Chapter Twenty-Four
Hayden
Istare at my reflection in the mirror, and memories from last night come rushing back.
The kind words he said to me as I pretended to sleep while tears ran down my cheeks at the thought of that long ago night where I watched a young girl die because of me.
The way Darcy held me close felt like I was wrapped in a never-ending warm hug.
Memories resurface of not too long ago: waking up with his arms still wrapped around me, the way his face was centimeters from my own. He was the first thing I saw this morning, and I loved the sight of his tousled hair, relaxed features, and steady breaths more than I should have.
I pin a loose curl back into my bun before smoothing down my peplum shirt and exiting the bathroom of the campaign headquarters in Mississippi.
“Hey, bestie.” Stella bounces to my side. “Did you have a good night in your weed-free hotel room? And are you reliving it? Because you have a wondrous blush tinting your face.”
I cut my eyes to Stella, but I can’t lie to her.
“We cuddled, and he said sweet things.”
“Ugh, way to leave a woman wanting more,” she jests. But then her tone grows serious. “I’m so glad the two of you are like a real thing now.”
I can’t fight the grin. “Me too.” But then that malicious voice pops in my head, telling me I’m not enough for him.
“Stella.” I grab Stella’s arm and drag her outside the Jackson Campaign Headquarters. “Stella, I don’t know how to tell him about her.”
She knits her brown brows together. “Why don’t you just start with the truth of that night? That it was not your fault.”
Guilt consumes me regardless of her words, and my legs wobble. Stella catches me before I completely collapse to the ground.
She holds me tight. “You did not kill that girl, Hayden. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t put the needle in her hand. You didn’t tell her to inject herself.”
Tears burst through my eyes as I lose all composure.
“She died in front of me. I didn’t do anything to help her.
I distracted the man she was with. If I hadn’t distracted the man and caused him to chase after me, she would have been okay.
He would have been watching her and would have stopped her. I could have stopped her. I ran away.”
Stella ushers me somewhere, but I can’t see anything through the onslaught of tears. The heat dissipates, so I assume we are back inside. She ushers me down into a chair, and I rest my elbows on my knees and let my head fall into my open hands.
“I saw reporters,” she says swiftly. “Now, look at me.”
After a moment, I look up.
“You were a child. Only nine years old.” Stella cups my face. “It’s not the duty of a child to save the world from darkness. We’ve been over this, H.”
“I know.” I sniffle. “But the possibility of something real with Darcy? It scares me, Stella. I want it…” sniffle, “so bad. But it scares me. Once he knows what happened, will he look at me the same way anymore?”
“You’re the only one who looks at you differently.”
“But—”
“No more ‘buts’, Hayden.” Stella pulls me to my feet. “Don’t be scared. He will not look at you any differently.” I wipe tears from my eyes. “What if he tells the world? What if I’m barred from ever becoming Secretary of State like I want?”
“Do you really think he is that kind of person?”
No. “I don’t know.”
Stella sighs, and I refuse to meet her eyes.
“Is everything okay?” Darcy’s voice freezes me. Did he hear any of that?
Stella steps around me, and I keep my back turned to them. He doesn’t need to see the mascara presumably running down my face and my blood-shot eyes.
After a few moments of exchanged whispers, Stella walks over to me, takes my arm, and says, “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”
Ten minutes in the bathroom with Stella and I emerge looking like I didn’t have a meltdown over my past.
We all sit in a conference room discussing polling data with the locals who are in charge of running the campaign in Mississippi.
Stella sits on one side of me and Darcy sits on the other.
Lucas ditched the meeting and went man-shopping at the Bass Pro Shop, which Stella tells me is like redneck heaven.
While my colleagues drone on, I can’t keep my thoughts away from the man beside me.
It’s barely noticeable, but his chair and body are angled toward me.
He keeps sneaking glances, and they are laced with concern, which drives my rumination cycle back to wondering if he overheard me crying to Stella.
He is so close to me that if I wanted to, I could move my hand a couple of inches and I would be holding his hand underneath the conference table.
My hand twitches at the thought, and I relocate it to my lap, clasped with my other hand.
But then he grabs my hand and stands up. I involuntarily stand up with him.
“My wife and I have plans tonight. We are in need of a break from campaign talk.” He chuckles, wearing that easy-going smile that makes the world fall in love with him.
I think I prefer the one he reserves strictly for me when we are alone.
The world would keel over if he showed it to them. It’s magnificent.
I smile beside him and nod along, ready for our dinner plans with Stella and Lucas.
The core team (plus Stella) say our goodbyes and file into the transport car. The drive back to the hotel is filled with more campaign talk and plans, and I lose myself in the familiar rhythm of work.
Once we’re back at the hotel, I feel more like myself. My thoughts are on track, and I’m focused on the task at hand: getting Darcy elected as president. We can talk about where our relationship goes once he’s sitting in the Oval Office.
And until then, I'll date the heck out of that man.
“Go ahead and head up to the room. I need to make a phone call, and I’ll meet you there,” Darcy says, already walking away and raising the phone to his ear. I allow myself to watch his hips sway in his dress pants for a millisecond before turning around and pressing the elevator button.
Once I’m inside, I throw myself down on the bed and just take a moment to breathe.
Minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. “Are you decent?” Darcy asks through a crack in the door.
“Yes,” I reply, sitting up on the bed. “Come in.”
Darcy slips through the door and fiddles with his necktie as he asks, “Remember when Loveless leaked our arrangement in order to sabotage the campaign?”
“Yes?” I narrow my eyes. I thought we had taken care of that.
He pulls his tie from one end and it falls to the floor. “He’s back at it again, but this time, he’s airing my father’s dirty laundry. Stuff the general population didn’t already know.” Darcy laughs without mirth. “This time he might actually do some real damage.”
I grab my phone and search Darcy’s dad’s name, Gerald Marshall.
Articles pop up with sordid details of affairs from his past. Women claim Gerald took advantage of them and used his power and prestige to coerce them into bed.
“This isn’t good, Darcy.”
He’s silent, and I continue to scroll, stopping when I see my name: IS DARCY A REPLICA OF HIS FATHER? DID HE BUY-OUT HIS CAMPAIGN MANAGER-TURNED-WIFE, HAYDEN BENNETT?
“Oh, Darcy. This is really bad.” I show him the article, my stomach twisting into knots.
“I can make a statement. Maybe we can come clean about how we began, and—” An idea forms, and I stand, grabbing my phone from Darcy’s hand and maneuvering to my bank app.
“The money you paid me the first couple of months before I asked you to stop because we started dating. It didn’t go straight into my bank account.
It went into a private account owned by me, yes, but if we add your name to it, we can say it's a savings account for our future children. I’ll add some of my earnings to it too, to say we both contributed. ”
He remains silent, though I can tell by his pinched brows and the wrinkles around his eyes that he’s deep in thought.
Finally, he says, “Yes. That could work. But only if we have to. Let’s see what we can do to negate my father’s image tainting mine, first. If we have to come clean about the initial arrangement, then we will.
If we don’t though, I’d rather not fight that battle.
Politicians marry for convenience all of the time. This isn’t something new.”
I nod, onboard with his plan. The fear that’s been building settles because I know Darcy’s got this.
His record is too clean, his ideas too good, and his character too solid for this accusation to hold any real weight.
Plus, we’ve busted Loveless once, so hopefully public opinion will land on our side.
“People do believe us to be hopelessly in love. Let’s continue to act like it.”
Darcy digs through his luggage and grabs a yellow button-up shirt. “We’ll figure it out. I’ve got the best team.” He unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt. “And the best campaign manager-slash-wife.” Then the third…and fourth.
“Darcy!” I spin around and wonder where my breath went because it’s obviously no longer in my body. The sight of his rippled chest, however, is burned into my brain… right alongside the image of him naked in the hospital, which is making a reappearance.
And kissing me until my bones turned to sludge on this bed yesterday.
“I’m only changing my shirt.” I can hear the proud smirk he’s donning. “Done.”
I don’t risk turning around. “Can I have some privacy to change, then?”
“I’ll be back in…thirty-five minutes.” The door opens then closes. But it cracks open once more, and his sharp face fills the doorway. “And Hayden, I don’t have to act like I’m in love with you.” The door clicks shut.
Words catch in my throat as he disappears. Was that—? Did he—? Love?
I forget about Loveless and accusations and Darcy’s father.
Darcy Marshall basically said he loved me.
Taking in a huge breath, I plop back down on the bed and wonder where (and when) in the world Darcy Marshall found the audacity to take my breath away.
How did we get here? How did he make me fall in love with him in the span of a few months?
He’s so much more than the hard, cold exterior he presents to most people.
He’s more than the media mask he wears for interviews, rallies, events, and dinners.
He’s a bundle of juxtapositions: warm and cool, worried and confident, sensitive and dominant.
A perfectly imperfect man.
I change into a short, white dress with lace that I know he’ll love.
He knocks on the door exactly when he said he would, and I invite him in like it isn’t the room we are sharing.
Darcy opens the door, holding a bouquet of yellow roses. “For you,” he says, and I take the flowers, sniff the pleasant smell once, and then place them on the bed.
My heart beats wildly, and I’m dying to ask him if he meant he loves me.
I also want to scream that I love him, but the only words on my tongue are, “You should wear yellow more often.” Because my word, the man looks like sunshine.
The lemon-yellow shirt and his golden blond hair light up his blue eyes.
He emanates light instead of his usual shades of gray.
“You look rather good in the dress.” I stifle a laugh at his compliment. His flirting game may be strong when it’s rolling off his tongue in the heat of the moment, but when he’s trying to flirt, it’s too controlled and stiff.
“Thank you.”
He takes my hand, and we walk to the elevator. I look around, and his agents are nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s security?”
“They’re around. I asked for privacy.”
The elevator door dings open, and I swallow the rising lump in my throat. We step on. His hand tightens around mine. Is he fighting the wicked tension I feel too? Thoughts of spicy elevator kisses speed through my mind, and in each of the scenarios, Darcy and I are the lead actors.
The door shuts.
Before I have the opportunity to ask him my burning question, Darcy pins me against the wall, where the feel of the cool metal seeps through the light silky fabric of my dress, the lace around the edges pressing into my skin.
One large hand grabs both of my wrists, and he drags them above my head as my breaths become labored in anticipation. Just like every fantasy…
His fingers trail up my side as I wiggle against him because of the thrilling sensation.
Our eyes lock. His blue irises are dark with desire just as his touch sets me aflame.
He slips his hand behind my neck and peppers me with kisses along my jaw.
Each press of his lips and slip of his tongue along my skin is like a crashing wave of need, and I want so much more.
Giving myself over to the tingly sensation, my eyes flutter closed.
“Kiss me,” I beg. I love you.
His body rumbles against me as his lips trail to the other side of my jaw. My ear. “Later, Princess.”
Darcy nips at the lobe of my ear before releasing one of my hands and intertwining his fingers with my other hand, moving to stand by my side.
The elevator comes to a stop, the doors open, and the cool lobby air flows over us and washes away the passion as if nothing happened. His hand loosens around mine, but he doesn’t let go.
We spot Stella and Lucas standing near a small, cherubim fountain in the middle of the lobby, and she waves us over.
“Ready for—” she trails off, taking in what I imagine to be the expression of a lovesick, thoroughly kissed woman. She laughs and arches her brow. “Should we postpone and you two head back up to the room?”
Darcy, to my surprise, shrugs, wearing an impish grin. It makes me almost want to say yes…
But I only have this little sliver of time with my bestie, and I want to take every moment I can get before we fly out tomorrow.
“Get your head out of the gutter, Stella.”
Lucas chimes in, his twang thick. “I like her head in the gutter.”