Chapter Eight
Darcy
“And that’s the reason we have to maintain Republican control of the House this election cycle. We can’t risk left-leaning Independents filtering in. Which means we should only support candidates with the ‘R’ behind their name,” Mr. Loveless drones on.
“People may be more apt to vote for Independents simply due to the corruption rotting through both of the primary parties,” I state. “Which means we shouldn’t count out conservative-leaning Independents in our endorsements.”
Mr. Loveless offers a gentle smile, though I know underneath it he is wishing I would go to the fiery place under my feet.
He’s part of the corruption, after all. The past hour has gone like this: Richard Loveless has taken shots at Independents claiming that people can never be sure if the party members adhere to more liberal or conservative beliefs, and I have countered that the Republican Party is just as politically corrupt as the Democratic Party.
Senator Pellenson has taken my side, being an Independent himself.
Mr. Weatherby has bounced back and forth on varying issues.
Ren and Mr. Sato have quietly chatted with Hayden in Japanese, and by the way her wide, excited eyes are animated and her hands flaring as she speaks, I can tell she is loving getting to practice the language.
Maybe I should let her in on the fact that I know Japanese as well, thanks to Ren.
Then, I could have those lively conversations with her.
No, there’s no point. Our conversations get heated enough in English. Though, it’s always on the side of pique instead of passion.
The wives of the politicians and donors gathered around the long table have joined in occasionally on the battle between Mr. Loveless and myself, but mostly, they have whispered amongst each other.
The food seems to be endless, covering every inch of the table, which one would think would prevent much talking considering how great it all tastes.
But no. These are natural-bred politicians.
Nothing can make them shut their mouths for two seconds.
Priscilla, thankfully, is nowhere to be seen. Though I was prepared to encounter her tonight, I didn’t realize the relief I felt until I settled in for dinner and she was still absent from the gathering.
I take a bite of the steak and chew on the rare meat while I contemplate why Mr. Loveless was invited to this party.
Mr. Weatherby is an Independent, the Senator is an Independent, Mr. Sato, though a diplomat, has been nothing short of wonderful for the Independent party and a close friend of many of us.
The few other guests are well-known Independent Party political action committee donors.
So why is Mr. Loveless, an establishment Republican and presidential ticket holder for the party, at this dinner?
“When will Marcus arrive?” Mr. Weatherby asks.
“He should be here in,” Mr. Loveless checks his watch, “about five minutes.”
“Will Priscilla be with him?” Mr. Weatherby glances my way as he asks the question. Why would Priscilla be with—
It takes every ounce of concentration to not let the fake smile slip from my face.
“Yes, they were meeting with a client. It ran a little late,” Mr. Loveless says. Right on cue, Mr. Loveless’s son walks into the dining room hand-in-hand with my ex-fiancée and childhood friend.
And there’s a ring on her finger.
A deadly silence blankets the room. Glances bounce between Marcus, Priscilla, and me.
No one dares to move or make a sound, and the uncomfortableness of the situation sits heavily on my chest. I twist my hands together under the table, eventually wiping them down my pant leg as sweat continues to accumulate on my palms.
The mask slips. I can’t bear to smile anymore. Anger boils in my blood, and I wish I would have hopped in my Mustang and driven home when I had the chance.
“Mr. Marshall, it’s nice to meet you. I’m a huge fan of yours, as I'm in the tech industry.” I look up to find Marcus standing beside me with an outstretched hand.
It’s almost as if I’m looking into a mirror that reveals my younger self—Marcus Loveless and I could be siblings with our similar builds, blond waves, and blue eyes.
My face displays a light scruff while he has a clean shave.
I search for Priscilla who has already sat down at the other end of the table, for which I am grateful for. Looks like she has a type.
I stand up and take Marcus’s hand with a firm shake. “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Loveless.”
“Please, call me Marcus. Mr. Loveless is my father’s name.
” He grins. I don’t understand this situation, but I can certainly understand not wanting to be completely associated with one’s father.
I try to find the masked smile to place on my face, but it’s buried deep inside.
The best I can do is offer a slight nod before I take my seat.
Marcus makes his rounds offering greetings and then sits down next to Priscilla. The look that passes between the two tells me all I needed to know: she was seeing him while she was engaged to me.
By the flush and sweat on Mr. Weatherby’s wrinkly face, he knew as well.
Why in the world am I here tonight?
A hand rests on my thigh, and I instinctively scoot my leg away. But when I look to my left, Hayden is smiling at me while she reinforces her hand with a grip that has her fingers digging into the skin beneath my pants.
The only words my brain conjures are that Hayden Bennett’s hand is casually gripping my thigh. It’s a song played on repeat, clashing with a thousand emotions already plaguing my thoughts.
“Are you okay?” she whispers in my ear. I swallow as the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Her hand is a hot flame sitting above my knee.
I loosen the tie around my neck and let out a breath. “Of course.”
She smiles sweetly, her face lingering in my space. I back away, but her fingernails dig into my leg.
“Don’t lean away,” she hisses through her smile. The confusion must be plain as day in my eyes because she leans toward my ear again. “Smile like I’m whispering sweet nothings in your ear.”
I choke on my saliva at the phrase “sweet nothings” and reach for my glass of water as Hayden backs away with a satisfied smirk. Everyone, once preoccupied with entertaining Marcus and Priscilla, congratulating them on their engagement, now has their eyes trained on me for the second time tonight.
Hayden finally moves her hand, but instead of placing it back in her lap where it belongs, she rests it on my shoulder and smiles at me like I’m her favorite person in the whole world. Like she sees me.
I should swat her hand off my shoulder. I should denounce the improper behavior of my campaign manager touching me in this way. Or maybe I should play it cool like she was picking a piece of lint or fuzz from my jacket to save us both a slice of dignity.
But instead, I’m sucked into a strange fantasy where I am her favorite person in the world, like she’s my person—the one who sees the man behind the mask and still chooses to love him.
The me I have to hide to be accepted by society.
I believe for a moment that the smile illuminated on her face is one hundred percent real.
And I smile back.
The table erupts in a chaotic cacophony of questions.
“What’s going on?”
“Isn’t she your campaign manager?”
“Mr. Marshall, what’s happening here?”
“You can’t date your campaign manager.”
“Get it, bro.”
And then one voice rings above the rest. One word. A question and a statement.
“Darcy…”
My head snaps, following Priscilla’s voice.
Our eyes connect from across opposite ends of the long table, and for one split second, I notice the pained sadness in her eyes and the tight pull of her lips—the same expression she would wear when I would stop our chaste kisses from deepening or when she would get upset with me for having too many meetings and not enough time to spend with her.
But then, she controls herself and looks down at the food in front of her.
I glance around the table, not hearing the noise as mouths continue to move while pointed in my direction.
Cameras continue to flash. The image of my campaign manager and me, looking like a couple, is solidified for eternity and will appear on every news station come morning.
My hands grip the wooden table, and I stand up.
The chair flies behind me due to the abrupt force, and the porcelain glass dishes in front of me rattle.
Mouths no longer move, but I need to escape the stares and implied accusations from Hayden touching my shoulder for everyone to see.
Stupid, stupid girl. She hasn’t said yes to me.
If she says no, I have a massive mess to clean up.
I wanted to draw up contracts first. My heart beats quickly.
Too quickly. My breathing grows shallow and my head spins.
I’ve got to get out of here…
Without another word or glance at the people gathered around me, I flee the room.
The hallway narrows as I stumble over my feet.
The walls cave in, and I find myself leaning against something hard as I struggle to leave.
I’ve been in this house a million times, but I’m so turned around that I’m trapped—held hostage by the ever-shrinking walls.
I stumble along for an eternity before I find an open door and hurl myself through it, kicking it closed as I collapse to the ground.
I hug my knees and try to focus my breaths like my old therapist taught me.
Right when I finally feel a smidge of relief from the tightness in my chest, the doorknob rattles and I can’t breathe again. I close my eyes.
“Darcy-kun.”
Ren’s hands find my shoulders and begin massaging, working their way across the back of my neck and over the muscles in my upper back. My lungs open, and my breathing becomes deeper and longer, a drastic change from the short and shallow breaths from only moments ago.
“I’ll give you two more minutes, but then you will tell me what you’re feeling. No excuses.”
I nod.
By the time I can breathe fully again, I’m ready to talk to Ren. He’s the only person I would ever talk about my feelings with.
“I feel betrayed. Not because I loved Priscilla, but because she knows what my father did. She knows he cheated on my mother.” I pause to not let the hurt consume me all over again.
“There is no way she wasn’t seeing Marcus behind my back.
Not if they’re engaged. And even if what we had wasn’t love, I trusted her.
I trusted our mutual connection and our years of friendship. ”
Ren stops massaging my shoulders and back and sits down beside me. We both sag against the wall.
“You weren’t prepared to see her with another man. But I have to ask, you didn’t fall into this panic attack right when you saw them. So what happened?”
I mull the recent events over. Priscilla walking in with Marcus. Marcus introducing himself to me. The loving exchange between the two. Hayden touching me…
“Hayden. She—”
“Touched your thigh and shoulder,” Ren finishes. I look at him, and he smirks. “Yeah, I saw that.”
I laugh because it’s the only thing that makes sense to do at this moment.
“She created a whole new mess that will involve a ton of wordplay and political finesse to clean up if she doesn’t agree.
..” I take a few steadying breaths and try to corral my scattered thoughts.
“When everyone looked at me and began shouting questions and accusations, I heard her voice above the rest. Priscilla said my name like it pained her… Something inside of me broke. It was the very expression she wore when I wouldn’t do things she liked.
It reminded me of those moments, reminded me that we were never in love.
But that doesn’t mean she should have cheated on me. What gave her the right to…”
“Betray you,” Ren answers, using the very emotion I felt. Why did Priscilla deserve the right to be pained after what she did?
“Yes.” I shove Priscilla from my mind and recall Hayden and her actions. They were much like the actions of a girlfriend. “I think Hayden was trying to make her jealous, but we all know how that turned out.”
“Unless she becomes your wife,” Ren says, raising an eyebrow. I had let him in on the idea a little after walking into the party. I had to tell someone who I knew would support the idea and possibly persuade Hayden to say yes.
I laugh at the idiocy of it all. “That was unbelievably stupid of me to suggest. She would never. And now there will be this awkward tension between us, which will serve no one well on my staff.”
He clicks his tongue. “The way she played along to try and save your pride back there suggests otherwise, my friend. I think that was her “yes.’”
I turn to face Ren and clasp his shoulder. “Hayden Bennett hates me. That’s all there is to it. If I wasn’t the one paying her salary, she’d be gone.”
Ren doesn’t respond, but he looks as if he’s fighting a grin.
“Help me get out of this house unseen. And fetch Hayden.”
Ren chuckles now. “No wonder you think she hates you. She’s not a dog to be fetched, Darcy-kun. You’ve got to learn how to share your feelings with someone other than me. Maybe then you wouldn’t scare off women or make them think you’re a heartless monster.”
“Why do I need a woman to confide in when I have you?” I coo playfully. Ren stares blankly at me. And in that moment, I fully recognize the need for emotional separation between me and Ren.
“Just get me out of here,” I growl.