Disclosure of the Heart (The Heart Series)

by Whitney, Mary

  “I only speak English,” he said.

  He touched his tie like he’d admitted to a shortcoming, but it only drew my attention to how well-dressed he was. Seeing him so urbane, I didn’t believe that English was his only language.

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Maybe a bit of French.”

  Shards of forgotten memories reconfigured in my mind, and I could clearly envision his French workbook sitting on my childhood desk. My smile grew. “I think I remember that.”

  He laughed and gradually locked eyes with mine. He was silent for a few seconds before saying, “Hello, Nicki. It’s so good to see you again.”

  It was a formal yet sincere-sounding introduction, and I responded in kind. “You, too, Adam.”

  “Your Spanish sounds lovely. Where did you learn to speak it so well?”

  “Over the years, and then I…and also my…” Getting into a lengthy discussion about my time in the Peace Corps didn’t seem appropriate at the moment, and words completely escaped me when I thought of mentioning Juan Carlos. This was certainly the wrong time and place for that. It was the right moment, though, to pose the question, “We should probably go for coffee one day, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, that would be nice.” He crossed his arms, looking far more comfortable with the situation than me. “But how about lunch instead?”

  Lunch. Lunch was longer than coffee. It was more intimate than coffee, too, though it was still completely innocent and professional. I slowly nodded.

  “I dare say you’re busier than me,” he said. “So you tell me when.”

  “Oh, I think it’s always going to be crazy for me around here. We can go whenever.”

  “How about tomorrow, then?”

  “Sure. So far I’ve only eaten lunch at the White House Mess. I’ve seen a salad bar around the corner not far from Blair House.” I figured a salad bar was lunch, but only a step above coffee as far as intimacy.

  “The White House Mess? You need a proper lunch, then. Maybe the Old Ebbitt Grill?”

  I knew the name of the restaurant. A Washington institution and hardly a date place. It was the kind of establishment an aristocratic BBC reporter would take an administration official. I played it cool. “It’s not too far away, right? I don’t know my way around DC yet.”

  “Just a few streets over.”

  “Is one o’clock all right?”

  “Certainly.” He then ripped a page from his notebook and began writing. Handing it over to me, he said, “Here’s my mobile number in case you need to get hold of me.”

  I took the paper and stared at it for a moment. His handwriting was the same, though a little messier. Back at the apartment, I had earlier samples. If I’d wanted to, I could’ve gone home and compared them. Not that I wanted to. They were tucked safely away with all the other emotionally charged mementos of my life. Best to keep them out of sight.

  “Thanks,” I said, slowly coming back to the present. “There shouldn’t be a problem, but it’s good to have. They’ve handed out my number, right?”

  “They have.”

  “Good.” He’d always been tall, but now I felt even smaller around him. Like I was powerless. I looked around what was now an emptying room. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Tomorrow, then,” he said, tipping his head to me.

  “Bye, Adam.” I smiled, but my teeth clenched as I turned around. In order for me to have a professional relationship, there was no other choice but to break the ice. Catching up over lunch was the right thing to do. I couldn’t believe it was happening, though. What have I gotten myself into?

  When I rushed into the restaurant the next afternoon, the cute twenty-something hostess smiled. “Running late?”

  “A little.”

  “What’s the name of your party?” she asked, looking down at her register.

  “Kincaid. I’m meeting Adam Kincaid.”

  Her head rose from the book, and I felt her eyes give me a once-over. Obviously she wanted to check out who was meeting the hot guy for lunch. By the quiet nod she gave me, I guessed she wasn’t that impressed. A little annoyed, I eyed her back and decided she was too pretty to be smart. I may not have been a supermodel, but I wasn’t dumb.

  Not wanting to think about it anymore, I asked, “Is he here yet?”

  “Yes. I’ll take you back.”

  As she led the way, I followed her stilettos, feeling childishly grumpy. When we arrived at the table, Adam stood up and greeted me with a very professional handshake, though his smile was warm. I glanced at the hostess, who appeared to observe it all. She turned on her heel, probably thinking it was only a professional lunch, just as she’d thought. Fuck her. Though I had to wonder why I cared.

  The first few minutes of my lunch with Adam went along easily as we looked over the menu and ordered. When that was done, I peeked at my phone, mostly out of habit, though it also provided me with something to say.

  “I’m sorry. I know it’s rude to check my phone all the time, but I have to keep up with what’s going on.” I shrugged. “It’s my job.”

  “No worries. I have to do the same.”

  “It’s funny that we ended up sort of in the same field.” I took a sip of water to steady myself.

  “Well, I was always going to go into journalism. That’s rather boring.” He eased back in his seat. “How you got to the White House is a far more interesting story.”

  “I really don’t think it’s interesting at all. It’s sort of by inertia that I’m here.”

  “Inertia? What do you mean?”

  “A body in motion stays in motion along a straight line, right?”

  “So you started doing one thing—working for James Logan—and didn’t stop?”

  “Pretty much. I was in school at UT for a couple of years—”

  “UT?” He cocked his head. “Ah. The University of Texas.”

  “Exactly. You remember now.” I chuckled.

  He laughed as well, but his eyes locked on mine again. I noticed the brown in them shown against his green tie. His tone softened a bit. “Oh, I remember.”

  He remembered. He remembered what? UT? Or did he mean something else? Not wanting to dwell on what was most likely a very insignificant sentence, I started to babble. “When I was a sophomore at UT, Mom remarried. His name is Bill Delano, and he’s a successful school superintendent. He really turned around the Houston schools, so he got the opportunity to move to take over the Los Angeles school system. He and Mom moved to California while I was in college. I decided to transfer to the University of Chicago, near my dad. That’s where I started interning with President Logan when he was a state senator. He was friends with my dad.”

  “When did you practice your Spanish?”

  “The Peace Corps.”

  “Really?”

  “It was actually at President Logan’s urging. After college, I’d been working for him in the governor’s press office for a few years. He suggested I go in the Corps, so I joined and was in Mexico for two years. I came back to work for him afterward.”

  “So you were in the Peace Corps.” He leaned forward as if I’d surprised him. “I thought you wanted to go to law school.”

  “I always expected to—my dad pretty much demanded it, but once I was working in politics, I didn’t want to. President Logan had been in the Corps when he was young and recommended it. For me, it was an amazing experience.”

  “What made you want to live out of the country?”

  “The time was right for a break. Mom was in California, and Dad had married his long-term girlfriend, Michelle. Anyway, it felt like it was time for me to do something on my own.” I chuckled. “And it was only Mexico. It’s right next door. I got to go back home during the year, and both my parents came to visit.”

  “Hmm. I don’t remember Sylvia ever saying you lived in Mexico.”

  My heart skipped a beat. I always wondered how much Adam’s sister told him about me. It wasn’t lik
e she knew that much, but even though I hadn’t seen her in years, we were pen pals. Did she show Adam my Christmas cards? Had he wanted to keep track of me?

  I searched his eyes, looking for an answer, and said, “I kept my apartment in Chicago as my permanent mailing address since I was coming back there anyway.”

  “So your time in Mexico is where you got your impeccable Spanish?”

  “I wouldn’t call it impeccable. It’s really only passable, but it’s enough to get me around.”

  “Antonio seemed impressed.”

  “That’s because I have an Oaxacan accent. He’s from there.” I smiled. “Anyway, enough about me. Tell me about your family. I know that Sylvia is in New York.”

  “Yes, working as an editor at a publishing house specializing in art books.”

  “You know, I’ve never asked her, but does she still paint?”

  “A little. Not a lot. About halfway through art school, she said she learned enough about art to know that hers sucked compared to everyone else’s.” He raised a brow. “So now she’s a bloody critic and thinks she knows everything.”

  “Hasn’t she always been that way?” I laughed.

  “Why yes, she has.” He grinned. “And David…you remember my cousin David, don’t you?”

  Working with the press for so long, I was a pro at keeping an impassive face regardless of the topic, but this wasn’t a professional setting. I let out a little gasp that I tried to cover up with a laugh. I couldn’t believe he’d brought up David that way. He was teasing me.

  How could I ever forget the hot Cockney Brit I’d messed around with one night on a lawn chair? Adam and I probably would’ve never gotten together had Adam not been so jealous. And David was the same guy my friend Rachel had had a raunchy one night stand with a few years later. Though he was Adam’s cousin, David was definitely not an off-limits topic for Lisa, Rachel, and me. He was a legend. “Of course, I remember him.”

  Adam smirked, and his eyes said exactly what he must have been thinking: “Yeah, I bet you do.” Aloud he said, “David works for Barclays in international finance. He travels often and spends a lot of time in the States, including DC. He says hello, by the way.”

  “Please tell him hello for me, too.” I could feel my cheeks get warm. Oh, how I wished I knew what they’d said in that conversation.

  “I will.”

  “And how are your parents? Is your dad still teaching at Cambridge?”

  “No, not anymore.” He winced and drank from his water glass before he continued, “He’s actually rather ill…with pancreatic cancer. My mum spends her days taking care of him.”

  “Oh, Adam…I’m so sorry.” He was silent and grave. I thought he might choke up, so I tried being more matter-of-fact. “When was he diagnosed?”

  “A few months ago. The outlook isn’t good.”

  As he fidgeted with his fork, I no longer saw the thirty-three-year-old Adam, a man I wasn’t quite sure of. Before me now was Adam, the teenage guy I’d known so well. My heart caved seeing him so sad.

  Instinct took over, and I placed my hand over his restless one to calm him. He nodded as I gave him a slight squeeze. He then looked down at our hands and smiled, and I realized what I was doing. Shit, I’m holding his hand. I glanced up. In a restaurant, for crying out loud! I immediately withdrew my hand and thanked God our food arrived just at that moment.

  The conversation became casual, veering from foreign policy to political gossip to silly stories. He even got me laughing so hard at an anecdote about that asshole ABC News reporter Dan Roark, that I started to cry. As I dabbed my eyes, I saw my phone flashing and checked it.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I just need to deal with it when I get back. It’s going to be another long day and not much sleep tonight.”

  “So where are you living? Have you found a flat yet?”

  I stared at my phone for a minute without saying a word. The time had come to tell him about Juan Carlos. It shouldn’t have mattered at all; we’d moved on with our lives, but I became hesitant. It was my turn to fidget, and the information came out slowly. “I’m crashing with Lisa right now. She’s doing some post-doc work at NIH and has a place up on Van Ness.”

  “Lisa? That’s nice that you’re in the same city again. Do you plan to get a place of your own?”

  “No, I…” Why is this so hard for me? I forced myself to be forthright. “I’m moving in with my boyfriend.”

  It was an infinitesimal movement, but I swore Adam’s nose twitched. Yet after a second, he smiled. Was he happy for me? At that moment, I wasn’t. I felt like shit, but why?

  “So tell me more about this boyfriend,” he said cheerily. “What’s his name?”

  “Juan Carlos Jimenez. We’ve been together about a year.”

  “Really? Juan Carlos Jimenez? I can’t say I’ve met him, though I know of him, of course. Did you two meet on the campaign?”

  “Yeah, and we decided to live together last month.”

  “So why aren’t you already moved in?”

  “Just busy. He’s traveling a ton, and I have no time. We’ll make it happen, though.”

  My voice had wavered a bit while Adam kept a silent smile, and I was awash with shame. I’d now disclosed everything only to realize I was crazy. If anything, I should’ve felt guilty for holding hands with any guy other than Juan Carlos. Instead, I felt I was somehow betraying Adam by having another boyfriend. That was insane, especially because it was Adam who had betrayed our relationship when we’d been young.

  If we were going to move on from the past, we needed to talk about our new partners. And I knew he had one as well. I didn’t want details, though. God, no. I just wanted confirmation he was taken.

  Without another thought, I shot the ball out of my court. “So what about you? Who are you dating? You have to be dating someone.”

  “There’s someone. Back in London.”

  “Someone?” Of course, I could guess who it was. I wasn’t above Googling him, and his social life was fodder for the British tabloids.

  “Felicity Chambers. She’s also with the BBC.”

  Felicity Chambers may have been with the BBC, but she looked like a Victoria’s Secret model. The photos I’d seen of them together came back to me, and trailing not far behind the images in my mind was a sharp pang of jealousy in my gut. I knew the emotion all too well, having spent a good portion of my junior year of high school jealous of his cheerleader girlfriend. It felt like it was happening all over again. I may have been pretty enough with an extra shot of smarts, but I wasn’t a Felicity Chambers.

  I grasped for something nice. “I think I’ve seen her on TV. She seems like a good reporter.” I actually didn’t have any opinion on her reporting skills. What if she sucked, and everyone joked about her? But to stay positive—with an impulsive hope of making everything feel normal between us—I added, “And she’s beautiful.”

  It didn’t work. The words had left my mouth, and I only felt worse.

  Adam smiled, though. “She’s nice.”

  “Are you two serious?” The question hung in the air, exposing all my insecurities. I was a communications professional, yet I was committing verbal suicide. With every sentence, I sounded more like a creepy ex-girlfriend, and it shouldn’t have been that way. I had a boyfriend who was a total catch.

  “Serious? Not at the moment. We’ve been seeing each other for a while, but now that she’s back in the UK for good, we’ve put things on hold, so to speak.” He cleared his throat. “You know. Long-distance relationships are difficult.”

  My eyes widened. Well, what in the hell was I supposed to say to that? Had he meant to say it like I knew something about the subject, or was it just a figure of speech? Of course I knew long-distance relationships were difficult. That was one of the reasons I had never let Adam and me have one.

  He looked around the room. Maybe he wasn’t enthused by the conversation either. My phone vibrated, saving us both.
It was Matt, so I knew it must be important. I apologized and took the call at the table, trying to keep talk of President Logan to a minimum. An inadvertent slip of information to the press—even just to Adam—was the last thing I needed.

  When I finished, I had my marching orders from Matt. While I didn’t mind the work, I didn’t like leaving so abruptly. I sighed. “I’m very sorry. I need to get back to the office. Something’s happened.”

  “Anything I might find interesting?” He smiled reassuringly. “That was a joke. I don’t want it to be like that between us. You don’t have to tell me anything if it will make you uncomfortable.”

  I snorted at that.

  “What? What did I say?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Like some of the conversation today hasn’t already been uncomfortable.”

  “I’m sorry.” He laughed, seeming to genuinely appreciate my candor. “That wasn’t my intention.”

  “I know, and I don’t want it that way either.” I wasn’t sure what way I wanted it, but any more of this awkwardness would kill me. I grabbed my purse from the back of my chair. “Sorry. This isn’t the best time for me to leave, but I’ve got to get back.”

  “Nicki, before you do, I need to know something. Please. It’s important.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, when I took this assignment, I told my boss in London we were once school chums. I left it at that, though. If I told them anything else, I might not have been allowed to take the position. So I need to know…what have you said?”

  So he’d called us “school chums.” How quaint. How British. How amazingly inaccurate! I’d lost my virginity to him. We’d fucked around like only horny, angst-ridden, lovesick teenagers could do. We’d once pledged our undying love to each other. School chums? Even my half-ass disclosures were better than that. And wasn’t “chum” the name of some kind of nasty fish? So I was a chum to him?