“One moment,” I respond, taking one last swig and gargle of mouthwash before spitting it out and exiting the bathroom. An older woman dressed in a fitted black dress—Mrs. Pellenson, the senator’s wife—nods at me before slipping into the bathroom of Mr. Weatherby’s estate. There are plenty of bathrooms in this house, but this is the closest to the dining room. At least that’s what one of the housekeepers told me.
Darcy’s driver brought him a spare change of clothes after hearing about what happened from Lionel because he thought Darcymight want to stay at the Weatherby dinner. I watched Darcy’s face deflate at the news, and I knew that we would be staying. Thankfully, my clothes were puke-free.
I round the hallway, embarking on a hunt for either the dining room, a housekeeper to point me in the right direction, or the man who suddenly wants to marry me. Seriously. What is he thinking? I am his campaign manager. I didn’t go to college to get an MRS degree, and it’s basically selling myself if I were to say yes to him simply for the money.Pft, ridiculous man.
Then again, it’s a place to live. I wouldn’t have to continue my fruitless search for a reasonably priced apartment. I’d be living at my place of work. I could put that fancy espresso machine to good use. No more coffee runs. I can be a normal woman who goes to the coffee shop for the aesthetics and vibe alone.
As I’m walking out of the hallway, two hands grab my shoulders, and instinctively, I wrap my hands to the inside of the perpetrator’s wrists and push, knocking the hands off my shoulders as I learned in my self-defense classes ages ago. Looking up to see who put their hands on me without my permission, I come face to face with the man occupying my thoughts. His blue eyes twinkle like stars, and it almost makes me smile.
Almost.
“Will you quit trying to bulldoze over me? You’re going the wrong way.” His lips twitch as if begging him to smile, but he won’t allow it.
I scoff, a flush bleeding red through my cheeks. “Will you quit putting your hands on me without asking first?”
His jaw goes slack and… Is that a blush crawling up his face? “Fine. You can face plant onto hard surfaces from now on.”
“Mr. Marshall, what a pleasant surprise to see you here,” an obnoxiously-loud voice calls. I break eye contact with Darcy and look over his shoulder.
This night just leveled up in difficulty.
Darcy scowls, staring at me, and then twists his features into the pleasant, friendly presidential candidate. He turns around.
“Mr. Loveless.” Darcy nods and shakes the Republican’s outreached hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”
As if,I think to myself.
Mr. Loveless addresses me next and grabs my petite hand with his large, pudgy one. I narrow my eyes as we stare at each other in what has to be the world’s longest handshake. Giving him a “don’t try anything funny tonight” look, I remove my hand.
“I didn’t think you’d join tonight due to thecurrent circumstances,” Mr. Loveless comments to Darcy.
Darcy maintains his easy-going facade and chuckles lightly. “Priscilla and I may not be getting married, but that does not mean our families are suddenly estranged.”
Mr. Loveless smiles in the cunning way that makes me want to revert back to my street days and start throwing hands. “Of course. Well, I see my lovelywifedown the hall. I better go join her and the rest of the party.”
“Right behind you,” Darcy says. But he doesn’t move as Mr. Loveless steps around us and walks away.
“That no good snake,” Darcy mumbles under his breath. “Trying to make me jealous by using his wife.”
I glance at Darcy, his mask completely fallen. In its place is a brooding man. Though, the longer I watch him seethe, the more I realize something. The way his eyebrows knit, the shine in his drooping eyes, and the wrinkles appearing vaguely on his forehead… He isn’t only brooding, but Darcy is exhausted. It’s the expression I sported when I’d noticed myself in department store windows as I trudged back and forth from my minimum wage job, back when I was escaping to the street to get away from the living hell that was Director Hoggs.
A thought punches me in the gut. Darcy is just like me. I have no one in my life to share the chores with, to share the highs and lows of life with, and neither does he. He may have housekeepers and a cook, but he has no one to decompress with, no one to cry to, and no one to hold when he lays his head on his pillow at night.
For the first time, I see a glimpse of the man behind the mask.
“Remember who you are, Mr. Marshall. Mr. Loveless will not get the upper hand tonight,” I say. It’s not much, but hopefully it encourages him. Presidential candidate Darcy Marshall has to come out to play. He nods in the curt way I’m used to, and then he motions forward. I turn around and begin the short walk down the hall and into the dining room.
Help everyone to remember they are mere human beings vying for various positions to govern a whole country and not petulant children seeking power,I plead with God.
I need to go ahead and enter a calm, cool, and collected headspace. If I don’t, I might lose control of myself and run off at the mouth, and that wouldn’t be good for Darcy.
Or myself.
Chapter Eight
Darcy
“And that’s the reason we have to maintain Republican control of the House this election cycle. We can’t risk left-leaning Independents filtering in. Which means we should only support candidates with the ‘R’ behind their name,” Mr. Loveless drones on.
