of news at Marty’s insistence.
Even after giving birth, she wouldn’t take a day off from keeping abreast of current events. Peter should have known her resigning from the Post when she got pregnant wouldn’t change that about her. Of course, she’d have less time now that their little bundle of joy was out in the world.
He smiled down at his new daughter.
“What are you smiling about?” Marty asked.
“I’m happy. It's a pretty momentous day.”
She nodded. “It is. Amazing that the wall came down finally after all these years. I do have to give some credit to your Reagan for that one.”
Peter laughed. “Yes, the wall coming down is monumental. And so is the birth of our daughter.”
They’d stopped using birth control right after the wedding. But one heartbreaking and frightening miscarriage early on in their marriage had him begging Marty to go back on the pill rather than risk her health. She’d insisted they keep trying. So they had. For ten years.
Not that he didn’t enjoy that part. He did, as much as their first time together. Even more. Now that they knew each other so well, and loved each other more every day, sex was amazing.
But a baby—that was a miracle. After a decade of marriage, he’d all but given up.
They'd even started investigating adoption and foster care. That was still a possibility. Maybe an older child. A boy, so Missy could have a big brother.
He smiled down at the tiny red face. She was hairless, for now, her eyes squeezed tightly closed and her features pinched as she squirmed in her mother’s arms. She was still the most beautiful sight he’d ever laid eyes on.
“So, what are we going to name this little beauty?” he asked.
They hadn’t talked about names before. Superstition perhaps. Fear that making any plans would jinx the pregnancy. Fear also that naming a baby that might never be born would be more than they both could bear.
“I’ve been thinking about that actually. Through the Eyes of Love by Melissa Manchester was our wedding song.”
He nodded. “It was.”
“Well, I've always loved the name Melissa. I'd like to name her that, if it's okay with you.”
“Of course, it's okay. Although Melissa seems a bit too adult for this pretty little girl right now. I think I'm going to call her Missy until she grows into her name.”
Marty smiled. “As a Martha myself, I have to agree with you. All right. Missy it is. That sounds lovely.”
He gazed from his daughter to his wife. “She’s going to be just like you. I know it. An activist. Fighting injustice across the globe.”
She let out a sniff. “After what happened to me? No. I won’t allow it. She’s going to stay home and be safe.”
“I can’t disagree with you on that point, although I have to say I’m a little surprised. I honestly expected a lecture from you on how women can do anything.”
Marty snorted. “Women can. As long as they’re not my child.”
“Ah. Got it.” He enjoyed Marty wasn’t above a little hypocrisy when it came to her maternal instincts about their daughter.
“Mrs. Greenwood. These just arrived for you.” The nurse was barely visible as she entered the room burdened with an enormous flower arrangement. She set them on the windowsill.
“How beautiful. Thank you. Peter, can you see who they’re from?” Marty asked.
“There’s a card.” He stood to retrieve the small white envelope from amid the blooms. “Let’s see. It looks like it’s from that couple from your father’s country club. George Alexander and his wife.”
“That’s nice of them. And it’s not just my father’s country club. We’re there more than he is.”
“We sign in under your family’s memb
ership so it’s theirs and we’re guests.” He scowled.
“For now. And one day, when you’re elected senator, we’ll apply for our own membership.”
Peter drew in a breath. “About that. I was thinking. With the baby and all, maybe I should reconsider running next year—"
“No. You are running for that senate seat next election. And I'll be by your side whenever you need me. We'll make it work. Together we can do anything.”
He swallowed hard, loving this woman more than he’d ever thought possible.
“I believe that.” He leaned low and pressed a kiss to her lips so she wouldn’t see the mist in his eyes her words had brought on. When he leaned back, as a distraction, he handed the card to her to read. “There’s a nice message from the Alexanders.”
She opened it and read aloud, “Congratulations on your new bundle of joy. We look forward to our family and your family sharing many years together at the club. Love, Mary, George and Zane.” Marty shook her head. “That son Zane of theirs is going to be trouble.”
Peter snorted. “Why do you think that? He’s only five.”
She put the card down. “Doesn’t matter. I can tell already.”
“It might be nice for little Missy to have another child to play with at the club. There’s not exactly a lot of children there.”
She scoffed. “Handsome boy like that. Five years older than her. I know what will happen already. She’s going to fall in love with him and he’s going to break her heart.”
Peter let out a full belly laugh. “That’s quite the romance you’ve predicted for our little Missy and the Alexander boy. Especially since she’s only a day old.”
“Pfft. Believe me. I hope I’m wrong. But you’ll see I’m right. Zane Alexander is going to be trouble. And Missy is going to like him all the more for it. Girls like bad boys.” She remained looking confident.
Peter’s brows rose. “I was never a bad boy and yet here we are. You found something in me to like, I suppose.”
“Smart girls quickly learn that bad boys might be fun for a little while, but it’s the good guy who is the keeper.”
His lips twitched, choosing to take that as a compliment, rather than be insulted it alluded to him not being fun.