Chapter Twenty-Five
Darcy
Ilove you.
I love you.
I am so freaking in love with you, Hayden.
Sweat trickles down my back, my legs, my unmentionables… It’s almost enough to persuade me to trade my suit and tie in for shorts and a tank top.
Though I doubt anyone would want to see my pasty skin on full display like that. I’d outshine the Fourth of July fireworks display happening in a few hours here in D.C. On top of that, it’s not socially acceptable to wear shorts and a tank top to a charity ball.
And I’d like to look nice when I tell my wife I’m enamored with her soul tonight.
“If you ever work up the courage,” I mutter to myself. Because telling her I love her means telling her everything. Over the past two weeks, I’ve thought long and hard about fully committing to our marriage, and, well, I’m ready.
I want her to be mine in every single sense of the word. I could lose this campaign and my business could go under, but I wouldn’t bat an eye as long as I have Hayden to shower sunshine on my dreariest days.
Every date, every lingering kiss, every shared little secret…
The woman carries her ghosts like weightless tethered beings whereas I carry mine like a bag of bricks. I want to take hers and cut the bond just as she’s been unloading my bag one brick at a time.
“There you are.” Hayden slides her arm around my waist, a gesture that simultaneously brings about feelings of peace and turmoil. Peace because she feels like home and turmoil because I was already burning alive, and her presence seems to raise the temperature a few more degrees.
I glance down at my beautiful wife and smile. She’s wearing a long, fitted, red gown with a slit on one side that reaches just above her knee. Her long leg sticks out of the dress and her calf is accentuated by a strappy and sparkling silver stiletto heel.
“Eyes up here, Killjoy.”
My eyes roam back up from her feet, her legs. I can’t not notice the way the dress hugs her hips. It’s sleeveless but completely covers her front and ties around her neck. Very classy.
Very sexy.
“I am unbelievably glad you are my wife,” I say when I lock eyes with Hayden. Her smile is breathtaking.
“But we are only technically dating at this point.” She winks. “So no handsy stuff or looking at me like you want to do married people stuff—and no, not the cuddling type. Too tempting.”
I groan and clutch my chest, acting on dramatic tendencies that seem to come out when I’m with Hayden. “But we are legally married. And you look like, well, a divine princess tonight.”
“You don’t look too bad yourself.” She slips her fingers through mine.
I roll my eyes. “What a compliment.”
She chuckles and begins pulling me toward the entrance to the Fourth of July charity ball.
The only reasons I agreed to make an appearance at this ball were because the donations will go to group homes, it will raise awareness for foster care reform, and many people are using my networking app, COFFEE, and I’d like to see how it plays out.
I haven’t gotten to interact with my app as much these days due to running for president, but it’s doing as good as ever.
So here I am. Typically, I run far away from anything involving dancing.
And if I know Hayden, which I think I do by now, she will force me to dance.
It’s not that I can’t dance; it’s that I don’t like to dance.
But the gleam in her eyes as she turns to face me after we enter the ballroom says I’m not getting out of here tonight without at least one dance.
“Mr. Marshall, it’s good to see you here. How’s the campaign going?” An older man approaches me, and I faintly remember he is an oil tycoon.
Hayden whispers in my ear, “Harold Young.”
“Mr. Young.” I nod and shake his hand. Others approach Hayden and me, and we are immediately swept into a frenzy of introductions and small talk with familiar and unfamiliar faces.
I ask about the app, people pull it up on their phones to show me their success rate with meeting new clients and discovering new partnerships for their businesses.
My heart swells with pride, and I almost wish I could drop the race and dive back into my tech world and create more apps to connect people who are bad at connecting in real life like me.
Almost. I still believe this country needs me, and not because I’m me, but because I want to actually listen to the people and do what I can to help the weak, stimulate the economy, protect the country, and clean out the rats that have made D.C.
their permanent home. I have the means, the status, and the power.
“Let’s dance,” Hayden demands as soon as we have a break in conversation with others. I groan, but I don’t fight her.
“One. You get one dance.”
Her eyes light up. “That’s all I need.”
I take her hand and lead her to the dance floor just as Art Galbraith’s “4th of July Waltz” begins to play.
Hayden places one hand on my shoulder as I set my hand on the small of her back.
We clasp our other hands together, and I take the lead.
Couples twirl around us, all moving in unison.
It doesn’t surprise me that Hayden dances this well, even with her background.
She has fought hard to become the brilliant, classy woman that she is today.
What is it that she always says? One can choose to be a victor or a victim…
“You are a great dancer,” Hayden says.
“Would you expect anything less?”
“Who taught you how to dance?”
“My mother.” I pause. “Do you make a habit of talking while you dance?”
Hayden smirks. “It would look odd if we stood together without speaking occasionally, don’t you think? Especially since we are married.”
“Hmm.”
My hand is an ever-heating furnace against her back, and midway through the dance, I realize I have tugged her closer, and we are only inches apart. Her brown eyes bore into mine. I love you… just say it.
“You’re supposed to look offset when waltzing,” I say, swallowing a lump in my throat at her intense stare. The words are stuck; why can’t I say it?
Hayden doesn’t skip a beat with her response. “I have something much better to look at right now, so excuse me if I break the rules this once.”
I pull her closer, our lips only breaths apart. Everyone in the room disappears except for the beautiful woman in my arms. We spin and glide across the floor, our eyes becoming doorways to our souls. I want to know absolutely everything there is to possibly know about this woman.
And then it dawns on me that I don’t even know her middle name.
“What’s your middle name?”
She gulps, shifting her eyes away from me and onto the red, white, and blue decorations. “I, uh… I don’t have one.”
I keep my facial expressions in check at her answer, though I’m not sure how someone ends up without a middle name.
“Mine is Fitzwilliam.”
She laughs, then composes herself. So much for me keeping my reaction in check.
Rolling my eyes, I continue to lead her in the dance. “Yes, I know it is Darcy’s first name from that ridiculous Pride and Prejudice story. My mother loved it.”
“I know your middle name, Darcy, and I love it. I should make my middle name Elizabeth. Since she’s the heroine. Then we could be all tied up in the story.”
I try out the name on my tongue. “Hayden Elizabeth Bennett Marshall.”
She sighs. “It’s a mouthful.”
“I like it,” I say simply. “Elizabeth is a classy name, and the media would love it.”
“I don’t want to do something simply because the media will like it. It’s a name. My name. It should mean something.”
I contemplate for a moment. “Then what about the name Sarah?”
“Why Sarah?”
“It means ‘princess.’”
The waltz comes to an end as I whisper against her ear, “Hayden Sarah Marshall. My divine princess.”
We stop moving but remain standing in each other’s arms. A small smile pulls at the corner of her lips. “I love it. And I’ll keep it.”
“Look at what the cat dragged in.” My spine stiffens at Mr. Loveless’s voice. Hayden’s hand moves to rest gently on my lower back, grounding me.
I turn around and nod. “Mr. Loveless. Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
He chuckles. How can that menacing sound be considered a laugh? “Oh, I am swarmed with interviews, campaign stops, and events. But I could take one night off to attend a ball for such a… needy cause.”
Needy? That’s what raising awareness for foster care system reform and money for group homes means to him? Like he is a benefactor in aiding children he considers less than him? Though his words are innocent, it is his tone that implies the cause of this ball is a dirty plight of his existence.
My fists clench at my side. “Yes, well, I’m sure the parentless children will fall at your feet in gratitude over your presence and support here tonight.”
His eyes widen, as if he is actually considering my words. “You think so?” He taps a man beside him on the shoulder. “That is a good photo opportunity, actually. Jot that down.”
My stomach churns and blood boils at his selfish, narcissistic attitude. How could anyone in America vote for this cold-blooded reptile of a man?
Oh, yeah. Because he has the coveted “R” behind his name.
When will people learn Republican doesn’t equal conservative?
“How is marriage treating you?” Mr. Loveless bounces his eyes from me to Hayden, his lips pulling to one side. I want to sucker punch his face. He’s tried twice to disavow my marriage.
I grab my wife’s waist and tuck her into my side, kissing her on the cheek, and a genuine smile sweeps my face. “It’s the most wonderful thing to have happened to me.”
Hayden uses her index and middle fingers to finger-walk up my chest. She rests her palm against my cheek. “This man is the world’s best husband.”
Mr. Loveless chuckles. “World’s best, huh? I guess I better up my game.”
“Love isn’t a game,” I whisper under my breath. Hayden isn’t a game. She’s real and intelligent and beautiful and I love her.
And I really need to tell her what she means to me. Even if I stumble all over the words.