Songbird (Bellator Saga Book 7)

by Cecilia London

  Alexander’s laugh was tinged with bitterness. “At least you’ve got a good attitude about it.”

  My attitude was anything but good, but he knew that. “I may be too messed up for you, Alex. Here we were thinking age was the only obstacle that might present itself but there’s so much more.”

  He kissed me again, this time on the forehead. “This isn’t an obstacle. It’s part of who you are. And it explains a lot.”

  “You mean, the outward social niceties wrapped in a robust amount of snobbish detachment?”

  He didn’t say anything, which meant I’d probably said too much. I tried to recover. “You probably shouldn’t have come up here.”

  “No.” He shook his head for extra emphasis. “This is important.”

  “Maybe you should go.”

  “Do you want me to go?”

  No. “You know, this is about the time in the initial stages of a relationship where people figure out whether it’s worth the effort. I understand if you want to leave.”

  “Christine.” He turned me to face him. “I think you’re worth the effort. But you have to give me some indication you feel the same way.”

  “You see these pictures?” It was a redundant question, because of course he had. “These are the only people I’ve ever truly loved. My verdict remains out on Jacob because I’m still not sure if he’s the right man for Susannah. But she loves him, so I have to tolerate his presence in her life. They’re it. They’re all I’ve got and all I’ve ever had. I just don’t have it in me to give myself to others. I’ve tried. I’m no good at it. And I look at these pictures, at the precious few I’ve allowed to get close to me and it makes me wonder if maybe my heart has a lower capacity than everyone else’s. Maybe I’m full up.” I sniffled. “I don’t want you to be the person who gets hurt figuring it out.”

  Alexander sat down on the couch, patting the seat next to him. “Join me.”

  I thought about stamping my foot and refusing, but that seemed rather juvenile. So I did as I was told.

  “I like you, Christine. A lot.” He ran his hands over his scalp. “I’ve told you how I feel before but maybe you need to hear it more often. If you need reinforcement, I can give it to you.”

  Was it really that simple? “Maybe I do. Need reinforcement, I mean.”

  He put his arm around me. “You cannot possibly believe you have somehow reached the limit on how much you can feel. That’s impossible.”

  He didn’t know who I really was. It was foolish to think he did. “I’m not built like you, Alex. I’ve got a lot of baggage.”

  “We all have baggage. You know how I feel about my own father.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  His voice rose. “It’s exactly the fucking same. Sometimes I think you use whatever you can to distance yourself from other people, including trying to convince yourself that your struggles are somehow atypical and singularly yours. It gives you an excuse not to try to connect on a deeper level with anyone.”

  That was a little too on the nose for my taste. “Maybe you should go,” I whispered.

  “I don’t want to go. I want to know you, the good and the bad. I don’t want excuses for why you can’t let me in. We can go at whatever speed you want, I don’t care. I just want to make sure I’m in the damn race.”

  I never should have invited him up. I could have kept things light and fluffy like they had been, but instead I had to blow it all to pieces by daring to show him more of me. The more he learned, the less he’d want to stay. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Then don’t.” He knelt down in front of me. “Just let me be with you. The rest will come.”

  “I didn’t invite you here so that we could sleep together,” I said.

  He sat back on his haunches. “I admit, that is not what I expected you to say next.”

  “That wasn’t what you meant?”

  “Of course not. I meant literally be with you. Side by side. Here on the couch. Except you wouldn’t have to talk. You’d just endure my calming presence until you felt better.”

  Well, didn’t I feel like an idiot. “I mean, at first I wanted to invite you up here so you could see the place, then I thought about how it might not impress you, and then you said something cute so I started rethinking my plan and then I was thinking maybe we could sleep together, but I’m still not sure I’m ready for that and I have no idea how many dates people are supposed to go on before they jump in the sack and now I’m realizing this was all a very poor idea.”

  Alexander leaned forward and squeezed my knees with his hands. “Christine, stop. While it’s touching that you periodically open up to me, you need to realize there are times when you tend to reveal too much all at once.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Please tell me you find that a charming quality in a woman?”

  He laughed. “I do. But I implore you to stop worrying about what you should or shouldn’t be doing or saying. This is new to me too.”

  “But you’ve dated before.”

  “I have.”

  “Anything serious?”

  “I’ve loved a few women, if that’s what you’re asking. I was engaged for a while.”

  That was interesting. “What happened?”

  “I was still working at the firm back then. We grew apart. She’s an attorney too and our career trajectories were different. It’s not always fatal to a relationship but it killed ours. We’re still good friends, though.”

  I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy, even though his ability to maintain relationships with former romantic partners seemed like a sign of a healthy psyche. “No other opportunities for marriage since then?”

  He got up off the floor and took one of my hands in his. “It never seemed like the right time. I never felt the kind of pressure women do when it comes to settling down. Or, if people were exerting pressure, I ignored them. I’ve dated here and there. Usually made the first move until you came along.”

  “Was I too forward, calling you like that?”

  “You have no idea how flattering it was.” He kissed me lightly. “I’ve dated before. I’ve loved before. I just don’t know if I’ve cared about it so much until now.”

  “Does that mean you’re worried about saying or doing the wrong thing too?”

  “All the damn time.” He got up off the floor and took one of my hands in his. “This is new for both of us, in a lot of ways. We don’t need to do anything other than see where it goes. But I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

  I couldn’t really think of any other way to demonstrate how I felt about his question. So I leaned over and kissed him. Fortunately for me, he kissed back.

  “Is that my answer?” he asked, when we were finished.

  “No,” I said, and gently pushed him backwards onto the couch. “This is.” And I kissed him again.

  Chapter 11

  “I’m disappointed you didn’t run up the stairs on the way in,” Alexander said.

  I stared at my feet. “I’m wearing heels.”

  He smiled at me. “Rocky would be disappointed.”

  He’d gotten to choose the outing, therefore he got to crack the jokes. Seemed fair. And I was glad he’d suggested the Philadelphia Museum of Art, after letting me linger a bit too long on the idea that he’d actually researched the next time a monster truck rally would be anywhere near southeast Pennsylvania. I didn’t want to make any assumptions about the clientele most likely to want to see vehicles spinning their wheels in muck and mire, but I was fairly certain they weren’t my scene.

  An art museum, on the other hand, was where my people tended to gather. Although tonight’s crowd was a bit different.

  “Probably should have invited Caroline and Jack,” Alexander observed, as he took an exhibition flyer and handed it to me.

  “'Artwork of the Rebellion,'” I read. He was probably right, but I didn’t want to share him with anyone. Random strangers in crowds were fine, but if Caroline were
to tag along, she and Alex would get caught up in the radicalism and the history and get all revved up and Jack and I would be left trailing behind them, desperately trying to keep pace. No, this was something I could share with her after the fact. I slipped the flyer into my purse. “I can always come back with her later,” I said.

  He looped his arm through mine. “Good. I like having you all to myself.”

  Except for the randos sloughing their way to the exhibit hall, and the Secret Service agents not so subtly monitoring our every step, but still… a museum was a nice, quiet place where he and I could get reflective and maybe even a little romantic. Unless there were people watching. A viral moment, I did not need.

  Which meant it was precisely what I got.

  I’m all for engaging with the citizenry as a politician. It comes with the job. If a public figure wants to hide from their constituents by refusing to do town halls, failing to return phone calls or letters, or conveniently being unable to ever meet face-to-face at a district or Capitol Hill office, that’s poor representation. But all that aspirational service-speak doesn’t mean much when an angry museum-goer shoves a phone camera in your face.

  “Why are you here?” the person behind the phone asked. It appeared to be a young white woman in her twenties. With a few piercings. She reminded me of Jess, in an odd way, which did nothing to improve the situation.

  I gave the room a quick glance. My agents were in their respective corners, giving me the leeway I so often requested. Alexander was at my side. I felt him tense up, just a little. He hadn’t played these confrontational games before, but I had. Not necessarily while I was on a date, but I knew the score. “Excuse me?” I asked.

  “You don’t belong here,” she said.

  I resisted the urge to shove her phone out of my way. That would only make things worse. I opened my mouth again to speak, but Alexander stepped in front of me.

  “What did you just say to her?” he asked. Or snarled. One of the two. I couldn’t really be sure.

  “This.” Phone Girl gestured with her free hand. “Resistance artwork. The creative expression of all the anger, hurt, and hatred brought on by Santos and the status quo. She doesn’t get this. She never will.”

  Alexander glared at her, then glanced around. Looking for my agents, no doubt. Who had taken a couple steps closer but made no move to intervene. Probably served me right for giving them explicit instructions on when and where to interfere in my daily movements. I preferred to handle sticky situations myself. Always had, always would. And a few tough-looking men and women in business suits weren’t about to change my approach.

  Although I didn’t care for confrontation. On a personal level, anyway. Political debate was an entirely different beast. Regardless, if she wanted a response, she’d get one.

  “You think I don’t know about the atrocities Santos tried to justify?” I asked. I was tempted to make this personal but that would make me vulnerable. No, I had to steer clear of my own experiences. “I spent six months trying to sift through all the hidden papers, all the backdoor deals, all the missing persons, all the things that I’d hoped wouldn’t be possible in a nation such as ours.”

  “They’ve always been possible,” Phone Girl said. “Especially when Republicans are in charge.”

  “Let me finish,” I snapped. Now I sounded more like an angry mother than a former head of state. Good. I’d taken her aback, just a little. And once I got started, I knew it would be hard to stop. “I know firsthand what that man was capable of. I’ve lost more friends and family than you can count, and know scores of others who suffered irreversible psychological and physical damage as a result of his actions. I never supported Santos. I despise who he was and what he stood for. I’m glad he’s gone. I did what I could to right his wrongs. And I’m not particularly happy with the remnants of the GOP, either. In fact—” I should have told myself to shut up, yet did not. “I don’t consider myself a Republican anymore.”

  “Can I quote you on that?” Phone Girl asked.

  What a smarmy kid. She had me on camera, live, speaking to her directly, probably streaming somewhere with who knew how many viewers, with permanent proof of my words, and she was going to throw that question out there? The words left my lips before I could let any common sense seep into my brain. “Absolutely.”

  Alexander grabbed my arm. “I think that’s enough, don’t you? Let President Sullivan enjoy the exhibition in peace.” He whirled me around before Phone Girl had any further opportunity to engage.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  That little speech might have been cathartic, but it had taken its toll. To my utmost embarrassment, I was shaking. Ever so slightly, but still… Alexander noticed. And waved my agents over.

  “Where the hell were you people?” he demanded. “Didn’t you see an escalating situation?” He shook his head. “Jesus Christ.”

  “Alex—” I started.

  “You’re going to defend them?” he said incredulously. “What if that girl had been armed? Or mentally unstable? Or if there had been more than one person with her?”

  All things my agents, or I, would have noticed straightaway. “Alexander,” I said, as calmly as I could manage. “She wasn’t armed. She was alone. These things happen. I’ve instructed my agents to keep their distance.” Admitting this next part was hard. I was touched at his protectiveness but couldn’t let the Secret Service take the fall for my poor judgment. “They did everything I would have expected them to do in this sort of situation.”

  “You like being yelled at? Filmed? Accosted?” He ran a hand over his scalp. “I just wanted to go to a fucking exhibition and we ended up walking into that. Christ.”

  Now he was being a shade too dramatic. “She’s just a kid,” I said. “She’s young and impudent. Nothing bad happened. It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine. You—” He gestured at Nichola, one of my agents. My favorite agent, if there could be such a thing. We didn’t exactly chat all that much but she was good at her job, led the team, and didn’t complain when I made requests for modifications to my security plan. “What the hell were you doing just standing there?”

  “Alexander.” I’d done that on purpose twice now. Used his full name in an effort to regain conversational control. “Do not verbally attack my security team.”

  He let out a hard breath. He was angry. I wasn’t exactly thrilled either. But this wasn’t the proper way to handle it. “They need to do their fucking jobs,” he said.

  “Ma’am,” Nichola broke in. “Perhaps it’s better if we do keep a closer eye on you. Especially if you want to rejoin the exhibition crowd.”

  Like that was going to happen. Any chance of salvaging the night meant getting as far away from this place as possible. Which was a shame, since I really had wanted to see the artwork on display. “I’m fine,” I repeated, any remnants of a shake in my voice replaced by gritted teeth. “Whatever heightened security measures you think you need to take are unnecessary. Mr. Guardiola and I are leaving.” I forced myself to soften my tone. “If that’s okay?”

  It took a bit, but Alexander finally smiled. “Maybe it’s better if we get out of here. Nightcap?”

  And a discussion, no doubt. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. “Let’s go.”

  *****

  “I don’t like having to share you with the public,” Alexander said, once we were back at his house.

  “I don’t like being shared.”

  “I also don’t like the Secret Service.”

  He wasn’t pulling any punches. “I don’t like having them either. But they’re a necessary evil.”

  “An odd way to put it.”

  “I can’t think of any other appropriate term. I don’t like being followed all the time. It makes me feel like I’m being stalked. But they’re there to keep me safe, Alex. As much as I might find it an annoyance, they do serve a valuable purpose. I just wish—” I yawned. Or sighed. Or made some noise to make it clear that whate
ver thoughts I had inside my head would do their best to remain there.

  “You wish what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s something.”

  Ah well. I was tired and cranky and needed a juice box, and even though he’d caught me in a vulnerable state, I didn’t mind. “I just wish I wasn’t me sometimes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I wish I could be anonymous. You know, Caroline told me once that the worst part of moving to Harrisburg and having a security detail and being recognized was that she couldn’t just run down the street to the grocery store in a hoodie and yoga pants. Or sign up for a random painting class on a whim. Everything had to be planned and everyone, including her, had to be presentable. I really despise having to live by those rules.”

  “You’d never leave the house without putting yourself together anyway,” Alexander said.

  Damn if he hadn’t already figured me out. It was frightening. “But I had the option before. In theory. Now I don’t have a choice. I have an entourage everywhere I go. I hate it.”

  Alexander put his arm around me. “Good. I’m glad you finally admitted it. You’ve been giving off that vibe forever but never actually verbalized it. I’m proud.”

  I laughed. “Are you keeping a chart of my mildly improving people skills?”

  “It’s all in here.” He tapped the side of his head. “I like that you’re willing to give me a little bit of that inner monologue you never say out loud. I also like that you’re not a Republican anymore.” He smiled slightly. “You’ve alluded to it a number of times but you’ve never stated it so forcefully before.”

  Jesus. I pressed a palm to my forehead. “That video’s going to skyrocket across social media, isn’t it?”

  He whistled. “I assume it’s already happened.”

  I resisted the urge to curse. I’d never hear the end of it, from one person in particular. “Can we talk about something else? Please?” I said.