by R. C. Martin
I’ve never been in any hurry to get married. With Mateo, I didn’t really even think about it. Of course, it’s something that I want. Growing up in my house, watching the way dad loved mom—especially in the end—I want that. I couldn’t really see a future with that much love with Mateo. I thought maybe we could get there, but then I met Michael. I realized that it wasn’t time that was holding back the potential between Mateo and me, it was us. Now that I have the sort of love I never truly understood—the kind of love no one can understand until they have it—I want those promises of forever. Except, it’s not exactly that simple. Not for Michael and me.
Will he want to make that kind of commitment after getting out of a fifteen-year marriage?
My mind drifts toward thoughts of Dodger and Hope. I remember the look in his eyes when he told me he was ready to ask her to marry him. He’s a couple years older than me, but not so many years older than Michael was when he married Veronica. Michael’s not old, but he’s not young—not mentally. He’s experienced life that I haven’t. Not to mention, he’s obviously not the same guy that he was back then, and I’m not Veronica.
“Something’s bothering you.” Michael’s deep, gravely, morning voice rumbles in his chest beneath my cheek.
My eyes fly open, and I feel a blush rush to my face as I try to avoid broaching the topic of my most recent thoughts. “What makes you say that?”
He presses a kiss on top of my head before he replies, “Your fingers. They stopped tickling my chest. What’s wrong?”
I don’t want to lie to him, but I’m embarrassed to confess the truth, so I say nothing.
“Blaine?” he mumbles into my hair.
I sigh deeply, sealing my eyes closed tight as I whisper, “I…I’m embarrassed to tell you,” I admit. “And scared.”
Why it’s easier to tell him that and not the truth is beyond me, but there it is.
“Quiero todos tus secretos, angel.” He kisses the top of my head again and then says, “I want all of your secrets, angel. All of your insecurities. All of your doubts. All of your fears. I don’t want you to hide from me. I don’t want you to feel as though you have to hide from me. I don’t want to lose you while you’re trying to fight some mental battle that you don’t have to face alone.”
Why I’m surprised by his response, I have no idea, but here I am.
His words giving me courage, I open my eyes and stare across the landscape of his chest before I ask, “Will you ever want to get married again?”
When he doesn’t answer right away, I pull the nub on my cheek between my teeth and roll it around anxiously. He doesn’t speak for so long, I wonder if he even really meant all that he just said—and then he takes me by surprise again.
He rolls us over, forcing me onto my back. My legs open for him naturally, and he fits his hips between them, propping himself up on his forearms. I stare up at him, wide-eyed, wondering what’s going through his head as his eyes dance around my face. Still, he says nothing—and then he takes me by surprise a-freaking-gain.
His pretty blue eyes stare straight into mine as he lifts his hips and slowly fills me with his hard length. What’s not surprising is that I’m already wet enough for him to slip right in. Then again, with the man on top of me between my legs, no one could blame me.
Once he’s fully seated, he doesn’t move and he doesn’t speak. I wonder which will make me go insane first, and then he rolls his hips. A soft moan forces its way between my lips as my knees fall open, my body answering my question for me.
Then, finally, he speaks.
“Right here,” he whispers, tenderly thrusting inside of me. “This is home. Right here.”
My breath catches in my throat, but he’s not finished.
“Just you. You hear me? Only you. Only ever you.”
I nod, my center now so drenched, I can hear it as I soak his cock.
“The answer to your question is no, baby. I won’t one day want to get married again. I’ve already made up my mind. I will get married—to you.”
He fills me yet again, and I gasp when his pelvis rubs against my swollen clit. I can’t take my eyes away from his—the blue of his irises dark and yet so calm, so certain, so confident. I stare into the depths of his soul—bottomless, like the ocean—and I see nothing but his love. It breaks my heart wide open. My own eyes fill with tears as I wrap my fingers around the back of his neck, holding on tight, trying to cling to his promise with all that I am.
“You feel this?” he grunts, plunging into me deep and hard.
He glides out slowly, then pounds into me forcefully, causing me to lose my breath.
“Do you feel me? Hmm?”
“Yeah—yes,” I stammer with a nod.
“This is all of me. It’s yours. I’m yours. All of me.”
When he drives into me again, jarring my whole body, I cry out. My back arches as tears spill from my eyes, and I know what he’s telling me. I know, without him having to explain it, that I don’t have to hang onto his promises. He’s given me more than his promises—he’s given me more than he’s given anyone. Anyone. Including his wife.
“All of you,” I mewl as he rams his hips against mine.
“Only ever you,” he repeats.
We don’t say anything else to each other after that. At least, not with our words. As he makes love to me, gently and fervently, I take all that he gives and I give all that I am in return. When we come, we come together, and it’s earth-shatteringly beautiful.
I cling to him as he collapses on top of me, our bodies coated in a thin layer of sweat. I don’t let go when he tries to move off of me to give me space to breathe. Catching on to the fact that I don’t plan on going anywhere any time soon, he kisses my neck before shoving a hand beneath me. He then rolls onto his back, taking me with him so that I’m plastered to his front—and this is how we stay.
Until he bribes me out of bed with pancakes, of course.
Blaine
“I WISH YOU could stay,” I mutter into Michael’s chest.
“I know.”
It’s all he says as he holds me in front of my apartment door. It’s nearly eight o’clock, and I know he should be going, but I don’t want to let him go.
“Listen, it might be a couple of days before I’m back. I have to catch up on a few things, which means earlier mornings in the office. I also have plans to meet with my attorney this week, along with a few advisors and my campaign manager.”
He buries his fingers in my hair, gently pulling on the strands until I’m looking up at him. He kisses me, and I tighten my arms around his waist, opening my mouth to express what I want. What I need. He doesn’t disappoint me, but tangles his tongue with mine—tasting me in that way only he ever has.
He pulls away abruptly, touching his forehead to mine as he breathes, “I love you. I’m tired of loving you in secret. It’s time I made this right.”
“I love you, too,” I whisper in reply.
“We have to be ready for anything.”
“I know.” And I do.
While Michael is my Michael right here in my arms, I know that as soon as he walks out that door, he’s Governor Cavanaugh. I know that he has regular conversations with the press, and that he’s no stranger to television. I know that his name is in the news when he pisses people off or accomplishes something great—and I know that divorce and affair are words that could make headlines.
“Are you scared?” I ask, fisting his t-shirt at his back into my hands.
“No.” He furrows his brow, as if he’s trying to make sense of his own answer. He goes on to explain, “I probably should be, but I’m not going to carry around fear on top of everything else. I’m about to have a fight on my hands. I won’t lose everything I’ve worked so hard for simply because I fell in love. Besides, I have my family to consider. There’s only so much a man can shoulder.”
Thinking about his family fills me with anxiety. Just because Michael loves me doesn’t mean they will, and I know how very importan
t they are to him. Eventually, I’ll meet them, and I wonder what they’ll see when they look at me—a home wrecker? Or the woman that he loves? Honestly, it’s not fair for me to blame them if they only see the former. They don’t know me like I’ve already come to know them.
“Hey,” Michael mumbles, his lips pressed against my forehead. “I don’t want you to be scared, either.”
“It is scary, Michael. As much as I don’t want to hide anymore, it feels safe here in our little bubble where no one can touch us.”
“Angel,” he pauses, taking hold of either side of my face. His gaze locked with mine, his eyes filled with enough confidence to empower my own, he says, “We’re going to weather this storm. It’s not going to be easy, but every storm ends. When this one does, you’ll be right by my side—right where you belong. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He kisses me softly, pulling away slightly as he whispers, “I have to go.”
“I know,” I reply, nodding as much as his hold will allow.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He touches his lips to mine once more and then pulls away from me entirely. This goodbye feels heavier than normal, but I try to fight the foreboding feeling that’s attempting to fill my chest. Instead, I think back over our weekend—the most romantic weekend I’ve ever had—and I cling to those memories with the hope that they are only the beginning of our forever.
“I’ll talk to you soon.”
Offering him a small wave and as much of a smile as I can muster, I murmur, “Bye, baby.”
WHEN I CLIMB into bed, I feel lonelier than I’ve felt in a long time. I miss Michael, and it hurts me in a way that it hasn’t before—the truth that he’s in bed with another woman. As I lay alone, staring up at the ceiling, I come to the conclusion that I would endure anything to have Michael as mine. Whatever comes our way in the coming weeks, no matter how scary it might be, I won’t let him go. I can’t.
Wishing to see his face, I reach for my phone, like I so often do when the urge strikes. Only this time, I smile, remembering that I have pictures of my own I can look at—photos that remind me that what we have might be hidden in the shadows now, but it doesn’t make it any less real. As I scroll through the pictures, my belly fills with a comforting warmth, and I can’t stop myself from smiling. For the first time, I realize that I wasn’t the only one taking pictures. Michael obviously got a hold of my phone while I was sleeping. Most of the ones he took are of me—naked. They aren’t exactly indecent, the sheet covering my most intimate parts, and I decide to keep them so I can send them to him later.
Then I come across one that makes me stop.
It was taken this morning. I’m on my side, my arms curled up against my chest and my cheek resting on my hands. Michael is behind me, his body curled around mine. In the picture, he’s kissing the back of my head, and all I can see of his face are his eyes as he looks directly into the lens. My heart swells, and I will myself not to cry—remembering that we’ll be together again soon. Sooner than ever before.
Michael
“GOVERNOR?”
I draw in a deep breath, lifting my head from where it was propped on top of my fist, and shift my attention toward my office door.
“Heidi,” I speak with a furrowed brow. “What are you still doing here?” Flipping my wrist to verify the time, I note that it’s almost seven o’clock. I thought she had left with the others a couple of hours ago. People don’t tend to stick around on Friday afternoons.
“I’m getting ready to leave. I wanted to check in on you first. Do you need anything?”
“No,” I reply, forcing a smile. “Thank you.”
“You should get out of here, too. You’ve had a busy week.”
“I’m right behind you,” I lie.
“All right. Have a good weekend. I’ll see you Monday.”
I dip my chin in a nod, and she takes her leave, shutting the door behind her. Freeing a sigh, I lean back in my chair, trying and failing to mentally prepare myself for what’s ahead. It’s time for me to tell Veronica the truth. I can’t keep lying to her. I can’t keep pretending. Furthermore, I can’t begin to deal with the fall out if I don’t first come clean.
Privacy. I was reminded this week that I have very little of it. The best advice that I was given by my advisors was to not go through with this; to break things off with Blaine, and pay her off, if need be, to keep her quiet. Upon hearing what they had to say, I felt like I had entered into some terrible plotline on primetime television. When I informed them that their suggestions weren’t an option, they were forced to help me brainstorm my other choices.
Plan B is to keep Blaine hidden for a while longer while I deal with the end of my marriage. It’s impossible for me to get a divorce without notice, this much I knew. I also planned on a press release, explaining the situation as delicately as I can manage—pleading with the public for privacy as I continue to serve them in the midst of a trying time for my family. I was instructed to keep the other woman out of it as much as possible. However, this can only be accomplished under best case scenario—best case being Veronica doesn’t go to the press herself. While I don’t think that it’s in her character to do that, as she’s not a vindictive woman, I can’t be sure. I’ve never cheated on her before.
I’m well aware that what I intend to tell her this very evening will turn her world upside down. The pang of regret in my heart reminds me that it’ll flip my world, too. There is, of course, a contingency plan that has been thought of should the best case scenario fail, but I can hardly worry about that now. Before I face the public, before I concern myself with my career, I have to admit the truth to my family.
When my affair began, I didn’t know how to address the issue of my divided heart. I was confused. I felt conflicted. On the one hand, there was a woman who wanted me; a woman who excited me and connected with me in the most effortless way. I needed her for reasons I couldn’t explain. I felt drawn to her to the point that it couldn’t be denied. Yet, on the other hand, there was my wife; a woman I had loved for most of my life; a woman I had somehow managed to fall away from in ways I wasn’t even aware of until it was too late. I didn’t know how to break her heart without breaking mine. I didn’t know how to let her go anymore than I knew how to deny myself the satisfaction of being seen for the first time in years. I didn’t know how to chase after the future I was desperate for with my past grafted into my very being.
Now, all these months later, I still don’t know what I’m doing—only that it must be done.
My cell phone rings from inside of my pocket, and I know without even looking that it’s my call to head home. Sliding the device from out of my pants, I see Veronica’s name lit up on my screen. I swipe my thumb across the answer key before bringing it to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey, sweetie. Where are you?”
“I’m still at the office.”
“Oh. I wish you had told me you were going to be staying late. I made dinner. It’s getting cold.”
Running my hand down my face, I combat the guilt warring inside of me as I tell her, “I’m sorry. I’m leaving now.”
“Okay. I’ll pop it back in the oven for a minute.”
“Sure. I’ll see you in a few.”
I stand to my feet as we exchange our farewells, grabbing my jacket from the back of my chair before heading for the door. No sooner do I cross the threshold, and another call rings through. Thinking it’s Veronica calling me back for one reason or another, I don’t bother paying attention to who’s calling before I answer.
“Hello?”
“Michael—I need you!”
I stop dead in my tracks, my back rigid as a chill races down my spine. The dread I was feeling a moment ago at the thought of going home is now replaced with a rising sense of panic. It’s seven o’clock on a Friday night. Blaine should be at work, not on the other other end of the phone sounding hysterical.
“It’s my dad. Shit, shit, shit,” she cries.
I hear what sounds like keys falling, then I’m sure it’s her phone that clatters to the ground next.
“Blaine—Blaine!” I call out, my eyes locked with Clay’s as I begin to hurry toward the exit. “Blaine!” I repeat a third time, my voice echoing through the quiet hallway.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t stop shaking. I keep dropping my shit.”
“Where are you?” I demand to know, my feet moving faster now.
“I’m at the bar—I’m leaving. Uh, the, uh—um—”
“Don’t get behind the wheel. Do you hear me?”
“I have to go! The hospital—”
“Angel, do not move. I’m coming.”
I hang up on her, hoping that by cutting her off, she’ll know I’m not to be argued with right now. I’ve never heard her voice like that before. It does something to me, and I feel as though I’m on autopilot. All that matters is that I get to her. Now.
“The Lounge,” I bark over my shoulder as I rush down the stairs out of the building. “It’s an emergency.” Clay catches up with me easily. When we reach the vehicle, I pause only long enough to deliver one last instruction. “Haul ass.”
He’s quick to mutter his own in reply. “Call your wife.”
Blaine
I SAW HIM Tuesday. I made him dinner before he got home, and then we hung out until I had to go to work. He was fine on Tuesday.
I close my eyes and more tears race down my cheeks. Gripping the steering wheel with my trembling hands, I try to get control of my breathing, but I can’t. The sob I’m trying to keep at bay is clogging my airway.
He was fine on Tuesday!
Fuck.
It’s been five minutes since Michael hung up on me. The only thing keeping me from speeding down the street right now is the fact that I’ve already tried to insert my key into the ignition three times, but my hands are shaking too much and I keep dropping them. My frustration only ruins my ability to concentrate even more, and my inability to breathe is starting to make me lightheaded. I can’t fall apart. Not yet. I have to get to him—I have to get to my dad.