Chapter Twenty
Hayden
Five months.
We are five months away from the election, and let me tell you, Ophelia Estate has been in manic mode. And I’ve been wearing my manager hat and wife hat simultaneously lately, so much so that I’m not sure where the campaign manager ends and the wife begins.
And to add to the chaos that is my life right now?
Dating my husband of convenience!
Because Darcy Marshall knows nothing of true dating.
“Are you ready for our date tonight?” Darcy slides his arm around my waist and kisses my cheek, sending annoyed butterflies swarming and rioting in my stomach. I’m simultaneously peeved and turned on. Not a fun combination.
“For our dinner date?” I toss a sweet and sour smile up at him.
“With your COFFEE business partners?” See, this is Darcy’s idea of a date: blending business with pleasure.
He hasn’t learned to separate the two. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy spending time with him wherever or with whomever, but when I’m having to act as his wife and campaign manager while on a “date,” it’s not exactly ideal.
He hasn’t planned a single date for us. Just the two of us. Out of the public eye where we can just be together without the pressures of this real-but-fake marriage.
“Don’t worry, Hayden,” he says, completely misreading me. “I’ll still kiss you on the doorstep when we get home tonight as if we are parting ways instead of walking inside these four walls together.”
I snort at the idea of this mansion having a mere four walls, but Darcy seems to take that as proof I’m feeling better. I’m not, but as he smiles softly at me and places a chaste kiss on my lips, I let my frustrations melt away into understanding.
He’s in the middle of a presidential campaign and a marriage ruse, and I’m at the heart of both.
This has to be our version of dating right now.
We don’t get the luxury of down time just for the two of us.
Darcy has made it clear and reiterated over and over again that he likes me and wants me and is in this with me.
Because that’s the type of man he is—determined.
Once he sets his mind to something, there’s no stopping him.
“Will you kiss me inside, too?” I ask, batting my eyelashes in a dramatic way that makes him roll his eyes.
But then the icy blue color darkens. “I’ll kiss you wherever and whenever, Divine Princess.”
He makes good on this promise for a solid minute before his personal assistant takes him away from me so he can join in on a virtual meeting with some diplomats.
I stand dumbfounded that this is real life, wondering when Darcy Marshall became so much more than a man I simply tolerated for my career. Edith Hamilton was right; “Love cannot live where there is no trust.”
Trust.
It all comes back to those five letters.
Trust is not built from love; love is built out of trust.
The two crossed-shaped letters stand sturdy on either side of the word like a protective barrier. That’s what trust is. It’s knowing you are safe. Protected.
With Darcy, I am those things.
He, alongside God, make the two t’s on either side of my life.
I don’t know when I came to need Darcy, but I do.
And the idea of ever dissolving this marriage sends spiders straight to my stomach.
“Hayden, we need you in the conference room!”
I startle, following the voice to find Paul at the edge of the hallway, breathing heavy, eyes set with panic.
“What’s wrong?”
“Loveless is running his mouth again. He’s saying Mr. Marshall is paying you to be his wife, and unfortunately, he says he has proof.”
The earth tilts on its axis, and everything that once felt safe, secure, and steady crumbles beneath my feet. The earth rocks, the ground opens, and down the rabbit hole I tumble.
“Wh-what?”
Paul’s frantic expression hardens. “Listen, Hayden. I don’t know what the two of you are doing.
It’s not my position to call it love or not.
I trust both of you and know that neither of you would do something to intentionally sabotage this campaign.
But the team needs the truth, and then we have to figure out how to manage this. ”
I nod once, not trusting my voice.
And for once in my life, I wish Darcy was by my side.
I need my shield to take some of these bullets for me.
Following on my assistant manager’s heels, my mind whirs. How did Loveless find out? We were so careful. Only told people we trusted. Had our bank sign NDAs. What receipt is he bringing to the table? Should we lie to the public or come clean?
I step through the double doors and into our meeting room. All eyes turn to me, waiting. Examining. Wondering.
“It’s true.”
A collective roar rises around the room.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“You lied to us!”
“We could have helped!”
“Is he forcing you?”
The last one snaps me out of my nervous haze. “No!” I shout, silencing the room. “Darcy is not forcing me. I chose this. And we are dating.”
Perplexed and doubtful faces fixate on me, waiting for me to elaborate.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yes, our marriage is for convenience to help him win the rural vote. But, as we’ve spent more time together and have gotten to know each other on a more…
personal level, we decided to start dating within our marriage.
I like him a lot, and, well—” I close my eyes to cool the heat kissing my face.
“Well, what?” Brittney, our campaign merchandise coordinator prompts.
“Our marriage will be real. One day,” a deep voice that I’ve come to recognize by sound alone says. I turn around, and all of the anxiety building within my bones vaporizes. Darcy takes two long strides into the room, wraps his arms around me in a tight embrace, and then kisses me. “I’m so sorry.”
The sound vibrates against my lips. “I thought you were in a meeting.”
He kisses me again. “Bennie saw the alert. I had to check on you. The diplomats can wait.”
Happiness swells within me. He chose me. I plant one more kiss and say, “We’ll get through this.”
Applause rings out around the room, along with new shouts.
“I called it!”
“Let’s burn the receipts!”
“Get a room!”
Darcy’s forehead drops to mine, and we laugh. I take a mental snapshot of this moment, one that if you would have asked me if it would happen even a month ago, I would have laughed in your face. But now? This is a memory I’ll cherish to my grave.
For once in my life, I have a teammate.
But I also have a job to do. I let go of Darcy, but only to take his hand and lead him to the front of the room. “Micah, I need your help,” I say to our social media manager. “This is what we need to do…”
After a grueling three-hour long meeting, we dismiss the team.
Turns out Loveless’s proof was out of context photos from the night of the dinner party where he made it seem like me and Darcy struck the deal that night.
One is a picture of me and Darcy standing outside the door before we entered into Weatherby Estate.
The photo is altered to look like we are shaking hands and securing a deal, but in reality, I remember Darcy avoiding eye contact with me while I tried to get him to smile before walking in.
We released a statement denying all charges, since no real receipts were brought to the table. A small part of me feels guilty for lying, but this is politics. And despite how we started, what Darcy and I have now is real.
However, people are easily manipulated, and it’s going to take some time for the accusations to pass. But honestly, I’m fine with it because it means Darcy and I can PDA-away the allegations. And that will be fun.
Grinning, I head back to my room to get ready for the business dinner that Darcy’s masquerading as a date.
As I wind down the halls to the other side of the mansion, I shove away thoughts of confessing the truth to the public because something Darcy said before the meeting rings through my ears: “Our marriage will be real. One day.”
A real marriage entails not sleeping on opposite ends of an estate.
A real marriage means drifting off to dreamland with arms wrapped around you.
A real marriage consists of long nights and twisted sheets.
And I should be nervous, but honestly?
I’m waiting for that man to invite me into his bed.
Because regardless of how this started, I think I know exactly how it ends. With forever.
Nearly tripping as I walk into my room because I’m so lost in midnight fantasies, I notice a long, white box sitting right inside the room where I accidentally kicked it.
Off to the side and tumbled to its side sits a smaller white box.
I pick them up and bring them to the bed, opening them.
Inside the larger box lays a note written in perfect cursive atop lemon-yellow fabric.
The smile overtaking my face is nothing compared to the way my heart is swooping and soaring while I set the note on the bed and pull out the dress.
The texture is stretchy and soft to the touch.
The fabric unfolds, revealing a chic capped-sleeve cocktail dress.
It’s a solid piece with a v-cut neckline and a cinched waist, and I already know it will fit me like a glove.
Quickly digging into the smaller box, I pull out a pair of black stiletto heels begging me to try them on.
Tears fill my eyes.
No man has ever bought me a whole outfit before.
Most of my clothes growing up were hand-me-downs or thrifted.
Though I don’t want to be paraded around in this dress for Darcy’s business associates, I change into the dress.
Tonight, I will wear the dress.
For him.
For the teenage version of me who would have kicked adult-me in the teeth for not wearing such a nice article of clothing.
For me. For the successful, hardworking woman I’ve become.
As I stand in front of the mirror, I let down my hair. It falls into a heaping mess of coiling curls, and I set to work styling it to wear it down.
But sometimes, no matter how much I’ve changed and grown, I still see the scared eight-year-old girl screaming and crying in the shadows on the street while rain poured and soaked her to the bones. I sometimes still see the other girl, her chest rising and falling for the very last time.
And for the first time since things became real between me and my husband, I wonder if I’m worthy to call a man like him by that title.