14. Tethered #2
There’s sudden movement ahead, and the crowd parts, letting a couple through.
Instantly I recognize them as Ian’s parents.
One, because after I discovered just who Ian’s father was, I googled him.
And two, the way everyone tries to stop and chat, shake hands, nod in acknowledgement, it all screamed power and influence.
The senator stops, talking with the couple by Ian, but his wife steps forward. “Ian, dear. It’s so good to see you.”
I try to pull my arm out of Ian’s so he can greet her more effusively, but he holds me tight to his side.
“Mother, this is my girlfriend, Trish Garrett.”
I blink, not prepared for the declaration.
“Uh, how do you do?” I curse myself for fumbling and offer her my free hand.
When she takes it, I’m thankful for my bank-breaking dress and the fancy updo I managed thanks to a YouTube tutorial.
But even with these, I still feel every bit of my low-income upbringing in front of Mrs. Kincaid.
Ian’s mom is that classy. Maybe I should’ve splurged on something more than my cubic zirconia studs.
“I’m fine, dear. Good to meet you.” Her words are perfectly polite, but her eyes are oddly vacant, like she’s reciting a script as she takes my hand.
A single diamond tennis bracelet slides down her slim wrist, reminding me of Veronica.
But whereas the neighborhood Desperate Housewife paired her diamonds with spandex, Mrs. Kincaid chose Chanel.
Ian’s hand rests on my lower back as the man to the left of his mother, wearing a custom-fit navy tuxedo, steps closer to us. “And my father.” Ian nods at the man. “Senator Kincaid.”
The tall, handsome man flashes a well-practiced smile at me. “Ah, yes. My son did say he was bringing someone.” He looks me over, his jovial expression never wavering.
Thankful that my four-and-a-half-inch platform pumps mean he doesn’t tower too much over me, I extend my hand. “Trish Garrett, sir.”
His large hand engulfs my own. “Thank you for your support, Trish. And please, call me Richard, no sirs required.”
Heat rises in my cheeks. No wonder this man wins elections. He has charm for days.
“Come, come, let’s get out of this crowd, shall we?
” He ushers us past the few remaining loiterers to a small sitting room off the Ritz Carlton’s lobby.
The door closes behind us, shutting out the conversations still echoing in the lobby.
Senator Kincaid waves toward the chairs. “Let’s sit, shall we?”
Feeling unsettled, I lower myself down on the upholstered chair, sitting primly on the edge of the seat, legs tilted, ankles crossed. I may not have attended finishing school like those girls on the right side of the tracks, but I’ve people watched enough to imitate.
The senator waits until his wife and I are seated before following suit, hiking his pants up an inch at the knees before sitting. “So, Trish.” He crosses one leg over his knee, revealing navy dress socks. “Where are you from?”
“You said Georgia, didn’t you dear?” Ian’s mom is looking down, smoothing the lap of her crimson gown, so I can’t tell if she’s talking to Ian or her husband.
“Dear” must mean Ian, because he answers. “Yes. I did.”
“A red state.” The senator nods. “But it’s nearly always cut down the middle come the larger elections.” One eyebrow raised, he smiles at me. “How do you vote?”
“Let’s not get into that,” Ian cuts in, his tone oddly harsh in response to his father’s teasing one.
“Known for peaches, isn’t it?” Mrs. Kincaid asks, her fingers fluttering over her pearl necklace, still not making eye contact with anyone. She and her husband look like the ultimate political couple, with the navy of the senator’s tux and the red of her gown screaming pure Americana.
“Yes, ma’am.” I smile at the attractive older woman. “None sweeter.”
“Ian always did love peach pie,” Ian’s father says in a low voice. His head is turned away to wave at someone, so I can’t tell if that was a euphemism or not.
A glance at Ian’s narrowed eyes makes me think he doesn’t know either.
A blond woman in a black gown holding a clipboard steps into the room. “Evening, everyone.”
Ian stiffens.
“Ah, Gale. There you are.” Senator Kincaid stands. “Everything set?”
“Yes, sir.” Gale steps up very close to the senator, and my gaze slides to Mrs. Kincaid as she also rises. But she’s once again focused on smoothing out her gown. “The photographer is ready.”
“Is this the photo op you mentioned on the phone?” Ian asks, standing. He holds out his hand to me, pulling me to his side.
Gale nods. “Your father’s opponent in this race is running on family values. We need to get an updated family photograph of our own circulating.”
Ian’s jaw clenches.
“What better time than when we’re all dressed up, eh?” Ian’s father adds, either oblivious or ignoring the mounting tension.
“We’ll head around the crowd to the room we have set up for the private photographer.” Gale turns to me. “I’ll have you escorted to the ballroom, Ms. Garrett.”
“She comes with me.” Ian’s voice is as unyielding as his jaw.
“Nonsense.” The senator claps Ian hard on the back. Ian doesn’t budge. “It’s a family portrait, after all.” The smile Ian’s father throws me is the perfect mixture of charm and polite inquiry. “Surely you understand, Trish?”
At the mention of photographers, I’d started to feel panic throb in my gut. “Yes. Of course.” Once more I try to pull my arm from Ian’s, and once more he doesn’t let go.
His father gives Mrs. Kincaid an unreadable look, but it sets her into action. She places a hand on her son’s shoulder, her voice pleading. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have an updated family portrait, dear?”
I see Ian’s resolve falter in the face of his mother, her blue eyes very much like his own.
Thankfully, this time when I tug back, he lets me go.
I definitely don’t want my picture circulated all over the place.
But the movement pulls his gaze to me, and he opens his mouth to say something. But I speak first.
“It’s fine, really.” I give him my brightest smile, though I’m sure it isn’t as picture-worthy as the senator’s.
Ian’s nostrils flare, and I can tell he wants to argue, but he nods in agreement.
“Great.” Gale’s voice sounds bored. She talks into her wrist at the small wire I’m only now seeing. “Jonathan, please see Miss Garrett inside.”
A tall, rather imposing man steps into the room. Instinctively I step back.
“Who are you?” Ian steps between me and the tall man.
“Bodyguard,” Gale says with a wave of her clipboard. “Best of the best.” Then she’s on the move, striding confidently across the marble floor in her black pumps, the senator and his wife following in her wake.
“I’ll see her to the ballroom, Mr. Kincaid.” Jonathan sniffs. “No need to worry.”
Seeing that Ian’s ready to argue again, I force myself to take the bodyguard’s arm, even though he didn’t offer it. “I’m fine, stop fussing.” I shoo Ian away with my hand. “Go get your picture taken.”
Ian glances at his father’s retreating back, sighing. “I’ll only be a minute.” He dips down, kissing my cheek.
“Fine, fine.” I cup his jaw with my free hand, holding him still so I can enjoy the intense look in his blue eyes. “Now go. I’m going to get some champagne and stand around looking fabulous.”
That gets a smile. “Sounds good.”
But as I watch him follow his father out of the room, and Jonathan’s first stride tugs my reluctant feet forward, I know I’m going to need a lot more than champagne to get through tonight.