Disclosure of the Heart (The Heart Series)

by Whitney, Mary

  Chapter Thirteen

  A LITTLE AFTER NINE that night, I stood on the porch of what looked to be a stately brick house. After a deep breath, I rang the doorbell, which chimed loudly both inside and out of the house. A moment of silence passed, and then I heard shoes patter toward the door.

  When the door opened, a handsome woman in her sixties studied me quizzically. She looked familiar to me. Did I look familiar to her?

  “Well, hello there!” She reached out for my hand. “Nicki, this is such a wonderful surprise.”

  “Good evening, Mrs. Kincaid. I apologize for the late hour. It’s the soonest I could get away.”

  “But of course.” She grinned. “I believe there was a state dinner tonight you probably attended. It’s lovely for you to visit regardless of the time. Do come in.” As I crossed the threshold, she called down the hallway, “Adam, stop with the dishes. Come here!”

  I smiled, fighting knots in my stomach that were the most nervous of my life.

  She turned back to me. “I want you to know how impressed we are with you. It’s such fun watching you on television.”

  “Thank you. That’s nice to hear.”

  Down the short hall, Adam appeared, no longer in his suit from the morning but now in jeans with a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder.

  His mother turned to him. “Adam, you didn’t tell me Nicki was coming.”

  Our eyes met, and he smiled. Staring at me, he replied to her, “I didn’t know if she would.”

  “I’m sorry I’m so late.” The trip to Cambridge was so impulsive I really hadn’t planned out what I might say. Repeatedly apologizing for being late seemed liked a safe thing to do.

  He took the dishtowel off his shoulder and placed it on a side table. Taking both of my hands in his, he kissed my cheek. “Better late than never. Thanks for coming, sweetheart.”

  He’d called me sweetheart again; maybe I was forgiven. “I’m happy to be here.” And I truly was. He released my hands, but I slipped my right one back into his left. This time, I didn’t want to let go.

  When I looked over at his mother, I saw she’d been watching every one of our moves. She sputtered, “Oh. Yes. I should tell Dad that Nicki is here. He’s probably still awake watching the telly.”

  As she hurried down the hall, Adam turned back to me and grinned. “Thank you for coming.”

  “I wanted to.” If only I could’ve thought of something more eloquent to say.

  “You look tired.”

  I’d known I looked like shit, and now he confirmed it. I grumbled, “It’s been a hard week.”

  “You and me both,” he said, squeezing my hand.

  Then Adam’s mother called from the hallway, “Adam, your father is awake, and he’d love to talk to you, Nicki.”

  Still holding my hand, Adam led me through the tasteful living room and down a dimly lit hall. I noticed there were scads of family photos lining the walls. I slowed down so I could examine each one.

  After a moment, Adam tugged on my arm. “If you really must see photos of me on my first day of nursery school wearing school shorts, I’m sure Mum can show them to you later.”

  I laughed. “I’d like that.”

  When we entered the bedroom, his father was in bed under the covers, wearing pajamas and a robe. The television was on but muted. He greeted me at once with a cheery, “Nicki! Good evening.”

  “Good evening, Professor Kincaid.” I approached him and shook his hand. “Thank you for seeing me this late.”

  “Not at all.” He smiled and shook my hand more enthusiastically than I’d expected. “It’s so kind of you to come all the way out here. I’m sorry we couldn’t visit you while you’re in London.”

  “Oh, it was an easy trip for me.” Nodding toward the hall, I added, “And this way I got to see some old photos of Adam.”

  “Ah, yes. I’m sure he loved that.” He smiled at his son, to which Adam gave a half-hearted eye roll. His father then gestured to the armchair by his bed. “Nicki, please sit here with me for a while. I’d love to hear about your work.”

  Adam’s dad was a brilliant man who happened to be bedridden and watching television all the time, so he was more up-to-date on current events than many and had more insightful opinions than some of my staff. The conversation was enjoyable, even when he started lobbying me to get Logan to increase federal funding for science. After only a few minutes, Adam’s mom called for him to come to the kitchen.

  Adam shook his head. “No, I’ll stay here with you two.”

  “Go on, Adam. See what your mum needs,” said Professor Kincaid.

  “But…er…” Adam shuffled, clearly not liking the idea of leaving me alone with his dad.

  “It’s okay,” I said with a reassuring smile. “I’ll keep your father company.”

  “All right,” he said, giving his father a wary eye. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Being alone with Adam’s father was fine because he was so chatty. I’d forgotten how interesting he was and felt sort of bad for having been so negative about him all these years. Yes, he was a snob, but in the end he hadn’t wanted his seventeen-year-old son to go nuts over a foreign girl when the relationship would only fail. My parents had said the same thing, and I’d ended up agreeing with them.

  I only became uncomfortable when I saw the signs of his decline. It wasn’t the room’s smell or his skinny hands or his jaundiced skin that bothered me. It was the thought of what those things were doing to Adam.

  It was much longer than a minute before Adam returned. His mother must’ve kept him busy. When he walked back in, his father was still speaking, but his eyelids had begun to droop. I’d been listening patiently as he went on about different places he’d been in the United States. I smiled at Adam and then placed my hand on his father’s arm. “Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt, Professor Kincaid, but Adam is back. I should get going if I’m going to catch that last train.”

  He fought to fully open his eyes. Not quite achieving it, he reached for my hand again. “Yes. You should. Thank you for coming, dear. It’s been nice to catch up with you.”

  “I feel the same way. Thanks for having me. This was the most fun I’ve had all day. Good night.”

  “Such a pleasant girl,” he said in his rambling way. “Take good care of my boy.”

  My heart stopped for a moment. What did that mean? Then again, dying people could say such crazy things. “Of course I will,” I answered.

  “Nicki, I’ll take you to the railway station,” Adam said, his voice a little tight.

  I smiled at him again, hoping it would make him feel more comfortable. As awkward as the situation was for me, it had to be worse for Adam. But his expression warmed as he gazed at me. He took a few steps to be at my side and placed a hand on my shoulder.

  His father smiled, too, withdrew his hand from mine, and closed his eyes before saying, “Good night, you two.”

  Adam led me out of the room, and he took my hand in his before we walked out the door. As much as I wanted to be with him at that moment, I knew he should spend as much time as he could with his family. “You know you don’t have to drive me. I can take a cab.”

  “Ridiculous. I’ll give you a lift.”

  As his mother and I said goodbye, she told me she’d love to see me the next time she visited Adam in DC. I offered a tour of the White House, which made her a little giddy. Adam then drove me to the train in his dad’s ancient yet immaculately kept Mercedes. I took charge of the conversation, asking him question after question about Cambridge. I was interested, but I was mainly trying to keep it light.

  When we pulled up to the station, he said, “You have a few minutes. Please don’t leave yet.”

  “I won’t.”

  He turned off the car but then said nothing. If I attempted more light conversation, it would sound silly. So I simply said, “I’m sorry about your dad. This is so hard for you.”

  His forehead wrinkled, and he touched the steering wheel. “It is har
d.”

  “Oh, Adam,” I said, reaching over. I rubbed the short hairs on the nape of his neck, and he leaned back into my hand in silence, closing his eyes.

  After a few seconds, he opened them and said matter-of-factly, “He’s declined. A lot. He’s barely eating, and the jaundice is awful. It probably won’t be too long.”

  “No, it probably won’t.” My instinct was to comfort him, so without thinking I kissed his forehead. “This won’t make it better, but I’m sorry.”

  He smiled but then pulled back from me and looked me straight in the eye. “Why did you come here, Nicki?”

  “I came for you.”

  “That doesn’t tell me much.”

  “Maybe you’re not listening.” I leaned over and, through a breathy kiss, said, “I love you, Adam.”

  “I love you.” He grinned. “Thanks again for coming.”

  “Thanks for asking me.” My eyes darted to my watch. I was dying to know about Felicity, but I wouldn’t have enough time to approach the subject tactfully. And on second thought, it felt tacky. Adam had just welcomed me into his home. I shouldn’t be interrogating him, no matter how jealous I was. “I need to run. Istanbul in the morning, you know.”

  “Take care. I’ll see you in the morning on the plane.”

  He leaned in for what I thought would be a peck, but he kissed me full on and hard, with a hand sneaking between my legs. Was he going to feel me up in the middle of a parking lot? I kissed him another moment because it felt so good, but then I warned, “Adam…”

  “The tease doesn’t like being teased, does she?”

  I giggled and shook my head. Wherever things stood with Felicity, I felt like the front-runner again. After a swift kiss on his cheek, I bolted out the door. “See you tomorrow.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  AS I SAT ON THE TRAIN back from Cambridge to London, the planning began. I’d been lying to too many people, including myself, for too long. It was time to come clean, but how and when and in what sequence? There were too many impacted by my actions, including the friggin’ president of the United States. I was already in trouble. I needed to do things correctly or I’d make it all even worse. Checking my calendar, I saw this trip lasted two more days before we were back in the States, so I had forty-eight hours to do no more damage and figure out what to say to whom and when. Was Juan Carlos first? Then Logan? Or Logan and then Matt and then Juan Carlos? I wasn’t sure, and I wanted to do this by myself. It would be best if Adam wasn’t involved in the disclosure.

  The next day we flew to Istanbul, and after marathon meetings, I hoped to spend the night holed up in my hotel room. It was too bad because Istanbul was a beautiful city, but getting my life together was more important. Matt, however, had other plans. Buoyant from Logan’s successful NATO talks that day, he suggested we join the press corps for their night on the town. I declined.

  “Come on, Nicole,” he said with hands in the air. “It’s not every night you get to drink in a Muslim country. You need to have some fun.”

  “I need some sleep. That’s what I need. And people drink here, you know. We’re in Turkey, not Saudi Arabia.”

  “That sounds like a good enough reason to celebrate. Come out and enjoy Turkey’s secular society.” He tapped his watch. “Meet me in the hotel lobby at eight.”

  Later that night, Matt and I walked to the restaurant together, but I couldn’t even enjoy the stroll through the city. While he commented on the Blue Mosque’s wonderful architecture and said hi to all the shop owners standing at their doors, I was engrossed in my own little world, wondering if Adam would be calling me later or if I’d see him at the table. We hadn’t talked since he’d left me at the railway station; our only communication had been a smile and a wink. A night out with the press corps wasn’t really Adam’s style, though, so I assumed I’d just give him a call when I was back in the room in an hour.

  When we arrived at the restaurant, reporters and White House staff had filled a couple of fifteen-foot-long tables. Adam, to my surprise, was there sitting between two German journalists. He smiled at me, and I could hear enough from the conversation that they were debating the last European soccer championship. I looked for an open spot not far away, but Dan Roark waved me over to him.

  “I heard you were coming out, Johnson.” He nodded to the empty seat next to him. “I saved a seat for you.”

  I smiled. Shit. I shot Matt a look. This was not going to be fun. Matt smirked and found a chair nearby. When I glanced at Adam, he gave Dan an annoyed sneer, but there was really nothing I could do about it. I had to sit with the guy and make small talk. I shouldn’t have worried, though, because Matt was at the table. Everyone hung on his every word, so I didn’t have to talk too much to Dan.

  Things changed after dinner. The restaurant was part traditional Turkish café, part cheesy disco. Soon after our meal, the DJ cranked up the music, and some people got up to dance to a bizarre mix of music. Matt called over to me to say that he was leaving, and I made a move to leave as well.

  Dan stopped me. “No way, Johnson. We haven’t gotten to talk yet.”

  “I’m really tired, Dan. I’m sorry.”

  “Come on…how many times do you get to dance to Air Supply in Istanbul?”

  Lydia Mixon also chimed in. “Please stay, Nicole. It will be fun.”

  I really wanted to go back to my hotel room, but a bunch of reporters wanting to hang with me was an opportunity. In a few days, I was about to create a professional shit storm, so it was probably a good idea to be on their good side. While I said that I would stay, Adam caught my eye, and as soon as there was an opening, he moved over to my table. Was he really so jealous of Dan Roark?

  It wasn’t long before I realized why they were so intent on keeping me there. They all wanted to ask about Juan Carlos and if we were engaged. Granted, some of them had already asked over the last few days, and I’d always tell them I don’t comment on my personal life. Now all the women at the table were going on about weddings.

  I watched as Dan nodded to Lydia right before she casually said to me, “So, Nicole, if we should believe The Washington Post, I think you’ve got some news for us.”

  Dan leaned back in his chair and snickered. “Yeah, that’s right. The Reliable Source mentioned Juan Carlos at Tiffany’s. Should I offer you my congratulations?”

  I gave my usual perfunctory smile when I addressed questions from the media that I really didn’t want to. I needed to walk a fine line. I couldn’t lie, given what was about to happen, but I also didn’t want to say too much. I turned the subject back on them. “How do you know what he was buying or who it was for?”

  “Well, we don’t,” said Lydia. “But you do. Please, Nicole. Are you engaged?”

  “No,” I said with a shrug. “He hasn’t asked me.”

  “Are you going to say yes?” asked Dan.

  “Why on earth would I tell you?” I laughed and glanced at Adam, who didn’t look pleased.

  “That’s a good enough answer for me. You’re still single at the moment.” He rose from his chair and said, “How about we dance?”

  I kept a smile frozen on my face the entire time Dan and I danced to a smarmy love song. No doubt because he thought he had a chance with me, he didn’t inquire any more into Juan Carlos. He did go on and on about the ski house in Jackson Hole he planned on buying once he got an extra million added to his new contract with ABC. When I didn’t say much in return, he asked, “You ski, right?”

  “Not at all. I grew up in Texas.”

  “Tell me about Texas,” he said, his hand wandering a little too low on my back. He hadn’t touched my rear, but the way he danced with me was very possessive. I wanted out of there, and just as I was about to plead to call it a night, Adam was at our side.

  “May I?” he said to me and not Dan.

  “Sure.” I smiled, though I was anything but happy. Why was Adam calling attention to us?

  “I see I’ve got some competition,” Dan said
in irritation.

  “No competition at all, mate,” said Adam. He could be such a cocky bastard sometimes.

  Dan skulked off while the DJ made a uniquely Turkish segue from Maroon Five to Frank Sinatra. I smiled—not for Adam, but for whoever might be watching us. “What are you doing?” I said in a tone that didn’t match my smile.

  “Dancing with you.”

  “Adam…”

  “If you can dance with that arsehole in front of everyone, you can dance with me.”

  “But it means something when I dance with you.”

  He peered over my head at our table. “They can’t tell.”

  “But I can.”

  “I can, too.” His smiled vanished. “So old Juan Carlos has bought you a ring. We haven’t talked about that yet.”

  “No, we haven’t. Apparently he’s purchased it, but it’s true that he hasn’t proposed. He’s waiting until I get back.”

  “And does he have reason to believe you’ll say yes?” He then smirked. “Or si in this instance?”

  “Don’t be silly.” I shook my head. “I had no knowledge he was doing this. It’s some weird last-ditch, grandiose gesture to get us back on track.”

  “Latin tosser.”

  “Huh?” There was that word again. “Is that some British cricket term? What does this have to do with sports anyway?”

  “Never mind.” He chuckled. Clearly, I hadn’t found the proper definition yet. He smiled and swirled me about the dance floor. “Start at the beginning, then. What’s been going on with you?”

  “Well, when you stormed out on me last Sunday night, I was angry. I’d been trying really hard to do the right thing and be fair to everyone—to you, to Juan Carlos, to my job—and you gave me no credit for it. I wasn’t happy, though after thinking things through, I have to say you made some valid points.”

  “I suppose you’re right. You’ve been quite fair in what is a very hard situation.” With a quick squeeze of my waist, he added, “Except for when you haven’t been able to control yourself around me. That’s been a little unfair. You’ve been drinking tonight. I hope you can keep your hands to yourself.”