37.0 #2
The hotel ballroom looked like money — crystal chandeliers, carpet that probably cost more than my rent in Philly ever did, sleek screens mounted on the walls playing muted news anchors. Round tables, high-top cocktail stands, a spread of food I was too nervous to touch.
People mingled in clusters — staffers, donors, faces I half-recognized from TV or Brooks's passing mentions.
But the second we came in, I felt it.
Eyes.
Just quiet little double-takes. Whispers tucked behind champagne glasses.
Brooks sauntered through it like it was nothing.
Like he didn't notice.
Like I wasn't suddenly hyperaware of my dress, my hair, the way my hand looked wrapped in his.
He stopped near the center of the room, where Bryan stood surrounded by a small ring of people. A few advisors. Someone from press. A couple who looked like old friends.
Bryan caught sight of us and his whole face brightened.
"Here he is," he said, voice warm. "The man of the hour."
Brooks laughed. "Pretty sure that's you tonight."
"Eh," Bryan waved a hand. "We're in this together, kid."
His gaze shifted.
Landed on me.
Everything in me straightened.
"And this must be the famous Amira," he said, stepping forward with a smile that reached his eyes.
Famous.
My stomach did a small flip.
I swallowed and offered my hand. "Hi. It's nice to meet you again."
He didn't just shake it.
He took it in both of his, squeezed gently, like I wasn't a stranger standing in the middle of his political dream — I was welcome.
"The pleasure is mine," he said sincerely. "I feel like I've heard more about you in the last few months than I have about half the Senate."
My cheeks warmed. "Hopefully good things."
Bryan chuckled. "All good. If he's annoying me less and smiling more, I take that as a sign you're doing something very right."
Behind us, someone laughed. The people around him went back to their conversations, giving us space.
Bryan glanced at Brooks, then back at me. "You're also the reason my nephew hasn't answered a single one of my weekend calls lately."
My heart stalled for half a beat.
Was... was that a joke?
My eyes widened just a little, trying to gauge his tone.
Brooks opened his mouth. "Bryan—"
Bryan laughed fully then, squeezing my hand again before letting it go. "I'm kidding. Mostly."
Relief poured through me in a quiet rush.
He looked at Brooks. "I'm glad you're not chained to the Hill every waking second. You were starting to look like a ghost in those early months."
He turned back to me. "Keep doing whatever you're doing. The change is obvious."
This time, I couldn't stop the small, surprised smile that crept up. "Thank you."
"And this—" he turned his attention to the bundle of curls hiding shyly against Brooks's shoulder, "—must be Miss Alina."
She peeked out, gripping Brooks's lapel, eyes big.
"This is Bryan," Brooks said softly. "Remember? I told you he's my friend I work with."
"Hi," she whispered.
Bryan's expression softened. "Hi there. I like your dress."
She glanced at it, then covered her face with one hand.
"She's shy," I said.
Brooks shifted her on his arm. She quickly adjusted, comfortable like she'd been there forever.
"I'm happy you're here," Bryan said, looking between all three of us. "Both of you. All of you. Tonight's... big. It helps to remember what matters when the numbers start rolling in."
Something in my chest loosened.
For the first time since we'd left the house, I didn't feel like I'd wandered into the wrong story.
"Thank you," I said again, meaning it.
Alina tugged on Brooks's collar. "Daddy."
He looked down. "Yeah, baby?"
"I gotta potty."
His brows flicked up. "Right now?"
"Right now," she repeated solemnly.
I laughed softly. "Come on." I reached for her. "We'll go."
Brooks leaned down and brushed a quick kiss against my mouth — so fast it was almost private.
"Text me if you need me," he murmured. "Come find me when you're done."
"I will."
I shifted Alina to my hip and headed toward the hallway, following the little silver sign with the bathroom icon.
The noise of the ballroom dulled as soon as the doors swung shut behind us. The hallway was quieter, cooler. Carpet softer.
The women's restroom was one of those hotel ones that looked like a spa — marble countertops, soft lighting, too many mirrors.
I set Alina down and helped her into the stall, the rustle of tulle and fabric loud in the tiled space.
"Don't touch anything," I reminded gently.
"I know," she sing-songed.
A minute later, we were at the sink, her little feet balanced on my shoes so she could reach the water.
"Soap," I said, squeezing some into her palm.
She rubbed her hands together like she was washing a car.
"That's good," I laughed.
The door opened.
I glanced up.
And my heart dipped straight into my stomach.
His mother.
Elegant as always, even in something more understated. Dark dress, pearls small and simple, hair pinned back. She paused in the doorway when she saw us, surprise flashing across her face before something softer settled in.
Fight-or-flight hit me all at once.
I gave her a small, tight smile and reached for Alina's paper towels. "Come on, baby. Let's go back to Daddy."
We stepped toward the door.
"Amira?"
Her voice stopped me.
My hand tightened around Alina's.
I looked up.
She took a slow breath, hands clasped in front of her, shoulders a little less stiff than I remembered.
"Could I... speak with you for a moment?" she asked quietly. "It won't be long."
I glanced down at Alina, then toward the door, calculating all at once.
It would be so easy to say no.
To walk out.
To decide that whatever she had to say, I didn't need to hear it.
But Tati's voice floated back — meet the woman, see if she's different. You're allowed to walk away after.
"Go stand right here, baby," I said gently, guiding Alina to the small bench by the sinks. "Where I can still see you."
She nodded and sat, swinging her feet, hugging her little purse.
I turned back.
"Okay," I said. My voice came out calmer than I felt. "I can give you a few minutes."
His mother exhaled, like I'd just opened a door she hadn't expected to get through.
"Thank you," she murmured.
We stood near the far sink, out of earshot but not out of sight of Alina. I kept her in my peripheral the whole time.
"I'm not going to take up much of your evening," she began. Her voice was softer than the last time I'd heard it — stripped of the sharpness she'd wielded like a knife in that penthouse.
"I just... wanted to say this to you directly."
I waited.
She swallowed. "I owe you an apology."
The words themselves didn't shock me.
Hearing them from her did.
"I was cruel to you," she said. No deflection. No prettying it up. "When I found out about everything... I reacted with fear and pride, not with compassion."
She looked briefly at Alina on the bench, then back at me.
"And I am... deeply ashamed of that," she finished quietly.
My lungs felt tight.
I didn't rush to smooth it over. Didn't hand her forgiveness just because she was finally admitting it.
"I was afraid of what it meant for him," she went on. "For his career. For the campaign. For... everything we'd worked toward." Her mouth twisted. "I told myself I was protecting him."
She shook her head once.
"I see now that I was protecting my own image and your daughter paid the price for that. So did you."
Silence hummed between us.
The faint sound of the ballroom. The sink dripping. Alina softly humming to herself.
I swallowed. "You said things... that hurt. A lot."
"I know," she whispered. "I replay that conversation more often than I care to admit."
I believed her.
There was a tightness around her eyes that hadn't been there before. A tiredness that had nothing to do with age and everything to do with carrying something heavy too long.
"Brooks is a grown man," she said. "He doesn't need my approval, but he loves you both. Anyone who makes him look at them with the kind of tenderness I've seen from him recently... deserves better than what I gave you."
Something hot pricked behind my eyes.
I blinked it back.
"I'm not asking for immediate forgiveness," she said. "And I am certainly not asking for access. Not without your comfort and consent. I just wanted you to know that I see where I went wrong. And I am... truly sorry."
The quiet stretched out.
I thought about everything she represented.
The hurt.
The fear.
The way her words had burrowed into my insecurities.
I also thought about Brooks — about the way his face had looked when he told me about that last conversation with her. The distance he'd chosen. The relief and grief mixed in his voice.
I took a slow breath.
"I appreciate you saying that," I said finally. "Truly. And I... accept your apology."
Her shoulders dropped a fraction.
"But," I added gently, "I am Alina's mother and my first job will always be to protect her. Any relationship you have with her, with us, has to happen slowly. On our terms. On my terms. No pressure. No backdoor deals with doormen or security."
Her cheeks flushed.
She nodded once. "You're absolutely right."
"And if there ever is a day where you meet her properly," I continued, glancing toward my daughter, "it'll be because both Brooks and I feel good about it."
She followed my gaze to Alina and swallowed. "That's... more than I deserve. But I understand."
We stood there for another quiet beat.
I didn't move toward her.
She didn't move toward me.
No hug.
No forced performance of reconciliation.
Just two women acknowledging the space between them and agreeing not to make it worse.
"Thank you for hearing me out," she said softly.
I nodded. "Thank you for saying what you needed to say."
I turned back to Alina. "Ready, baby?"
She hopped off the bench. "Yes."
We walked past his mother.
She just watched us go with something complicated in her eyes — regret, maybe. Hope. Humility.