Chapter 11
"Stop fidgeting," Patricia scolds as the stylist adjusts my hair. "Tonight needs to be perfect."
The campaign gala is the biggest event of the season – senators, governors, donors, and press all gathered at the Boston Harbor Hotel. Every detail of my appearance has been managed, from the deep green silk gown to the family diamonds at my throat.
"Knox is meeting us there?" My mother sounds anxious.
"Yes." I check my phone for the tenth time. "His suit fitting ran late."
What I don't tell them is that he's been radio silent since yesterday. Since he woke up with me in his bed, something shifting in his eyes when he looked at me.
"Well, he better not—" Patricia stops abruptly, staring at the doorway.
I turn and forget how to breathe.
Knox in a tuxedo should be illegal. The perfect tailoring emphasizes everything dangerous about him – broad shoulders, narrow hips, the kind of presence that makes people step back instinctively.
His hair is styled just enough to look intentionally messy, and the hint of stubble along his jaw makes him look like sin in formal wear.
"Princess." He crosses to me, and I notice he's still wearing his beaten-up motorcycle boots. Something about that small rebellion makes my heart flutter. "You look..."
His eyes track down my body, lingering on the low back of my dress, and heat floods my cheeks.
"You clean up okay yourself."
"Okay?" He smirks. "I'm fucking devastating and you know it."
"Language," Patricia hisses, but I'm already laughing.
The drive to the hotel feels endless. Knox's hand rests on my knee, thumb stroking small circles that make it hard to think. He's been touching me differently since the night with his father – more possessive, more real.
"Remember," Patricia says as we pull up. "Cameras will be watching. Keep it appropriate."
Knox's hand slides higher on my thigh, whispering in my ear, "Define appropriate."
The red carpet is a blur of flashbulbs and careful poses. Knox plays his part perfectly – opening doors, guiding me with a hand on my lower back, smiling for photos like he was born to it.
"Senator Walters must be pleased," a reporter comments. "Your boyfriend's quite the gentleman."
If only they knew how ungentlemanly his hands have been.
Inside, the ballroom glitters with wealth and power. Crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, string quartet playing in the corner. Knox's hand tightens on my waist.
"Breathe," I whisper. "Just pretend they're all in their underwear."
"Rather think about you in yours."
Before I can respond, the quartet starts a waltz.
"May I?" Knox holds out his hand, formal as ever.
"You can waltz?"
His smirk should be photographed. "Princess, I'm full of surprises."
He leads me onto the dance floor with unexpected grace. One hand splays across my back, the other clasps mine firmly, and suddenly we're moving like we've done this a thousand times.
"Where did you learn to dance?" I ask as he guides us through a perfect turn.
"YouTube." At my laugh, he pulls me closer. "Your brother may have warned me. I had to make sure I didn't embarrass you tonight."
Something warm unfurls in my chest. "You learned for me?"
His eyes darken. "I'm learning a lot of things for you."
The way he says it makes me shiver. His hand strokes lower on my back, barely appropriate for public viewing.
"Thank you."
"Smile, Princess." His lips brush my ear. "We're being photographed."
Sure enough, several photographers circle us discreetly. Tomorrow's papers will probably feature us – senator's daughter and her reformed bad boy, the perfect political romance.
"Your father's watching too," Knox murmurs. "Looking surprisingly pleased."
I glance over his shoulder. Dad stands with some donors, actually smiling as he watches us dance.
"Guess you've won him over."
"Guess so." But Knox's voice is tight. "Think he'd still approve if he knew what I did to his daughter last week?"
Heat floods my body at the memory. "Knox!"
"Sorry." He doesn't sound sorry at all. "You're just so fucking beautiful tonight. Making it hard to remember why we're really here."
The music changes to something slower. Knox pulls me closer, one hand stroking patterns on my bare back. I watch as he glances around the room, and I notice he’s starting to take the looks personal.
"Why are we really here?" I dare to ask as his eyes remain on a few people that are staring.
Before he can answer, we're interrupted by a donor couple – the Bradleys, old money and older opinions.
Knox is immediately annoyed as he releases me. He takes a deep breath, barely making eye contact with Mrs. Bradley.
"Kennedy, darling." Mrs. Bradley air-kisses my cheek. "Your father must be so relieved."
"Relieved?" I ask, but my mind is preoccupied with Knox. Something is suddenly off.
"Well, after those unfortunate party photos..." She eyes Knox like he's something she scraped off her shoe, and he knows it. My gut twists at the change in his demeanor. "But you seem to have... settled down. Found someone more suitable than expected."
Knox's hand tightens on my waist. "Suitable?"
I hear the anger in his voice. Now I’m worried.
"Oh, you know what I mean." She laughs nervously. "Despite your... background, you've proven quite civilized. Almost proper."
"Almost proper?" Knox's voice could freeze hell. "You think that's what Kennedy needs? Proper?"
"I only meant—"
"You meant I'm surprisingly well-behaved for trash from the South." His smile shows too many teeth. "That I'm doing well considering I grew up on food stamps instead of trust funds. That Kennedy's slumming it, but at least I know which fork to use now."
"I didn’t—"
"Knox." I touch his arm, feeling the tension vibrating through him. "Let's get some air."
He lets me lead him to the garden terrace, thankfully empty in the February chill. The moment we're alone, he starts pacing.
"Fucking vultures," he snarls. "Looking down their noses at you like you're some puppet they can control. Like you're not ten times smarter and stronger than any of them."
My heart stutters. "You think I'm strong?"
"Are you kidding?" He stops pacing to face me.
"Everything they throw at you – the control, the expectations, the constant judgment – and you still stay true to yourself.
Still fight back. Still..." He runs a hand through his hair, messing up the careful styling.
"Fuck, Kennedy. You're the strongest person I know. "
The way he's looking at me makes it hard to breathe. No one's ever seen me like this – seen past the perfect daughter facade to the real me underneath.
"Knox, I—" The words stick in my throat. Three dangerous words I absolutely cannot say. But I feel him slipping away. Maybe his anger is engulfing him, or this event is too much. I don’t know, but I want to tell him how I really feel.
Something flashes in his eyes and he steps back suddenly. "We should go back inside."
"Wait." I grab his arm. "I need to tell you something."
"Don't." His voice is harsh. "Whatever you're thinking, whatever you're feeling – don't."
The rejection hits like a physical blow. "What? Why not?"
"Because this isn't real, remember?" He pulls away like my touch burns. "This is an arrangement. A rebellious deal against your family. You blackmailed me into this, so it’s nothing more."
"This is not nothing," I say, confused about where this is coming from.
"It has to be." He won't meet my eyes. "The draft is in six weeks. I can't afford... we can't..."
"Can't what?" My voice cracks. I can’t believe this right now. "Can't do this? Can't admit that this––"
"Kennedy—"
"No." I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the fire burning in my chest. "You're right. My rebellious stage. This is just business. Just a deal. My mistake for thinking it could be anything else. I blackmailed you. Well, you cockblocked me! Remember!"
He stares at me. "You blackmailed me because I cockblocked you?"
I turn to go back inside. Not to let him see how much this hurts.
His hand catches my wrist. "Princess..."
"Yeah, I did. And maybe if you let me fuck someone as nice as Harvey Reynolds, we wouldn’t be in this predicament."
"Someone as nice as Harvey? Real fucking nice, Kenny. I am not to blame that you blackmailed me. All of this isn’t just me."
"Right." I pull free. "Because you’re innocent, claiming my virginity like it’s a goddamn trophy. Get over yourself."
Inside, the party continues like nothing's changed. Like my heart isn't cracking in my chest. Like Knox Thompson hasn't just reminded me exactly why falling for him was never part of the plan.
"Everything okay?" my father asks when I return alone. "You look upset."
I paste on my best campaign smile. "Everything's perfect."
Just like always, he believes the lie.
But for the first time in my life, I wish he didn't. I wish someone would see past the perfect facade to the girl underneath, breaking quietly in designer shoes.
Someone already did, whispers a treacherous voice in my head. But something weird just happened, and I ruined it. I don’t think he likes what he just saw out there. There’s a nagging voice in my head that I’m too much, too put together, too perfect.
And I can’t blame him. I shouldn’t have pushed him. I could tell something’s been up since his father showed up. I turn around to look for him. My eyes scan the room. Knox is exiting the building.
My stomach is in turmoil.
Just like that… he’s gone.