Chapter Twelve
Darcy
She sips her coffee slowly, her brown eyes, so different from mine, never looking away from me.
The sounds of espresso machines whirling and light chatter from the people in and out of Five Four Coffee provide background noise while I focus on trying to decipher her expression.
I once thought Hayden’s stare was the most intense thing I could experience, but I was clearly wrong.
I don’t remember Mother ever looking at me this way before.
“Son, you don’t have to do this,” she finally says after several long seconds, setting her cup of coffee down. I fidget with my hands in my lap, shrinking under her constant gaze.
“It’s my best shot at winning the presidency.”
“Forgive me for speaking this way, but she is a nobody. How will marrying this woman create a better opportunity for you? If anything, you are raising her status.”
“Because marriage isn’t about status,” I retort, internally flinching at the way she sounds like Father. “You know that better than anyone.” A flash of hurt crosses her eyes, and I immediately regret my words. “I’m sorry, Mother. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, you’re right. Marriage isn’t about status. But it also isn’t about one person taking from the other. What can she offer you?”
I let out an exasperated laugh. “She’s giving me anywhere from one to eight years of her life. And a solid chance at the rural conservative vote. What more could I ask for?”
“But do you love her?”
“Marriage isn’t about love, either,” I bite.
“Regardless of what happened, I loved your father, Darcy.” Mother’s gaze finally shifts from me to the chromatic, abstract paintings on the wall of the coffee shop. “He messed up. And he died before we could make it right. But I believe we could have made it right.”
Gracious, I wish she would quit deluding herself. Father was scum to cheat on her after everything they went through together. He found solace in the arms of other women while Mother strove to be strong for me as I struggled to pull myself from the brink of despair after losing Ophelia.
“Trust and respect are more important than love.” I reiterate my earlier sentiments when I told her about the marriage happening.
“A man in my shoes, of my position, needs to know he can trust the woman by his side. Love is subjective. It’s fleeting.
Trust is solid and real. It’s not easily obtained. ”
Mother sighs then places her hand palm-up on the table. I place mine in hers and let the warmth of her frail, wrinkled hands take over my senses. “I trust you, Son. If you say this woman is the one you need by your side, I support you.”
“Thank you.” I squeeze her hand, then bring my coffee to my lips. The flavor is sweet and smooth, warming my throat as it goes down.
“But I would love to meet her today. Could you arrange that?”
The hot liquid trickles down my chin as I choke.
The sounds of conversation around suddenly seem too loud and the small shop too crowded, though there are only a handful of other people in the building.
She wants to meet Hayden? Today? I was hoping to briefly introduce them at the rehearsal and be done with it.
This marriage is only in the eyes of the law, so there is no need for family bonding and such things.
“I don’t know, Mother. We both had today off, and I’d hate to bug—”
My phone rings, and I take it from my pocket.
Hayden.
“Her.” I finish my sentence in an irritated whisper before answering the phone. “Hello?”
“Let’s meet. We need to talk about the contract.”
“I’ll send you a location to meet me at. I’m already here,” I respond, though my chest is tightening. I hang up and text her the address to the coffee shop.
“Looks like you’ll get your wish.” I smile grimly at Mother. “But once you exchange pleasantries, you will need to go.”
Mother’s eyes light up and a grin inches across her face.
She spends the next twelve minutes asking me a million questions about Hayden—questions I don’t know the answer to.
What’s her favorite color? What’s her favorite type of music?
Is she a cat or dog person? The only question I knew the answer to was about her home life, thanks to the background check completed on her when she joined my campaign team.
She’s orphaned and has constructed her life on her own from the ground up, which is one of the reasons I respect Hayden immensely.
Not many people can overcome a situation like hers, go to college, earn a living, and secure the position of campaign manager of a presidential candidate.
“Mr. Marshall.” Hayden’s voice brings me back to the present, and I stand up to greet her. Mother follows suit.
“Hayden, this is my mother, Ruthanne Marshall.” I gesture my hand toward Mother. “Mother, this is my campaign manager, Hayden Bennett.”
Hayden holds out a trembling hand, but Mother wraps her in an embrace.
Hayden’s hands fall to her side while Mother bear hugs her, and I wish I could see Hayden’s expression.
Her body language says she’s not a hugger, which is surprising to me because of her loud and outgoing nature.
No, I’ve seen her hug several people. People she had just met.
Hayden Bennett is definitely a hugger, the opposite of me.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Hayden. I’m excited to have you as my daughter. You can address me as Ruth. Ruthanne takes me back to my upbringing in Tennessee.” She winks.
I cough, and Hayden shimmies out of Mother’s grasp. Daughter.
“You have a daughter.” Did she forget about Ophelia so easily?
“Another daughter.” Mother smiles sadly. Hayden stands frozen.
“It’s nice to meet you, too, Ms. Marshall,” Hayden says with a smile that flickers on and off her face as if she’s glitching.
“Please, call me Ruth.” Mother takes my arm. “He says I was only allowed to introduce myself right now, but I will see you tomorrow bright and early. I will get your number from my son and text you so that you can reach me if you need me.”
Hayden only nods, the obviously fake smile seeming to decide to stay on her face rather than vanish.
“Goodbye, Mother,” I say.
“Text me Hayden’s number.” She kisses my cheek before walking away from us and out of the little coffee shop.
I stand behind the chair Mother was sitting in and pull it out for Hayden. She side-eyes me but sits down. I take my seat across from her at the small, round table.
“Sorry about that. She was here when you called.” I sip my sweetened coffee. “Would you like to order a cup?”
“Yes, please,” she says, standing back up.
“No, sit down. I will get it for you. What do you want?”
Hayden stares at me like I sprouted a tail. “Um, an Americano. No cream or sugar.”
I turn away and head for the counter where the blue-haired barista who looks like he hates his life jots down the order of the person in front of me.
What was that? Hayden, the most outgoing, bubbly person I know, completely shut down meeting my mother.
Maybe it was the awkwardness of the situation?
Then again, Hayden isn’t one to embarrass easily.
No, that woman will talk to herself if there is no one around to talk to.
I’ve walked past her office many times and have heard her mumbling to herself.
“Next,” the barista calls in a monotone voice.
I tell him I want a large Americano for the name Hayden. When he asks if he should leave room for cream and sugar, I say no. A little thrill runs through me. For all the things I don’t know about Hayden, at least I know her coffee order now.
“Does this guy do it for you?” Hayden’s sassy voice is at my ear.
I flinch, accidentally knocking into the person behind me. Quickly, I apologize to the older gentleman I about bulldozed and then glare at Hayden, who had approached me from the side without my noticing.
“What do you mean?”
“You were smiling. Does the monotone, blue-haired, anime look excite you?”
The quirk of her brow and the upward pull of her lip tells me she’s joking, and I should retort, but I’m stuck on the fact that I was smiling and didn’t realize it. And I was thinking about Hayden when it happened…
“You know, if you shrunk, lost a little of your bulk, and dyed your hair blue, you’d be just like my friend Kale here.”
How’d she know his name? Oh right, the name tag. I hardly look at those.
Looking Kale over, I realize she’s right. We sport the same blank, slightly irritated facial expression. Our voices share that disinterested tone.
“Friend?”
“This is where I come to get your coffee in the mornings since it’s your favorite shop. I know his name, but he doesn’t know mine. I use a different fake name every time I come in.”
“Hayden,” Kale calls out, and I refuse to look her in the eyes. Oops.
“I guess he knows my name now.” Snark oozes from her words, and the side of my face burns with the lasers Hayden is shooting at me.
If I looked at her now, I’d probably drop dead from the beams.
From my side gaze, I watch her grab her coffee. As she attempts to chat with Kale, I make a beeline for our table.
The marriage contract is sitting face up, stirring anxiety within my chest. I flip it over with a harsh thud and my hand lingers pressed on the contract.
She should know better than to leave a document like this out in the open for the world to see.
I glance to the two men in suits standing in opposing corners of the room.
I guess they could easily catch anyone attempting to take my stuff, but still.
That’s not my agents’ responsibility. Hayden sits down at the table, and now it’s my turn to shoot eye lasers at her.
“Why did you leave this document unattended?”
She makes a show of looking around at the shop, and I follow her gaze—only the baristas, the old man I bumped into, a couple of teens, a young woman, and my agents occupy the building with us.
“Who’s going to care?”