Marriage (Red, White &) Blues (Unexpectedly Married #2)

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

O n the drive home, I finally checked my voicemail. It was Pen. “Girl, we put you on a redeye flight to Vermont and haven’t heard from you in two days. If you don’t call me back, I’m getting the FBI on your ass. With all our connections, you know I can.”

Okay, so I probably needed to call my friend. Oh —and my job . Biting my lip, I threw my hand over my face. “Blake,” I said while partially laughing in a sort of horrified way. “I no called, no showed at work today.”

“You won’t be going back.”

“I know but I still need to call in my resignation. I’ll be lucky to ever get a job again.”

“Sweetheart, you’re loaded now. You don’t have to work another day in your life unless you want to.”

True. God, I was loaded now. “I still have to do something while you’re at work.”

“We’ll figure it out. But I think it’s more important that you call your friend.” Pointing to the phone on my lap, he lifted his hand to his ear to mime call .

I hit her contact and waited for her to answer. It took one ring.

“ Gloria ?”

“Hey, sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

“I’ve been worried sick about you,” she said, sounding very much like a mother rather than a friend.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been kind of busy.”

“Sex—even amazing sex—isn’t an excuse for making your friends worry.”

“I got married.”

Silence.

“Like the legal kind, not just the semi-nomadic, Tanzanian tribe kind.”

More silence.

“Pen? Please say something.”

“Put him on the line.”

I offered the phone to Blake. “Pen wants to talk to you.”

He shot me a smile, nodding once and not looking one bit intimidated. “This is Blake, Glory’s husband.” I didn’t know what Pen said to the man, but his smile grew huge. “Yes. I’m looking forward to meeting all of Glory’s people.” Pause. “We’ll make it happen as soon as you’re all available.” Pause. “Thank you. She’s a wonderful woman. I can’t believe I’m the man lucky enough to have married her.”

Blake laughed then, the loud, boisterous kind, as he handed the phone back to me.

“Pen?” I asked.

“Love you. Be happy. You deserve it.” She sounded close to crying when she hung up. I didn’t even get the chance to say I loved her back.

“Friends or family?” Maisie asked from the behind Blake and I must admit, I’d forgotten for a moment that she was with us.

Laughing, I replied, “yes.”

“Families come to us in all different ways. The ones we’re born into and the ones we pick for ourselves.”

“I’m glad Blake picked you,” I said.

“I’m glad he picked us both.”

While my husband drove, the kind woman in the back seat and I bonded over the love of a very good man. This day couldn’t get any better.

The house staff, sans Maisie because she’d been with us, had a small reception waiting for us when we arrived home. I insisted they stop working and join us in the celebrations. Jupiter got her drink on pretty darn quickly. We ended our wedding day gloriously alone having sex in the pool.

Me , Gloria Kowalski—er, um Parker—having pool sex .

As we were alone again, Blake led me inside the house, where we dried off and I slipped on a pretty satin negligee that Jupiter had given me before she’d left. She either had a sizing sixth sense or got my size from Blake or Maisie because it hugged me in all the right places. Beautiful pale blue with pink hibiscus flowers. Very me. I loved it.

“You didn’t have a bridal shower,” she’d said.

Blake and I snuggled up on the sofa eating leftovers. He turned the television on and I choked on the bite of food I’d just swallowed. There were pictures of Blake and me walking out of the courthouse.

“Blake Parker, son of business mogul Robert Parker and brother to junior senator and future presidential candidate Brockton Parker, was married in a private courthouse ceremony earlier today,” CNN reported.

He switched to a different station. TMZ was on. “Who is this mystery woman to join the Parker dynasty?”

Blake pressed the off button on the remote.

“How did they find out?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I honestly didn’t think anyone would care. I’m not the mogul, nor am I the presidential candidate.”

“Blake, you need to know something I probably should’ve told you sooner. I can’t vote for your brother. Just meeting him once… The way he treated me... I just don’t see how a man like that would be good for the country.”

“You don’t have to vote for my brother. Want the truth?”

I nodded.

“I’m not voting for him, either. He’s my brother, but I don’t particularly like the man and I’m not convinced he’d make a very good president.”

“Do you think the press will let it go? I’m not news.”

“I don’t know.”

The press didn’t let it go. For the next week, my face was plastered across news and entertainment sites. A source close to the family told TMZ that we’d met while on vacation in Paris. That was true.

Pen called. Sierra called. Mom never called and I never called her. I think we both knew whatever relationship we had ended when I found out about her lies. Some betrayals were hard to get over. I’d put my life on hold. I’d stayed with her because she begged me to. She didn’t want to be alone. I commuted to college and took the first job offered to stay with her. We should’ve been celebrating my marriage and her finding new love. Instead, we had this. Nothing.

They’d reported on the schools I’d gone to, where I’d worked after graduation, and who my friends were. I suppose it helped, or maybe it didn’t, that they were able to link me to the McCain and Von Dutton families. They even speculated that my father dying of cancer was why we’d opted for a courthouse wedding. Well, the reporters who didn’t presume I was pregnant.

We were summoned to the Parker estate. Mr. and Mrs. Parker, along with Jupiter, Brockton, and his family were all there waiting on us.

Maggie, the housekeeper, led us to the dining room. “We need damage control,” Mr. Parker said as we were taking our seats.

“What damage?” Blake asked. “We got married. Nothing else.”

“You had a courthouse wedding instead of a lavish affair. That makes people think you have something to hide. And she’s common?—”

“ Whoa —stop right there, Father. My wife isn’t common.”

“By all accounts, she’s poor. Her father was a chemical engineer and her mother works in an office. Her father was a registered member of the Democratic party.”

The servers rolled in the plates for dinner service. We started with a soup course. Tomato bisque. Once they’d filled our drink glasses and left us to eat, I took a few spoons of my soup and then tried to set his mind at ease.

It didn’t work.

“My father was a registered member, but I’m not.”

“And where do your political leanings lie, Ms. Kowalski?” he asked.

Ms. Kowalski? How much more insufferable could he get? Even if my legal name happened to be Kowalski until the paperwork got filed, I still married his son in a legal ceremony. For all intents and purposes, I was part of the Parker family, of which, Ms. Kowalski , had been said cruelly to separate me from. Please universe grant me the strength not to leap across this table and smack the shit out of the man , I silently prayed while balling my dress at my thighs under the table to keep my hands occupied.

“Parker,” Blake corrected, interrupting his father. “She’s Mrs. Parker now and you damn well know it. But given she’s your daughter-in-law, you could at least address her as ‘Gloria.’”

“Fine, Gloria …” Mr. Parker said. “Answer the question.”

“Well…” I cleared my throat. “In the past, I’d considered myself… well, let’s just say I’ve probably never voted how you vote.”

A vein bulged in Robert Parker’s neck. “How far in the past?” he asked, drawing each word out for full effect.

“Um… like a second ago.”

“You brought the enemy into the house,” Brockton shouted, throwing his hand out toward Blake. “How could you do this to us?”

“I didn’t do anything to you.” Blake defended himself. “I met a woman and I fell in love. We got married. It has nothing to do with you.”

“I have a press conference scheduled in the morning. The party has offered me the candidacy. I’m to give my acceptance speech. It has everything to do with me.”

“I’m not politically active,” I said, trying to ease the situation. “No one knows how I vote.”

“And they won’t. This is what’s going to happen,” Mr. Parker announced. “Despite your heritage and economic background, you are now a Parker. Therefore, you and Blake will join us tomorrow morning for the press conference. We’re making a united front.”

“I have no plans on going to his press conference. That’s Brock’s deal, not mine,” Blake said.

“Oh, no… Had you kept your little fuck buddy on the down low back in Africa, we might have been able to leave you out. But you had to marry the girl. So, you will show up to support your brother. Both of you. Go against us on this and we will make your lives hell. She wouldn’t want anything to happen to her mother, now, would she? And I know you’re awfully close to your staff. You have no idea the pain we can cause.”

Are you kidding me? The man honestly just threatened my mother and our employees? My mother and I might’ve had our issues, but that didn’t mean I wanted her ruined. I felt sick to my stomach. Swallowing hard, I squeezed Blake’s knee and said, “We’ll be there. Give us the time and place.”

“Well, at least your wife knows how to play the game, son,” Mr. Parker said. Blake shot me a look that said like me, he wanted to leave, but the Parkers were playing hardball. We had no choice but to stay and choke down what should’ve been a delicious lemon kale salad course and then the lobster Thermador served with sautéed green beans and a creamy seafood risotto.

Once we were at home in bed, Blake held me close. Sighing heavily, he asked, “Are you going to leave me now?”

“No.”

“I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Blake. It’s going to take more than a stupid campaign to get me to leave you.”

“We can’t go back to Michigan now.”

“True. I’ll have to legally change my address to Vermont and then file the paperwork here to change my last name.”

“You still want to be a Parker?”

“I already am.”

I wished I felt as confident as I sounded.

The next morning, I walked out of the shower to see more clothing lying on the bed, sent over from Jupiter. That made exactly two Parkers who liked me. I’d take it. What she’d bought me… well, let’s just say it wasn’t my taste. A fitted, gray business suit jacket and matching skirt with a fitted, white, button-down blouse to go underneath and sensible, gray pumps to match.

I loved color. I wore color. Pinks and yellows and greens, not this drab, sad excuse for clothing that I was sure sucked the happiness out of a room just from people seeing it. And under the clothes I found a hair straightener. His campaign forbade curly hair? Not very forward thinking. I might’ve gotten him the curly haired vote.

Nonetheless, I spent an exorbitant amount of time straightening my hair for the sake of getting along. I pulled it back in a low, conservative ponytail at the nape of my neck, wore sensible pearl studs in my ears again thanks to Jupiter, and did a very light makeup job.

When I finished, I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror. I hated everything about this outfit, about my hair, and about the fact that I couldn’t be me any longer for fear of retribution against my family.

This is for Blake , I reminded myself. You love Blake . You want to be married to Blake .

Sighing, I gave myself one last look in the mirror before I walked downstairs to join my husband. He wore a black suit, white shirt, and black tie. Very business, and handsome, as always. But when his eyes hit me, they did the strangest thing, they widened in, well, I’d have to say shock.

“Who are you and where is my wife?” he asked.

“I feel ridiculous, Blake. Please tell me I look okay.”

“You look beautiful, but you could wear a cardboard box and still be beautiful.”

“I feel like I’m wearing cardboard.”

“It’s sophisticated. I’m just not used to the lack of color or straight hair. I love your vibrant outfits and curls.”

“I want my curls back,” I whined.

He gathered me into his arms. “It’s just for today. I’m sorry they’re putting you through this, but I’m not sorry they’re putting you through this because you’re my wife. I’m proud that you’re mine. Though, now I have to do a situation check. You regret marrying me yet?”

I shook my head. “Nope. We’re team Karker all the way.”

“Karker?” he asked, laughing.

“Yeah… you know, Kowalski and Parker. Karker.”

“ Ooh—sorry . You already committed to being a Parker.”

I shrugged. “Then after the press conference, we need to get on that. Otherwise, it’s Karker, buddy.”

“Have I told you today how much I love you?” he asked.

“No. I don’t think you have.”

“ Good . I wouldn’t want to lie to you,” he teased.

“Hey—” I punched his shoulder. We both laughed as he drew me in for a kiss.

“I love you, woman. Love you more than picnics on the Seine or African safaris.”

“Well, I love you more than those pastries we ate in Gibraltar, so…”

Blake dropped his arms from around my waist to grab my hand. “I don’t want to do this,” he said.

“I don’t want to do this, either.”

“Right. So, let’s not want to do this together… as we do this. It sounded better in my head.”

“We’ll work on your delivery.”

After that, I let him whisk me out to his car. Stupid press conferences.

We arrived through a secured back entrance and were quickly ushered to the room where the rest of the Parkers sat until it was time for us to pretend to be one big, supportive, happy family.

Then at a quarter to noon, the powers that be ushered us onto a stage with a podium. The backdrop was a large printed replica of the preamble to the Constitution—you know that whole “we the people” thing. Two American flags flanked the stage. Our job was to stand there with large smiles on our faces, not saying a word.

Brockton Parker had that handsome thing down. I mean, I clearly didn’t find him as attractive as I found my husband, but his bright, white smile and expensive suit screamed presidential. His look probably fluttered more than a few heartbeats.

Exactly at noon, in front of a whole lot of reporters, the cameras went live. Rather than listening to my brother-in-law speak, I worried about pit stains darkening the suit. I wore a good brand of deodorant but I never saw a thing about preventing sweat due to television cameras on the label.

A half hour after Brockton started talking, we were thankfully allowed to leave the stage. My mouth hurt from holding my smile for so long.

“How you holding up?” Blake asked me.

“My mouth is sore. I might not be able to kiss for a—” My words were swallowed up by my husband leaning in to kiss me.

“What were you saying about kissing?” he asked.

“That we should head home and do more of it.”

“I like where your mind is at. I’ve decided to work from home for a while, so be prepared to use those lips in creative ways.” He waggled his eyebrows at me and I threw my head back, laughing like a fool. Mr. Parker grunted as he passed us.

Two weeks of me settling in as a Vermont resident and Blake’s wife went by with a lot of calls between me, Pen and Sierra. Ant jumped in on more than a few just to gauge where my sanity was at given Brockton’s candidacy. It felt stupid now, remembering how I’d thought they’d abandoned me.

Blake and my friends used their own individual methods to lull me into a sense of safety where I started to think this whole presidential campaign wouldn’t be too bad. Yeah, I thought that too soon. The doorbell rang. I was upstairs in my office submitting resumes for jobs that I actually wanted when Maisie knocked on the door before letting herself in, an agreement we’d come to when I’d first moved in. Unless I was in my bedroom or the bathroom, she knocked to announce herself then just let herself in. I found the whole waiting to be called in thing too… school principal for my liking. In order to get comfortable with the idea of having employees, I had to think of them like members of the household—who went home at night. One didn’t make a member of the household wait until you called them in. At least, I didn’t and neither did Blake that I ever saw. This meant Maisie was no longer allowed to address us as Miss Gloria and Mr. Blake.

I smiled at her. “What can I do for you, Maisie?”

She didn’t smile back. My stomach dropped. “Brockton’s press secretary is downstairs. She needs to speak with you and Blake about the campaign schedule.”

“I’m sorry—” I laughed at myself. “My brain did a weird thing. I could’ve sworn you said, campaign schedule .” I laughed again. Maisie did not. My face fell. “Tell me you’re kidding, Maisie.”

“I’m sorry. Blake is down there right now. I told him I’d come get you.”

No. No. I couldn’t meet with Brockton’s press secretary. I wore my hair piled on top of my head in a messy bun. I had on ripped, pink jeans and a two-tone pink-and-gray, raglan T-shirt. I looked ready to help a friend move, not meet with Brockton’s snooty press secretary. And yes, I’m aware that calling his press secretary snooty before I met her wasn’t very nice, but I’d met Brockton and Emily. I’d met Mr. and Mrs. Parker. It was a safe assumption.

Sigh. All the sighs. I could do this. I pushed up from my desk, smoothing down my shirt, and followed Maisie down to the living room, where Blake sat on the edge of the sofa with his back rigid and wearing a tight smile for the woman across from him. His whole face softened for a moment when he saw me walk in.

“Great, Ms. Kowalski, you’re here,” the woman said without even introducing herself.

I did the mature thing and walked over to her with my hand out. “It’s Parker. I’m Gloria Parker.” And I was. All paperwork had been filed.

Predictably, the woman hardly shook my hand, like she thought I had some gnarly, highly contagious skin disease. My husband stood from the sofa, walking over to me and draped an arm around my waist to steer me back over by where he’d been sitting.

“Glory, honey, this is Candice Reed, my brother’s press secretary.”

Honestly, I pulled all the way back from my third-grade school play in which I’d starred as Little Red Riding Hood to find a genuine smile, not having used my acting skills since then. Apparently, she’d never acted in a play. She gave me nothing.

“A campaign fundraising dinner is being held next Saturday in Montpelier. The event is formal. Tuxes for men. Ms. Kowalski will have to be fitted for a dress.”

“Parker,” Blake gritted out. “Her name is Gloria Parker.”

The woman, Candice Reed , gave no apology. “We’ll be sending a car tomorrow morning to take her to the tailor’s. For family unity, only Morgan Ashley is allowed to make your campaign clothing.”

I whipped my head around to look at Blake. “Campaign clothing? What does she mean?”

“You and Mr. Parker will join the family on the campaign trail over the next several months. You’ll be receiving an official schedule within the next few days.”

“I’m not?—”

Candice cut me off by raising her hand. “Mr. Parker asked me to enquire about your mother. How is she doing?”

“Go,” Blake ordered. “We’re done here.”

“Should I tell Mr. Parker that you’re passing on supporting your family?”

“No. We’ll be joining the family ,” I said. And trust me when I say it took everything in me to remain pleasant.

“Great,” Candice said, plastering on a very fake smile that caused her nose to wrinkle. “Then you’ll need to be ready by 10:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. The car will be here promptly. Have a good rest of your day.”

That was it.

She walked out of our home.

And I had to get fitted for a dress in the morning.

What did I just agree to do?