10. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Patrick
As soon as the engagement announcement went out, my campaign schedule blew up.
I kept pretty busy anyway, and I’d still keep my day job even if I won the election. Little known fact: many mayors had day jobs, especially in small towns.
Attending tonight’s charity event had already been on my schedule, but now with a distinct difference:
I had a fiancée.
We’d be expected to attend together. To arrive together. To sit together and schmooze together. That was all fine and good, but we were short on pretrial preparation time. That’s how I viewed it—prepping for going on trial.
I drove to Marcy’s apartment without having to think. I parked outside her building and approached the security door.
Anticipation gifted me a runner’s high and I hadn’t run a lick all week. This was a date . I had on a suit and tie, which wasn’t unusual given my day job, but usually I downshifted to casual clothes when I showed up at Marcy’s. Usually, we spent our time watching junk TV over takeout or we hung out with her brothers doing the same but louder .
The security door opened before I had the chance to hit the intercom. Marcy appeared in the doorway. My breath left my being.
Her hair was swept up so the curls floated around the back and top of her head. A shiny jewel barrette glittered on one side. Her sleek black dress hung from her shoulders to the ground with a peek of red painted toenails from her open-toed shoes. She carried a red leather purse and wore a bright smile.
“You look…nice. As usual.” Her voice came clipped despite the smile. “Of course you look nice. You always look nice.”
I finally found words. “You…too. Look nice.”
If awkward were a living, breathing thing, it lived and breathed—noisily—between us. How could awkwardness be so loud?
“So. We should, um. Go. To the thing.” Marcy nodded past me.
“Right. Sure.” I gestured for her to walk ahead, noting where I’d parked. I zipped ahead at the last minute to open the passenger door. Stupidly, the door was still locked. I hit the remote unlock and opened it for her. Marcy slid into the seat without a word.
This was weird.
I got in and started the car.
“This is weird right?” Marcy blurted. “Let’s just get out with it.”
The noisy awkwardness quieted. “Yeah, I was feeling it too.”
She took out a small mirror from her purse to check her perfect red lipstick. “Let’s go over the plan again. We check in, find our assigned table, then make our rounds during appetizers. We bid on a few items in the silent auction and return to the table for dinner. I will respond to any questions on how we met or how the engagement is going. You handle anything campaign related. If offered, I am to politely acknowledge any social invitations, but will run those through Bea Clark for proper vetting.”
She was a pro, as I’d already known she’d be. “Yup. That covers it.”
We drove with the radio blasting the local Hip Hop and R&B radio station, which hyped us up. When we reached the upscale hotel, I veered toward general parking.
Marcy touched my arm. “Do valet.”
“Why? It’s a waste of money. How about I drop you off and I’ll park.”
“We need to make an entrance. Together. Do the valet.”
This was a suburban hotel for a local charity event, so we definitely wouldn’t be arriving to crowds of photographers or adoring fans. I had no fans, adoring or loathing. Unless I counted the defendants I served in the courts. But I did as she said because Marcy rarely steered me wrong.
“Good thing I hit the car wash earlier,” I mumbled and handed my keys to the valet.
Our entrance was noticed by hotel staff and a few randoms, so probably not worth the cost, but at least Marcy appeared happy.
I glanced her way again. She looked glamorous. Like she could be walking a red carpet, not some light patterned beige nothingness en route to a hotel ballroom.
“Patrick Strauss,” a stately woman appeared from our right as we entered the hotel lobby. I put her at late fifties and probably wealthy from her understated but classy gown. “I’m Diane Wentworth, CFO of Arlington Industries. I am so impressed you’re running for mayor at such a young age. We should talk.”
Marcy looked at me and winked. Okay, so we were noticed and praised right away by someone important. Point for Marcy.
“And you.” Diane shifted her focus to Marcy. “Janine Strauss speaks so highly of you. You must be thrilled to be joining the esteemed Strauss family.”
My excitement sank. Janine Strauss. My mother was already planting seeds ahead of our arrival. At least she wouldn’t actually be here —
“Patrick!” The unmistakable sound of the woman who raised me reached across the lobby. She did the thing I hated where she kissed me on both cheeks like she’d been raised in France and not Saginaw, Michigan. “Marcy.” She cooed her name and did the same over-the-top cheek kissing thing.
Marcy didn’t miss a beat. “Mrs. Strauss, you look fabulous! Do you use a stylist, or are you just that savvy?”
The women complimented each other for what seemed like too long for complimenting, all while we edged toward the ballroom. I squeezed Marcy’s arm gently, letting her know how grateful I was she was here.
My mother returned a look my way. “Your father wasn’t able to make it at the last moment. He sends his best wishes.”
My own logic betrayed me and let disappointment seep through. I shouldn’t feel bad he didn’t show. I didn’t even want him here. He’d make the event and my campaign about himself. But okay, it stung a little. Because if tonight had been of interest to him, he’d have shown.
“Ooh, there’s my old friend,” my mother said and shifted me toward the man. “The state senator. I told him you’d be here with your fiancée.”
“Actually, we were planning to find our seats first and meet with potential donors.” I shifted away from her, angling Marcy with me toward the ballroom.
“Patrick .” There it was. The light reprimand edged in steel. “The senator is a potential campaign donor. I secured his interest myself.”
Which was exactly what she would do given I’d asked for her help. Her help meant meeting her contacts. The fact he was a state senator told me everything my parents weren’t saying out loud. But she was doing what I’d asked—helping. “Sure. Of course. ”
“Honey,” she spoke lower. “I know you don’t trust my intentions. It’s written all over your face. I want to help you. Please give us a chance?” Her smile brightened and she waved down the senator.
I asked for this.
Marcy squeezed my hand. “It’s okay. Let’s meet him and then we can follow our plan. Patrick? You’re growling.”
I snapped my head toward her. “I am not.” Though I couldn’t prove it.
Two hours later, we’d schmoozed with anyone and everyone, ate a better-than-adequate buffet dinner, and contributed a nice donation to the night’s charity.
Not a Ribben in sight and I’d made a lot of great connections. I might actually be able to pull off this mayoral race after all.
I loosened my tie and sat back in my seat. The guests at our table were now milling around the room, giving Marcy and I the perfect moment to regroup in private.
She nudged off a shoe beneath the table. “You’re doing great.”
The inevitable emotional drain hit me. “Thanks for doing this. I know it’s a lot.” And this was only the beginning. We had appearances to make together every week until election day.
Marcy slipped her phone out of her small purse and tapped at the screen. She hadn’t touched the thing all night. Not easy when she was probably bored out of her mind.
“Just sending a quick reply to Hudson to say what time I’ll be home.”
I took a much-needed drink of water. “What did you end up telling her? ”
She continued typing. “Oh, probably after eleven, right? We don’t want to dip early in case that looks bad.”
“No, I mean about us. About the ring and everything.”
She looked up. “What do you mean?”
“How did she take hearing we’ve been dating in secret for six months?”
Marcy froze. The adorable, rosy glow in her cheeks deadened. She spoke in a measured pace. “She knows we haven’t actually been dating. There’s no way I could convince her of that. She and I lived together all summer.”
I inched forward, keeping my voice low. “So she knows? That this,” —I motioned between us— “is a joke?”
Marcy scowled. “I wouldn’t call a night of community philanthropy a joke. My aching feet from wearing these heels certainly aren’t laughing.”
I’d bungled my words. “Sorry. ‘Joke’ was a bad word choice. But how is it you can tell Hudson when I can’t tell Matteo? Hudson’s going to tell Lucas if she hasn’t already. How could she not?”
“I didn’t consider that.” Marcy placed her phone’s screen face down against the white tablecloth. “You’re right, she’ll tell Lucas. But Lucas can be trusted not to say anything to his cousins.”
“So now Lucas has to lie to his family about our engagement.”
The president of the charity and her husband strode by, mere inches from us. I sat straighter and nodded toward them in passing, waiting for them to get out of earshot again.
Marcy waited a beat. “Look, I don’t know what you expected, but this whole deal means we keep a lot of people in the dark on our true intentions. Who gets told what isn’t always clear cut. It’s going to get messy.”
“Do the others know? Jillian and Noah?” The four of them had gotten close again this summer.
Marcy mumbled.
“Huh? ”
She didn’t look at me as she spoke. “There may have been an emergency video call.”
Great. Just great. It was completely unfair that she had her best friends to confide in and I didn’t. I guess I could talk to Lucas at least. I still felt like a jerk for leaving Matteo out of the loop on something so life changing. Something he would absolutely be a part of if any of this was real. Robby too, though he and I weren’t as close. Besides, Robby had lied about his own fake engagement.
Maybe we could trade notes.
“Hey, I’m sorry.” Marcy slid her hand across the table to rest over my arm. “We should talk through this. Define who gets told what. I should have considered all these angles and how you’d feel about it. I wasn’t in my right mind when I told Hudson. I was so freaking emotional and literally flipping out. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
I had just moved my free hand to rest on top of hers when a spine chill crept up. “Flipping out—what do you mean? What happened?”
She retracted her hand into folded arms. “Just, the, you know—all of it. The family dinner. That was a bit intense, if you recall.”
A note in her tone told me she wasn’t being straight with me. Plus, no sarcasm. No witty comeback. She’d been emotional and dished our secret in a state of distress. Distress over what, the lying? The lying wasn’t great. But what if it was more? What if she was distressed about me ?
She gazed toward the front of the ballroom. “There’s a photo opp over there with some donors. You should get in on that. See? They’re lining up by the stage.”
I knew a distraction when it hit me in the face. I also knew to never pass up a good photo opp.
She waved me on as she picked up her phone. Probably eager to get friend support from her roommate. Why did this irk me so much? I should be happy she had someone to confide in if she felt stressed. About…us.
We’d have to finish this discussion later.