by Nika Rhone
The third wall had a table that was stacked with various envelopes, notepads, and books of invitation and place-card samples that she was pretty certain Mellie had never laid eyes on. She was tempted to peek, but a whiteboard on an easel in the corner drew her attention. It appeared to be a checklist for the upcoming engagement party. Except it didn’t contain the usual items like caterer or flowers or limos. No, it contained the names of every major news outlet in the country, followed by a ranking of the top anchors and reporters attached to each of them. Stars denoted some kind of ranking system, and checkmarks seemed to indicate which would be attending.
There were a lot of checks.
Thea ground her teeth in frustration. Damn the Davenports, and damn the Westlakes, too. That many news people in attendance could only mean one thing. They were going to turn what should have been a celebration of their children’s future happiness together into a media feeding frenzy by announcing Charles’s nomination to the upcoming primary race.
How could they? How could they? Charles would have to have been in on it. But what about Amelia? Had any of them even thought about what this would do to her? Had they even told her? Or was she going to be blindsided the night of the party when all attention shifted from the happy couple to focusing instead on the newest Democratic wunderkind throwing his hat into the political ring?
Her hands tightening on the strap of her tote in impotent fury, Thea swore under her breath. She couldn’t let them do this to Mellie. It would kill her. Truly rip her heart out. And yet…there wasn’t a damn thing Thea could do to stop it. Judging from the names checked off on that list, half of the most important men and women from both the print and broadcast media were coming. To disinvite them would be political suicide. There was absolutely no way to stop the Davenport juggernaut.
Thea swore again, this time using a few of the words she’d learned from Red when he didn’t know she was around to hear them, only to have her words break off into a muffled scream as a hand came around to cover her mouth from behind.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Shh! Mrs. Westlake is right down the hall.”
It took several seconds for the familiar voice to penetrate the thick fog of panic that had gripped Thea at the same time as the hand. Still, relief didn’t come immediately. The dark, violent words from the letters were still too fresh in her mind. It could have been anyone who sneaked up on her. Surprised her. Done…whatever to her.
Thea shuddered. She’d never considered herself a coward before, but right then, it was all she could do not to run back to the security office and tell Daryl he wasn’t allowed to ever, ever leave her side again.
Ever.
The hand over her mouth reeked of a strong combination of floral soap and hand sanitizer. Wrinkling her nose, she shoved at the arm, dislodging the hand and swatting at Oliver as she turned, taking a step back as she did to put a little space between them.
“What the hell did you do that for?” she asked, wiping her mouth to try and get rid of the lingering aroma of Purell. Oliver’s mouth tightened a little but Thea wasn’t about to apologize for her language.
“You screamed,” he said, stating the obvious.
“I screamed after you grabbed me.” Hah! Point to her.
His brow furrowed slightly before smoothing back out again. It was an expression she’d often seen on Charles when he was working out the best answer to a hard question. “You were cursing.”
“I was quiet.” Pretty quiet, anyway.
“You know how Mrs. Westlake feels about that kind of language.”
Strong enough to ban both Thea and Lillian from the house for several months back when they were seniors in high school and she caught them trash-talking the cheerleaders who’d been giving Lil a hard time because she went on a date with one of the football players one of the girls wanted for herself.
Still… “She’s all the way down in the breakfast room.”
Oliver looked like he was going to argue and then asked instead, “What were you doing in here?”
“Looking for you, actually.”
“Oh?”
She supposed the wary look in his eyes was warranted after the previous night. “How difficult would it be to make a minor tweak to the guest list?”
“For the wedding? Well, since it hadn’t been finalized yet—”
“No, for the party.”
“The party?” He stared at her. “You mean the engagement party? The one that’s in six days? That party?”
She thought she saw the vein in his temple pulsing. Quickly, before it could burst, she said, “I’m not technically adding another body.” She winced. “I mean, I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to be using my plus-one after all.”
Amelia had encouraged both her and Lillian to bring dates to the engagement party, wanting them to have a good time instead of just holding her hand. Lillian hadn’t been hanging onto a man long enough to get one through the required background check to make the guest list, and Thea hadn’t wanted to bring anyone if it couldn’t be Doyle, so they both declined the offer.
Despite that, Amelia insisted that a seat be left available at their table for each of them, just in case; one of the few fights she’d actually won. Of course, the only other people at their table were Thea and Lillian’s parents, and Amelia’s great-aunt Josephine, who would spend the evening talking about her half-dozen dogs, and almost as many ex-husbands, and with the aid of a few too many cocktails, would most likely be asleep in her seat long before dessert.
The vein in Oliver’s temple continued to throb. “You’ve decided to bring a date?”
“Well, yes. Is that a problem?” She wouldn’t put it past one of the dragons to have commandeered those two extra seats without telling Amelia. An invitation to this party was the Washington equivalent of winning the golden ticket. Any seat left unoccupied was wasted real estate.
“There isn’t enough time left to do any of the necessary background checks.”
“Oh!” Feeling stupid, Thea gave a small laugh. “Sorry. You don’t have to worry about that.” She patted his arm in apology for giving him unnecessary agita. “He already has the necessary clearance, or whatever you call it.”
“He does?”
Thea nodded. “He was going to be working—well, I guess he’ll still be working, but I’m hoping he’ll be able to spare at least a little time to enjoy himself.”
It felt incredibly silly to keep dancing around just saying Doyle’s name, but once Oliver knew, Mrs. Westlake would know and then everybody would know. Thea didn’t want her parents finding out about her and Doyle that way. Not that either one of them would have a problem with their relationship, but it just seemed rude for everyone else to know before they did.
Oliver blinked, appearing confused. “This is rather…sudden, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s actually long overdue. Some people are just a little slow on the uptake.” But once they got going… Whoo boy! Memories of exactly how effective Doyle could be in going slow flooded her, making her body tighten in anticipation of doing it all over again that night after she made him dinner in his bungalow. Maybe she should stop and get a dessert from Rudolfo’s. Something decadent and sinful that they could share in bed after they…
Mortified by where her thoughts strayed, Thea could feel twin flags of embarrassment burning her cheeks as she struggled to focus back on the conversation.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
The small smile he gave her only served to deepen her embarrassment, as though he knew exactly what she’d been thinking.
“Just that sometimes people miss what’s right in front of them.”
“Yeah, sometimes, but I think we’re both finally on the same page now, so, um…are we good here? With the seating thing, I mean?” Where was a convenient hole when you needed one?
“Don’t worry.” Oliver smiled and patted her arm. “I’ll take care of everything.”
“Great. Thanks.” S
he made it as far as the door before remembering her bribe. Digging into her tote, she dragged out the plastic baggie of cookies and practically threw it at him. “Here. These are for you. Bye!”
It was a less than graceful retreat, but at that moment, all Thea wanted was to get away. Dignity was a distant memory. She fast-walked down the hallway, ducking into the powder room that Oliver must have been using when she walked past and locked the door, leaning back against it with a groan. Holy, holy crap!
Putting her hands to her cheeks, she felt the heat burning there. Sure enough, looking in the mirror, she cringed at the flushed, wide-eyed person blinking back at her. Never before had she had such a visceral reaction to just thinking about sex. Then again, the only sex she’d had to think about before had been mediocre at best. Sex with Doyle had been…more. Much, much more.
It hit her then, standing in the Westlake’s blue and beige powder room with the tiny Tiffany sconces and gold-flecked marble countertop. It was more because it hadn’t been just sex. She could still feel his touch on her skin, feel his breath on her throat, taste his mouth on her lips, because they’d connected at a much deeper level than just the physical.
They’d made love. Passionate, desperate love.
She’d be fooling herself if she thought that meant that Doyle loved her. Yet. It was too soon for that, especially for a man like Doyle, who always considered his every move very carefully beforehand, sometimes with painful thoroughness. But it did give her hope that he would find his way to that state sooner rather than later.
Remembering the look in his eyes as he laid that kiss next to her heart, the words he’d whispered against her skin—she didn’t know what they meant, but they had to mean something special, didn’t they?—she thought he might already be partway there.
After splashing some cool water on her cheeks, she squared her shoulders and went in search of Amelia. She found her in the dining room, poking at the remains of a poached chicken breast with steamed broccoli and rice. It was one of Mellie’s favorite dishes, so the fact that more than half the meal remained uneaten was a very bad sign.
Feeling a little guilty to be relieved that Mrs. Westlake had departed sometime during her foray behind enemy lines, Thea plopped down into the chair next to her friend and snagged a piece of fresh bread, the aroma of which reminded her that she hadn’t taken the time to stop for lunch herself before coming over. Then she remembered why her appetite had been lacking and put the bread down uneaten.
“Is it too late to go into the Witness Protection Program, do you think?” Amelia asked, spearing her fork into a broccoli floret and staring at it morosely.
“I think you have to witness a crime to qualify for that particular perk from the federal government.” Thea’s heart hurt to see her friend so miserable.
Amelia let out a cynical laugh. “I think this whole dog-and-pony show qualifies as criminal, don’t you?”
For Amelia to say something like that, something had to have happened. Something bad. Thea thought she might have an inkling or two what that something might be. “What’s wrong?” She touched her friend’s arm, trying to get her to look at her. Amelia refused, continuing to stare at the floret as though it fascinated her. “Mellie?”
“I sort of almost slept with Charles last night.”
Thea did a slow blink. That was not what she expected to hear. “Um…okay?”
Amelia laughed again, an unhappy sound to go with her expression. “No, not okay. Definitely not okay. It was…” She let her fork drop, the sharp ringing of metal on fine china making Thea wince. “A disaster.”
All sorts of unpleasant possibilities flashed through Thea’s mind. “He didn’t make it good for you? Or…”
“We never got far enough to make it good.”
“Okay, what? I’m confused.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Mellie, use your words. What happened?”
“Oh, God.” Amelia slumped back in her seat—the second of her mother’s rigid rules to be broken in as many minutes—and covered her face with her hands. “We went to dinner. I thought we were going to the restaurant at his hotel, but he brought me to his suite instead. He had a table set up there with a waiter standing by to serve us and everything.”
“That sounds romantic,” Thea said, but knowing what she did about Charles’s motives made her sound more questioning than encouraging.
“I thought so, too. At first.”
“And then?”
“I tried to get him to talk about the future. Our future. What we were going to do after the wedding, where we would live. Children.” The word sounded so wistful that Thea wished Charles would walk into the room so she could punch the insensitive bastard right in the nose.
“Do you know what our future sounded like? His future. His career, his job, his need to have the right wife, the right family connections, the right everything! Oh, and he’s sure that having kids would make the constituents very happy, so he was all for that, just not right away. Maybe after he’d had a year or two in office. A pregnant wife would do wonderful things for him at re-election time.”
No, she wouldn’t punch his nose. She’d kick him in the balls.
“The worst part is, I kind of expected all that.” Amelia finally lowered her hands to look at Thea. Her eyes were red and glassy with unshed tears that she blinked back. “I know what a politician’s wife is expected to do, to give up. I’ve watched my mother all these years, planning her life around my father’s, and then planning my life around that.”
“And you said you didn’t want that for yourself.”
Amelia shrugged. “I hadn’t planned on falling in love with a politician, no, but Charles just kind of blindsided me.”
Steamrolled her is more like it, Thea thought, remembering the whirlwind courtship he’d staged over the course of a few short months before popping the question. “So, if that wasn’t what upset you, then what happened?”
Amelia closed her eyes and then opened them again, pushing back from the table. She caught Thea’s hand in hers and silently tugged her out of the room and up to her bedroom. Once inside, she closed and locked the door, threw her arms around Thea’s neck, and burst into tears.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Alarmed, Thea hugged her friend hard, letting her cry out the anger and frustration festering inside. She’d known Amelia had been sublimating her true feelings with smiles and antacids, but this breakdown said that things were far worse than either she or Lillian had guessed.
“I’m…sorry,” Amelia said through her sobs several minutes later, obviously trying to stop but unable to.
“Don’t you dare be sorry.” Thea hugged her even harder, determined to let her cry out every last tear she had to cry. “What are friends for if not to leak tears and snot onto each other when they need to?” As she hoped, Amelia let out a wet bubble of laughter and the sobs eased, turning into hiccups that signaled the end of the storm.
But not the end of the problem.
Murmuring a faint “excuse me,” Amelia disappeared into the en suite bathroom. Water ran. While her friend washed her face and gathered her composure, Thea curled up on one of the large upholstered chairs that sat in the bay window overlooking the side gardens. They’d been straight-backed Chippendale chairs up until two years ago when Amelia had begged Thea to redesign her room from the antiques showpiece she’d lived with most of her life into something she could be comfortable in.
Thea had understood what her friend had been asking her to create: a sanctuary. So, during one frantic midwinter break, she’d done just that. Gone were the heavy walnut and marble, replaced by lighter woods, brighter colors, and an overall softer feel.
The only antique to remain was a mahogany dressing table with a mirror that was so old that the reflection was slightly warped. Amelia said she loved it because it had been a sixteenth birthday present from her great-aunt Josie. Thea thought she liked it because it had bugged her mother that it was somewhat
less than perfect.
Amelia loved the final result of the makeover. Mrs. Westlake…not so much. Thea was pretty sure she only let it stay in its new, livable state because it wasn’t a room that would ever be in the public eye.
Amelia came back looking as though something vital had been drained out of her along with the tears. She dropped into the matching chair at the bay window, kicking off her shoes and curling her feet underneath her in what even Thea could tell was a self-protective gesture. She was dying to know what happened, but forced herself to wait until Amelia told it at her own pace.
“Men suck,” Amelia said with a sigh. She rolled her head on the chair’s high back to peer out the window. “Do you know that Charles has never once tried to do more than kiss me?” Since it was clearly a rhetorical question, Thea remained silent. “He’s kissed me hello, kissed me good night, even kissed me once or twice just to kiss me. But he’s never once tried to do more.”
“Maybe he was being a gentleman?” Though Thea doubted that. More like he hadn’t scheduled time for anything more in his day planner.
“Pretty to think so, right?” The unfamiliar cynical tone was back in Amelia’s voice. “The truth? I was starting to get a little worried he was gay.”
Thea let out a surprised huff, not quite a laugh because it wasn’t funny, but not quite a word because she honestly couldn’t think of the right one to say. Of all the things she’d imagined, that hadn’t been anywhere on the list.
“Last night, I decided it was the perfect time to find out if the problem was him or me. I mean, how often are we ever alone together, right? And there we were, in his hotel suite, no parents, no Oliver, no agenda. Just him, and me, and a bed. So”—she shrugged—“I seduced him.”
Again, nowhere near what she expected. Amelia was the model of propriety her mother had molded her to be. She didn’t stick a pinky out of place—except when Thea and Lillian were there to coax her into it, of course, which was why Mrs. Westlake discouraged their friendship with her daughter from the start. They encouraged her to bend the box a little, like going to Club Platinum or Blaze.