Heartless

by R. C. Martin

  “What things?” I ask as he tucks away the box.

  Placing a possessive hand on my knee, making my stomach tingle, he answers, “I know how much the loft means to you, but we can’t live there. It’s too small. It has no living quarters for our security detail, and there’s certainly not enough room for a baby.”

  I tug on the nub inside of my cheek, thinking over what he’s just said. Of course, as soon as I got confirmation that I was pregnant, I knew that the loft wasn’t a suitable living space for us. Not only is it too small for a family, it’s not exactly baby friendly. With my child’s safety in mind, giving up the loft has been a sacrifice I’ve been willing to make for awhile now. That’s not what makes me pause.

  “Our security detail? Do you mean I’ll have my own?”

  “Yes,” he replies matter-of-factly.

  “Oh.”

  “We’ll discuss those details later. Right now, I want us to be on the same page in terms of where we will live. It’s something I want to assure your father we’re agreed upon.”

  A small smile graces my lips, as I’m both proud and humbled that I love a man who respects my father and our relationship in the way that Michael does. Then I think about moving into the governor’s mansion, and that same smile fades.

  “Are you going to want me to—”

  “No,” he insists. I know he’s accurately read my thoughts when he goes on to say, “I don’t have to live in the mansion. It’s not a requirement. Besides, I want us to start this family in a place that’s ours—not yours or mine. I want us to make a home with new memories.”

  “Yes. I want that, too.”

  “Good,” he says before pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’ll arrange for us to meet with a realtor this week.”

  I nod, holding his arm tighter, trying not to freak out about how fast everything is moving. I understand, given who he is, that these steps are necessary. I don’t just mean Michael, the governor of Colorado, but Michael, my driven, ambitious, crazy smart, super hot, thirty-eight-year-old fiancé. I also know, after everything he told me this morning, while it seems fast now—this is seven months in the making. He wants our life together to be just that, a life we live together. As scary as change may be, I’m certain that all of these changes are for the better. I’m ready for us to be together, too.

  When we arrive at dad’s place, Michael is quick to step out of the vehicle. He offers me his hand, and for a second, I merely stare up at him from the backseat of the town car. He’s dressed in a fitted, mock-neck, white, pull-over sweater and a pair of navy blue slacks, his brown leather shoes matched with his belt. The flaps of his charcoal, wool coat are open, and he closes them, expertly fastening the top button with one hand as he waits for me to take his other.

  I know, without an ounce of doubt, that I’m blessed beyond measure to have this man as mine. He is totally out of my league.

  Finally accepting his hand, I allow him to help me out of the car. I look down at my own outfit, a bit surprised and a little thrilled at the fact that I’ll be getting married in something so casual. Given the short notice that Michael gave me, and the shrinking number of clothes that I can fit these days, I did the best that I could. I got lucky and managed to fit into one of my favorite fall dresses. The bohemian t-shirt dress hangs loosely on my frame, my bump peeking out just slightly. The large, pink and cream rose floral pattern is on a dusty rose background, the leaves on the stems a dark green. The sleeves are cut at my elbow, and the hem stops about mid thigh. I matched it with my hunter green tights and my chocolate brown, leather ankle booties. In an attempt to dress it up a bit, I twisted my hair into a low chignon at the nape of my neck, leaving a few strands to dangle around my face. I also put on a little makeup.

  The cold wind blows, and I hug my jacket around me. Today is the first day I’ve worn anything that shows even a hint of the progress of my pregnancy around dad, so I cling to the only garment hiding me as we make our way to the door. I ring the bell, knowing that I could go right in, but wanting to alert dad to our arrival.

  Looking up at Michael, who stands by my side, his arm curled around my waist, I ask, “Are you ready for this?”

  Smirking at me confidently, he simply replies, “Absolutely.”

  Michael

  “WAIT!” BLAINE CRIES, reaching for my hand. She pulls it away from the door handle and looks at me, her terror like a beacon shining in her eyes. “I’m scared,” she admits.

  I slip my hand around the back of her neck, drawing her close as I press a kiss against her forehead. To be honest, I’m not certain how this will go anymore than she is. Aside from the fact that my mind is already made up about the fact that I’ll be a married man in a couple of hours, I can’t guarantee we’ll have all the support I’m hoping for. My parents have no idea what I’m up to, only that I intended to come over this afternoon. I don’t want to fill Blaine with any sort of false hope; nevertheless, I need her to know that I am unwavering.

  “Angel, I’ve made you a promise I plan on keeping. I’m not going anywhere, no matter what.”

  “What if they don’t want me in their house? What if they look at me and all they see is a homewrecker? Oh, my god—I’m freaking out,” she gasps, pulling away from me.

  “Blaine, did we not just leave your father’s house with his blessing? He’s getting ready, right now, to join us.”

  “Baby, no offense, but my dad is basically the shit. Of course he’s coming to see me get married. I’m his one and only daughter. He’s also met you before, and he’s had months to wrap his head around how much you mean to me.”

  Taking hold of her chin, I level my gaze with hers and remind her, “He may have met me prior to our most recent visit, but that didn’t exactly work in my favor, now did it? I had to spend the last hour convincing him than I’m more than the unfaithful bastard who left you crying on his porch last September.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re a politician—and a good one at that. You’re fantastic under pressure. I’m nauseous under pressure. At least I am so far as your family is concerned. I know how much they mean to you.”

  “Have you forgotten how much you mean to me?”

  She clamps her lips closed tight, biting the inside of her cheek as she goes silent. I know I’ve made my point, but it doesn’t stop me from reaching for her left hand and lifting it between us.

  “I realize that I’ve taken the vow of forever before—a vow that I broke for you—but I intend to make it again. This time, I will not go back on my word. If I wasn’t sure when I ended my previous marriage that you mean more to me than anything or anyone ever has, than the three miserable months that I spent without you solidified that fact.

  “Now, you are not merely the keeper of my heart, but also the mother of my namesake. You mean everything to me. My parents will learn to respect that truth; and in time, they will not only forgive you as they have forgiven me, they will undoubtedly love you as their own. But they must meet my blushing bride in order to know how loveable you truly are.”

  “God—see what I mean?” she asks before pressing a quick kiss against my lips. “Fantastic under pressure.” She squeezes the hand that still holds hers before she urges, “I’m ready. Let’s go before you have to work your magic again.”

  Chuckling, I exit the vehicle, helping her out after me. With our fingers laced together, we make our way to my parent’s front door. I ring the bell, and wait for them to answer, thinking it best to allow them the opportunity to invite Blaine into their home.

  “Michael?” Blaine whispers as we hear approaching footsteps.

  “What is it, angel?” I ask, gazing down at her.

  “I love you.”

  A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as the lock of the door slides free. “I love you, too,” I assure her as the barrier before us swings open.

  “Oh,” my dad utters in surprise, his eyes flicking back and forth between Blaine and me. “Hello.”

  “Hi, dad. Can we come i
n?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. Let me get your mother.”

  Blaine

  MY STOMACH IS in knots. I can’t imagine that my nerves are good for the baby, but I can’t help it. As I pace back and forth across the length of Michael’s office, I recollect the last twenty-four hours. Yesterday was emotionally exhausting. While telling dad about our engagement and the news of my pregnancy had gone over as well as we could have expected, telling Pastor and Mrs. Cavanaugh wasn’t as easy.

  The last thing I wanted was to cause a rift between Michael and his family. While he still maintains that time will heal, I can’t forget all the arguing that happened between them yesterday. His dad was adamant that we were moving too quickly; that he didn’t want to marry us without guiding us through pre-marital counseling; and that he didn’t know me well enough to offer his blessing. Michael had been just as adamant. He held his ground, telling his parents that we were going to be married, whether Pastor Cavanaugh performed the ceremony or not. He fought with them, standing up for me, standing up for us—our little family of three—and providing counter argument after counter argument as to why our union was necessary.

  In the end, Michael won. Or, rather, his parents’ love for him and their bond as a family who supports each other, even when they can’t agree with each other, led to a compromise of sorts. I was welcomed into their family an hour after everyone calmed down. Dad was there, as was Simone. I met Michael’s brother and his wife, Tamara, along with their three children; but his sister and her family opted not to be there. I don’t blame them, of course. The atmosphere in the room wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy.

  A small ounce of calm settles in my chest as hope and happiness fills my heart at the memory of Michael reciting his vows to me. With my hands held in his, and his deep blue eyes—as calm and confident as the vast blue ocean itself—staring straight into mine, I’d never felt so cherished as I did in that moment. No, it wasn’t ideal and it wasn’t a wedding every girl dreams of, but it was ours.

  Our wedding.

  Our promises.

  Our vows.

  It was all ours—out in the open, with some of the most important people in our lives standing with us as witnesses. Now, all we can do is move forward. Then again, with Michael at the helm, moving forward is currently not our problem.

  I gasp softly when the door opens. Halting my steps, I look over to see Michael making his entrance, Paul right on his heels.

  “Lawrence called again,” says Paul, not paying me any mind. “He still maintains that he needs to meet with you as soon as possible.”

  Michael smirks, heading straight for me as he replies, “Funny how I have to chase the man down when I’m walking a straight line—but the second I do something he disagrees with, he’s leaving me messages every fifteen minutes.” Hooking an arm around my waist and drawing me to him, he shifts his conversation toward me as he murmurs, “How are you feeling, angel?”

  “Seconds away from hyperventilating,” I half tease.

  “That’s not allowed,” he tells me, dipping his head closer to mine. “You’re breathing for two, now. Deep, calm breaths.”

  “Governor, I just want to warn you—”

  “Paul,” Michael starts to interrupt, twisting around to address his personal assistant. His arms still holding me close, he goes on to say, “In five minutes, I’m addressing the public, whether my advisors stand behind me or not. I know you’re only the messenger, but I don’t want to hear another word about it. If I were you, I’d make sure the press is ready—and I’d make sure you are ready. The backlash that’s coming will keep the both of us busy for a while. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a moment with my wife.”

  “Yes, Governor Cavanaugh.” Paul nods before he takes his leave, the click of the latch on the door signaling that Michael and I are alone.

  When he turns back to look at me, I can’t seem to wipe the goofy smile off of my face.

  “What’s this look for?” he asks tenderly, tracing the tip of his nose along the length of mine.

  “You called me your wife. It felt nice.”

  “Felt good saying it,” he hums before pressing his lips to mine.

  He kisses me until there’s a knock on the door, and then we pull away from one another, looking as Clay peeks his head inside.

  “It’s time, sir.”

  Michael nods, letting me go in order to smooth out the front of his suit. He looks just as crisp and handsome as he did the first time I laid eyes on him—dressed in a black suit with a white shirt. The pale blue tie he wears matches my shirt. As he straightens it, I go about checking my own appearance.

  Almost as soon as Michael and I exchanged I dos yesterday, Simone whisked us away to shop for the outfit I’m wearing now. My wardrobe isn’t exactly First Lady of Colorado appropriate. While I have a long way to go before I feel comfortable wearing that title, at least I look the part today. My light blue, collared shirt is tucked into my high-waisted, horizontal black and white striped skirt. The hem sits right above my knee, and the cut makes the skirt poof out a little, giving me room to breathe without people speculating about my pregnancy. Simone insisted on buying my accent necklace as a wedding gift. I run my fingers over the silver pendant now, pulling strength and confidence from all the love and support she bestowed upon me yesterday. With my black tights along with my black and white Mary-Jane heels finishing off the outfit, I feel both professional and like me.

  Brushing my hair over my shoulders, I stand up tall and will myself to take deep, calm breaths, as my husband instructed.

  “Blaine?” he calls softly, holding out his hand.

  “My palms are sweating,” I confess, rubbing them against one another.

  “I don’t care.”

  I purse my lips, stifling my smile as I slip my hand into his. He weaves our fingers together and pulls me close to his side.

  “No matter what happens, I’m right here.”

  “I know,” I whisper. “Me, too.”

  Two Years Later

  Michael

  “HAVE YOU HEARD the rumors?” Gabriel asks as soon as Tamara gets up from the couch.

  I don’t take my eyes away from MJ as he plays with his cousin Aria. We’re halfway through the day, and he’s managed to not only keep all of his clothes on, but also keep them clean. His mother insisted he needed the baseball t-shirt with the green sleeves and a white front, in spite of his tendency to be incapable of eating without getting food on him someway, somehow—but the front reads: Who needs mistletoe when you’re this cute?, and my angel wouldn’t be denied.

  Now, both cousins are tickled by the train that works its way around the tracks beneath my parents’ gigantic Christmas Tree. At one and a half, my son is already completely captivated by any and all things with an engine.

  “What rumors?” I mutter, only half curious as to what my brother is referring to.

  “Talk radio is saying Pattington might be throwing his name in the hat for the republican party in the next presidential election.”

  I furrow my brow in annoyance, now giving him my full attention as I reply, “That’s a horrible idea. He can barely hold his own in his senate seat as it is.”

  “I agree,” he replies casually.

  I squint at him, suddenly wondering why he’s brought this up now. “Gabe?” I mumble cautiously.

  “I’m just saying,” he begins with a grin, even though he’s said absolutely nothing. “If anyone can give him a run for his money—hell, if anyone can fight his way to the White House and win against all odds—it’s you. The way you won your reelection the same year you came clean about you and Blaine? I mean, think about it, Mikey.”

  I stare at him, wondering if I’m finally ready to admit to myself that the thought has crossed my mind. More than once. While he’s not the first person to suggest such a thing, I’ve always fought against the idea, even as it began to take root in the back of my mind. I enjoy my current role as governor. I have, for quite some time�
�but it’s in my nature to always strive for the next best thing.

  In two years, my term will be up, and I won’t be eligible to run again. Since the moment my reelection was confirmed, I couldn’t help but think about the change I wanted to help facilitate while in office, as well as the future that lay beyond. I’m far too ambitious to take a step backwards. I also have the future of my family to think about.

  “All right, change of subject,” mutters Abigail, plopping down on the cushion beside me.

  Leaning to look at her from around me, Gabe replies, “You don’t even know what we’re talking about.”

  “I know it’s got something to do with politics. Mike’s got that face.”

  “What face?” I question.

  “Please. Don’t act like we can’t tell when you slip into Governor Cavanaugh mode. Like I said, new subject—or I’ll tell Tamara you two are talking shop on Christmas.”

  Gabe looks at me with a knowing smirk before conceding with a shrug. Chuckling softly, I turn to our sister and ask, “And what is it you wish to discuss?”

  Her eyes meet mine, and I can sense her caution before she murmurs, “I talked to Veronica a couple of days ago.”

  I raise an eyebrow at her, not at all surprised by her chosen topic of conversation. Not only has she kept in touch with my ex-wife since she and I split, but this isn’t the first time she’s seen fit to tell me about it. I have no problem with their friendship—they’ve known each other more than half of Abbie’s life—but it’s taken a while for her to start delivering these updates cordially.

  “She’s doing well, in case you were wondering,” she goes on to tell me when I remain silent.