Chapter Twenty-Two
Hayden
Once again, I find myself awake at an unholy hour. And again, I’ll be running on a few hours of sleep. But this time it’s okay, because in less than ten hours, I will be face-to-face with my best friend.
And the reason for the immense lack of sleep?
Totally worth it.
We ended up devouring three episodes of My Hero Academia because Darcy kept asking me for details regarding what happens next. While he wasn’t a fan of me comparing him to the explosive, grouchy, hot-headed Bakugou, he still seemed to enjoy the setup of the show. Maybe I’ll get him to watch more.
It can become our show.
The thought consumes me: him and I rewatching the show for the umpteenth time, introducing it to our kids…
Oof. There’s an image I shove away as I reach for a pair of linen pants.
After getting dressed, chowing down a protein bar for breakfast, and double checking our luggage, Darcy and I head out the door, into the transport car, and toward the airport.
Once we arrive, we are escorted to the private plane that will take us to Mississippi.
The flight is uneventful. Darcy is nose-deep in contracts and paperwork while I’m going over the event schedule and collaborating on plans with the other heads of the departments on the campaign team via a video call platform.
Finally, we land at the airport in Jackson and are escorted through the airport by the security team and into another transport car. After only minutes of driving, we arrive at the hotel and go straight to our room.
I unlock the door while Darcy takes a phone call behind me, and when I open the room, a smell I’m all too familiar with from my days escaping to the streets penetrates my airways. With my gag reflex triggered, I bolt from the open doorway and run down the hallway to find fresh air.
“Hayden, where are you…” Darcy doesn’t finish his sentence, opting instead to join me at my gagging party down the hallway. “What the—” Cough. “Heck—” Cough. Cough. “Is that smell?”
“Weed.”
I wave my hand in front of my nose, trying to clear every molecule of the stench. Darcy side-eyes me and raises an eyebrow.
“And how are you familiar with that smell?”
“Orphan, remember? I spent time walking the streets to escape the group home and the awful foster homes I ended up in. I tried weed once, but I swear I never did it again. I didn’t like the effects, and I honestly couldn’t stand the smell.
It reminded me of people peeing on the streets and injecting themselves with harder drugs.
” I shudder, remembering that night when a needle fell into the wrong hands.
But see? I’m opening up. Little by little.
Waiting for him to realize I might not be First Lady material.
Darcy doesn’t respond, but his expression softens, almost as if he understands. But how could he? He’s been rich and protected his entire life, which is why my status does not belong in the same category as his, regardless of how I try to trick myself into believing it does.
No, Hayden. No human is better than another. Especially not because of pasts. It’s as if I can hear the Lord’s voice in my soul, reminding me of that simple truth. I try my best to believe it.
“We will get a new room.” He walks away, bringing his phone back to his ear.
I slap my face. I really hope whoever was on the other end of that call didn’t hear a word I just said.
It’s not that I’m ashamed of my past. In fact, I want to learn how to use it better, to advocate for change and reform.
I want to learn how to tell my story like so many others do. I have to be ready, though.
And it has to wait until I secure the presidency for my candidate. My husband. And he needs to know everything before the world does.
Speaking of Darcy, he motions from the elevator for me to follow him, so I plug my nose to walk past the weed room again and join him right as the elevator dings open.
After we step in, I have the briefest thought of what an elevator kiss would be like.
The books and movies say it’s exhilarating, wild, and passionate, but I doubt I’ll ever get to be alone with Darcy on an elevator because agents guard us 24-7 when we are away from Ophelia Estate. I bet it would be one hot kiss though…
Heat creeps up my face at the thought, and I turn away from Darcy so he won’t notice. I fan myself lightly, which captures his attention.
Covering the microphone on his phone, he whispers, “Are you hot?”
I wink and mouth back, “Hot for you.”
His pale skin turns a brilliant red as he eyes his agents standing in front of us before returning to finish his call.
We reach the lobby, and Darcy marches us to the front desk.
He informs them of the situation and requests a new room.
His tone is not unfriendly, but it’s not what I would call warm, either.
It’s his stoicism that gets in the way. His autism.
I bet he would make tons of friends if he simply learned to smile and inflect his voice when talking with people, but then again, who he is has grown on me like a thorn on a rose.
He does it well—the friendly masking—at rallies and dinner parties and during interviews. But away from cameras? The man acts like his life was made of lemons and sour candies.
Good thing I like sour. A grin stretches across my face as I fold my arms, looking my husband over.
What if? What if we could really turn to the same page for once and crawl into the lines between the words that are black and white?
What if he let me into the depths of his being, to a place he doesn’t fully understand?
The peeks I get have me on my knees begging for more.
Because the more I watch him and listen to what he isn’t saying, the more I grow to appreciate him for who he is. Sour and all.
What if I open my cages and allowed him in to the dark undulating beneath the surfaces of my sunshine?
“Here.” Darcy extends a room key card to me, effectively breaking me from my thought-trance. “It’s not a nice suite like we had, but it will do.”
I take the key. “Anything is better than that awful smell.”
The receptionist profusely apologizes to me, but Darcy cuts her off. “It’s okay. We will be on our way now.”
“I plan to vote for you,” she hollers after us in a southern accent.
“Thank you for your vote and support.” I wave to her before Darcy grabs my arm and hauls me toward the elevator. The thought of the elevator brings back the former thoughts of kissing him, but security files in and I contemplate how to get him alone on this thing by the end of the night.
We take the elevator up to the new room, which isn’t on the top floor like the other one. With hesitancy, I swipe the key card and nudge the door open.
Sweet, deliciously clean air.
Security stops me and says they should check the room out first and apologizes for not doing so before. I think it’s a bit much, but whatever makes them feel better. Within seconds, they come back out and give us an all-clear.
I enter the room. Darcy follows behind me. And we both stop once we see the entirety of the room: one queen bed, a sofa chair, and a desk.
That’s it.
Darcy swallows beside me, and I can’t bring myself to look at him. My face must look sunburnt; it’s blazing hot.
Because Darcy and I will be sharing a bed tonight.
It’s the first time we’ve stayed in a hotel together since we’ve confessed to wanting to try this relationship out for real.
And since we’ve started dating, the images curated inside my head are not PG-13.
And since we’re technically married, I wonder if I’ll be able to control this wild desire like I desperately need to do.
Lord, give me strength not to jump my husband’s bones.
“I can sleep on the floor,” Darcy says. I finally look at him.
“No, you need to rest. You have the rally tomorrow. I’ll take the floor.”
He raises his dark blond eyebrows. “I can’t let my wife sleep on the floor.”
Simple words, but they wrap me in an electric hug. “And I can’t let you sleep on the floor, Mr. Future President.”
Darcy smiles. “Hmm. I like that nickname better than Killjoy.”
“That was a one-time reprieve, Killjoy. But seriously, I can probably curl up on the sofa chair and wake up without a crick in my neck.”
His blue eyes trace me from head to toe, and the electricity in the air hums. “You may be smaller than me, but you’re still tall. Not to mention, you are a princess. A divine one, at that.” He winks, and I get the feeling I am a mouse caught in a trap.
Darcy is toying with me. Flirting with me.
Like foreplay before a wild night of consummate passion.
I can’t stop myself from eating this moment up, though I know I should douse the blue fire in his eyes with a bucket of water.
“We are grown adults who can share a bed for a night. I’ll build my own uncrossable thirty-eighth parallel line.
You put so much as a finger across it, you will become a prisoner of the Republic of Hayden. ” I wrap my hands around his wrists.
He looks down at my hands holding his wrists, then snaps his eyes back to me. I swear, they are hungry.
“And if I want to be your prisoner?”
Oh. My. Goodness.
“Then cross the line.” I bite my bottom lip, lifting my face to him in challenge.
Without hesitation, he takes back his hands and wraps one arm around my waist, tugging at my braid with the other.
He angles me, claiming my mouth with a reverent passion that has me wanting to hit my knees in praise over this handsome, wonderful, delicious man of mine.
He tastes like peppermint from the gum he was chewing earlier, and I want more.
I deepen the kiss as I bring my hands to rest against his chest, shoving him to the bed.
I crawl on top of his lap, snaking my arms around his neck and gluing myself to him as I lose all my sensibilities at the trace of his tongue against my lips.
Darcy’s phone rings out, and I have half the mind to pick it up and throw it against the wall.
We part, breathless and heaving. His lips carry a faint trace of my pink gloss, and a smug joy blossoms at the sight of it.
Never taking his smoldering gaze off of me, he answers the phone. “Darcy Marshall.”
The man on the other end of the line is loud enough to know I’ve got to crawl off Darcy’s lap to allow him to take this call. He stands in front of me, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear and kissing my forehead as he so often tenderly does before leaving the room.
In his absence, my head clears, and I feel remorse knowing that if he hadn't gotten that call, I don’t think we would have stopped.
When he comes back, we have to draw a line for the night. There are still so many things we need to talk through before we decide to make our marriage real. All the things we didn’t touch with a thirty-nine and a half foot pole prior to the signatures and the ceremony.
I take advantage of his absence to shower, make sure I’m completely presentable for the night, and to claim my side of the bed.
After doing all that, I lay on the firm mattress and do some work on my laptop while I watch the hours tick by, waiting for Darcy to come back through that door.
He never returned after his phone call, but I help make his schedules, so I know he is having a one-on-one dinner with the governor tonight.
But when he still hasn’t returned by eleven p.m., I call his phone. It goes straight to voicemail. Worry begins to set in. I call Darcy’s personal assistant, Bennie, and thankfully, he answers and tells me that Darcy is still at the governor’s place.
Knowing he’s safe, sleep tempts me, and I doze off, snuggled in my blankets and leaned against my pillow-made thirty-eighth parallel, imagining I’m wrapped in strong arms and tucked against a lean body I’ve come to love.