“Lyncoln,” I warn, not in the mood for his games.
He moves to rest his hands on my hips in their usual spot and looks at me adoringly. “Date me?”
“What? I thought we were.” I smile in surprise, momentarily forgetting why I was mad. That was not at all what I was expecting.
“No. After we get this figured out. I want to go on a date with you. A real date. I’ll make you dinner and we can watch a movie or something,” he says softly.
“Okay. Where? How?” I ask and feel giddy from head to toe. Mr. Macho-Assassin wants to date me? Does he have a little dose of romance beneath that bad boy military persona?
“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out,” he says with a smirk. “Is that a yes?”
Just then Frank and Gertie arrive with our outfits for the last fittings before both the interviews and social event tomorrow. It feels like Lyncoln and I never get time to just be together, and when we do, something needs our attention and we can never just be. Will it always be this way?
Chapter 3
It’s almost go time.
Today is the day we finally figure out what the heck is going on with Marisol and Henry. My cobalt gown covers my nude colored heels as it brushes the ground. Matching nude colored designs swirl throughout the cobalt that shimmer on the top half of the dress. One sleeve goes over my shoulder and the other is off the shoulder. The front is elegant and classy while the back is not because the entire thing is open. Not only is it open, but it’s flowy in the back. I feel with the right breeze it might just fall off. Good thing my hair is in waves around my shoulders to help cover me up. This is Lyncoln’s fault because he told Frank to make me look “especially irresistible”. Jerk.
As soon as Lyncoln knocks, I open the door and step out, then take a moment to appreciate the fine specimen before me. He’s wearing a tan suit with a red and cobalt gingham shirt underneath and a tan vest and cobalt tie. We match perfectly, except that he is oh-so-gorgeous. I can see his amazing muscles fill out the arms of his suit so much better in a tan suit than his usual black one. His short dark hair is gelled and styled, as much as he allows it anyway. And his eyes, both colors of his eyes, match his attire.
Lord, his eyes.
“Wow,” he says as I open the door. “Great color.”
I reach behind me to close the door, but his arm appears above my head as he pushes it back open and starts walking, making me backpedal.
“Don’t you think we should just get going?” I ask as I hear Jamie stifle a laugh. “Can it, Cane,” I say with a giggle as the door closes with us back in my room.
Lyncoln runs a finger down my neck to the sleeve off my shoulder. “No. I have many, many thoughts right now and leaving isn’t one of them.”
“Animal,” I accuse amused. When his eyes roam over my entire body like that it makes me feel like I forgot something. Like clothes, for example.
“I’ll show you an animal,” he playfully flirts and grabs me for a kiss. And he smells so darn good.
He kisses me aggressively, and then even more aggressively. His hands are all over my bare back and reaching under the flowy material. It’s one of those massage and smooch simultaneously scenarios. My skin is on fire and tingling. When he finally stops minutes later, both of my hands are on his pecs grabbing on to his vest like I can’t get him close enough. His hands are still pressed into my bare back, holding me close.
“We need to get married,” he whispers as he rests his forehead down on mine.
What?! Did he just say that? With everything else going on, did he really just say that?
“What?!”
He smiles, speaking softly with that velvety voice I love, “I’ve wanted to marry you for a while. I’m going to marry you. You know that.” He pauses to take a breath, “I don’t want much in this life, but I do want you. Now that you are mine, life just seems too short. I don’t like wasting time. I would like to marry you sooner rather than later. We need to do this right. We need to get married. Whenever you’re ready, let’s do it.”
“We can’t,” I say logically as I try to keep my wits about me despite blushing another shade of red. I do want to marry him. Someday. Eventually. Am I ready for all that already? Now? I don’t know. The logical side of my brain reminds me that I have only known this man not even two months. Yet the romantic side of me reminds me that throughout this process, I’ve gotten to know him better in under two months than regular people may get to know someone they’ve been dating for years.
He sighs. “No. I don’t think they would even let us. Not yet, anyway.”
Whew.
At least that buys me some time to think about all this. I knew back when I was deciding between Lyncoln and Henry for a partner in the Culling that whomever I chose, I would eventually end up marrying. But, with everything going on in this crazy mess of a Culling, I kind of forgot about that part of it. I mean, I just broke up with Henry like seven seconds ago. Don’t get me wrong, eventually, I do want to be his wife, but right now, we need to crush this interview and figure out what the heck is going on with Marisol and Henry.
****
The fifteen minutes of our interview fly by. I’m impressed with Lyncoln and how he can be quite the charmer when the situation calls for it. Charming, handsome man by day, killing machine by night.
Yikes.
Dougall seemed pleased with our answers and we focused in and crushed our interview despite all the distractions of the evening, hormonal and otherwise. I wonder how everyone else did in comparison. Sometimes I wish I could see the broadcasts with the general population to see how other people are answering the same questions. Do we come across as strong leaders? Or just silly lovebirds? What is different about us compared to the other three couples?
Instead of a refreshment room, afterward we have to go to the social event with the cabinet members. No dancing this time, just eating, but with the full cabinet. When we walk into the room, there are many cabinet members and their families milling about. Fortunately, since he is still suspended, Hadenfelt himself is not here. Lyncoln’s mom is, since she serves on the cabinet too. It’s a packed room though, with all the rest of the 45 cabinet members and their significant others plus the remaining Culling couples.
I’m swept into the arms of the gorgeous, strong woman with matching eyes of her son. I haven’t seen her since that first night I met her, the night of the masquerade ball.
In my ear, she whispers, “You’ve made him so happy. Thank you.”
Before I can respond, she is doing the same thing to her son, giving him a hug, “Son. How are you?”
“Never better,” he shrugs.
“No Wyatt tonight?” I ask playfully.
“It was one thing having my dear nephew escort me to a ball, another thing forcing him to sit still during a meal with the cabinet,” she smiles and shakes her head.
I laugh at that thought. “I’m sure.”
Marisol and Henry enter the room then, drawing everyone’s focus. As a pair, they match by wearing red, with Marisol wearing an exquisite sparkly dress with her hair up. Henry wears a black suit and red vest and bowtie. They are a beautiful couple, I’ll give them that, but Henry again looks tired. Like he hasn’t slept for days. Only a few hours now and I should finally be able to talk to him. I try my best just to ignore them. For now.
“You don’t know anything yet?” Audra asks worried.
“No,” Lyncoln shakes his head and clenches his jaw in frustration.
“You will,” she says confidently and squeezes both of our arms before someone calls her name and she leaves us.
Before Marisol and Henry can approach us, we turn around and go toward Elizabeth and Maverick. Lyncoln rests a hand on my cool, bare back and rubs circles with his thumb like he did the night we met.
We talk to Elizabeth and Maverick a while. They are a solid couple and I am a bit jealous that they seem to have it all together. Then again, though they know about the drifters and that current situati
on, and though they know something is up with Henry, they don’t know as much as we do about the Hadenfelts. I would love to be that blissfully ignorant right about now.
We then circle around and talk with different cabinet members. The first time I met some of them, I was on Henry’s arm, and it isn’t lost on them. Taggert helps though, discussing my accomplishments with some of the President’s most loyal followers.
Now more than ever, I see that whatever Hadenfelt did was genius. He was able to secure all the votes needed for his daughter to win. Those that are loyal to him will be voting for Marisol, and those that are loyal to the President will be voting for Henry. Those two go hand in hand now; you can’t vote for one and not the other.
So considering that, it means if we want to get voted for here in Denver, our best shot is trying to take votes from the President’s pool of voters. Somehow taking Henry’s votes seems wrong. Beyond wrong. I won’t take Elizabeth’s votes either, as there are a few cabinet members loyal to her dad too. Denver is home to four of the final eight candidates. There is a real split in the vote and although Lyncoln has a decent reputation here, Henry and Marisol together guarantee a large portion of the votes going to them. They have it in the bag.
Regardless, I choke down that defeated feeling and do my best and focus on the people that Dougall told me to. By the time we are seated for dinner, I find myself starting to relax. People seem genuinely interested in Lyncoln and me. Probably because they have heard about Lyncoln’s military career. Or maybe because they are snoopy because they know I was with Henry too.
I sit down and start to enjoy myself while chatting with Elizabeth’s mom. The feeling doesn’t last long.
One of Hadenfelt’s groupies has to ruin my night, interrupting all the conversations of our long table by loudly saying, “So I hate to address the elephant in the room, but just a few weeks ago Henry and Reagan were coupled up. Now they each have different partners. What happened?”
“George,” the President scolds with a loud and stern voice from the front of the room and head of the table. “They are kids and their choices are up to them. You know Culling processes are confidential.” At this point, at least half of the hundred or so people begin to shush down and listen to the exchange.
“Ahhh, yes. Kids. They are kids. Kids that may be running our country,” the man argues.
I can tell from a quick look around many others are curious as well. Not that I blame them. I would freaking love to know why Henry is with Marisol, too. The room is now quieted down, everyone listening in.
“Yes, and we can judge them on their political choices and views. Judging them on their love lives would be a little brash, don’t you think? Or would you like us to judge you for yours?” the President says menacingly with a squint.
The tension in the room is now thick enough to cut with a knife. Many people fidget uncomfortably. Some of the President’s loyal cabinet members look mad, but down at their plates, like they don’t know what to do. Taggert looks ready to go to war. Elizabeth’s dad looks livid too. (He is apparently loyal to the President, though he understandably wants his own daughter to win the Culling.)
“It’s okay, really,” Marisol’s sweet voice breaks the ice making me want to vomit, and I know that whatever happens next is going to be horrific. How can someone so beautiful be sooo not?
“Marisol,” Henry interrupts and his struggle to reel in his emotions is written all over his face.
“Honey, it’s okay. I don’t mind,” she pats him on the chest lovingly. Never mind the fact that it was he who very much minded, not her. Snake.
The more she talks, the more difficult it is for me to not reach across the table and throttle her. Attie and Elizabeth both give me a supportive look while Lyncoln finds and squeezes my knee.
This is going to be bad.
“It’s true that Henry was more attracted to Reagan at first. But when he saw the way she willingly went into danger in the interrogations room, and then what happened with Isabella…”
I am going to kill her. I am going to kill her. I am going to killlllllllll her.
Where is a weapon when I need one? Maybe if I threw my fork right I could take out an eye. Or in the very least pop her bosom that is currently shoved so far up her chest it’s almost at her chin. I’d be doing her a favor; that much spillage can’t be comfortable.
Instead of reaching for the fork, I squeeze Lyncoln’s hand under the table so hard I think I might actually be hurting him. I can tell from the tense set of his jaw he is just as infuriated as I am. Not all of this information is public to all of the cabinet members. How fortunate she gets to tell them her version of it, leaving out some key details.
She keeps blabbing, “I mean, he just didn’t like how risky she was and how easily she took another life. When it came down to it, they just had a physical attraction, they didn’t see eye to eye on their political views, and they couldn’t get past that. I was with Christopher but had tried approaching Henry numerous times since we do have a history and all. After he saw what happened with Isabella, he came to me in frustration. They had already been fighting at that point. We started spending more time together. The rest is history. Reagan and Lyncoln just like to…” she pauses and smiles that evil smile, “go for the kill. Henry and I are more diplomatic than that, so it made more sense for us to pair up.”
WHAT?!
Oh no she didn’t. Oh. No. She. Didn’t.
So I am a monster and Henry didn’t want to be with me? So I chose Lyncoln by default? That?! That is what she is telling them? She wants them to know I’m a monster. She’s pointing out to them that I have killed. And I did. Because it was either kill or be killed. Thanks to her daddy dearest. This is so messed up I want to tip my head back and make an animalistic yell of frustration at the ceiling. Instead, I look at Lyncoln and focus on breathing.
“And what political views exactly do you share?” Lyncoln spits the words at her with hatred both clearly seen and clearly heard. Many cabinet members look uncomfortable, knowing that Lyncoln is not a man you want to mess with. They know Lyncoln’s reputation and what he is capable of, and she is walking a fine line with him.
She scoffs, “The value of human life, of course. In this post-Trident era, we cannot afford to take lives so carelessly. And clearly, neither of you see it that way.”
“Clearly, you should try telling that to your father, since he is the one who tried to have Reagan killed by Isabella and has done his fair share of killing already,” Lyncoln says, staring her down in a condescending way, just begging her to contradict him. By the gasps of some of the cabinet members, even some under the influence of Hadenfelt, I am assuming they had no idea.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she responds. She looks a little panicked though. Did she really not know or is it all an act? “Isabella was a drifter and acting on her own.”
Henry’s jaw is hard set watching Lyncoln and Marisol spar. He opens his mouth once but then closes it again uncomfortably. It’s like he’s stuck in sinking sand, not knowing how to move or what to do.
Lyncoln fires back. “With one hand mysteriously loose. Reagan either had to shoot her or die. She is still here even though some of us conspired against her, maybe even to have her killed. Her ability to overcome that alone makes her more willing and capable of leading this country than most of us, and especially… especially you,” he finishes in a voice and glare so dangerous Marisol doesn’t dare say a thing back, “Reagan is still here because she deserves to be. Can we say the same about you?”
Lyncoln stands quickly and I stand with him, ready to calm him down. Rarely have I seen him look so… violent.
“Mr. President, please excuse us. We are done here,” Lyncoln nods, already turning us to go.
“Absolutely, my boy,” the President says affectionately. I think the use of the words “my boy” is purposefully done in this instance though he says it often. He wants everyone to know that he doesn’t stand by Henr
y’s choice in pairing up with Marisol.
Lyncoln takes a step toward the door but turns us back. “I won’t have Reagan publicly degraded by someone more worried about her votes and popularity than other people’s lives. Especially when only half of the story is told and her own father was in on a situation that almost got Reagan killed.” He stops to glare at her once more. “She and her propaganda can burn. I’m not interested in more dirty politics. I’m interested in what needs to be done to end this with the drifters. And I’ll not sit here listening to false allegations about the woman I’m going to marry.”
We leave side by side. I smile politely as we go even though I want more than anything to fly across the table and tackle that despicable girl. We had planned on leaving a little early anyway for our plan with Henry, but now we are undoubtedly early.
Darn. No dessert then. I needed something good to come out of that social.
Our guards are with us as we board the elevator. Lyncoln is fuming. Absolutely furious. His muscles are tense and he looks ready to kill something… or someone. And her name rhymes with Jerkisol.
“Lync, I’m fine,” I say softly.
He doesn’t say a word but gently squeezes my hand. He is so angry his whole body is almost vibrating, but his touch is gentle.
We ride the elevator to the Presidential Suite and use the key we have to get into the meeting room. The door closes and we are out of earshot of our guards. They are around the corner in a smaller meeting room where Henry won’t see them, but they’ll check in frequently.
I try calming Lyncoln down again now that it’s just the two of us. “Hey,” I say quietly. “Come back to me.”
He doesn’t respond but his body does. His mouth is on mine before I can say anything more. He picks me up and sets me on the table where we were pretending to have a make-out session just a few days earlier. This one, however, is very much real.
The Fracturing: Book 2 (The Culling Series) Page 4