“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 ofintroductions 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 ridiculousPride and Prejudicestory. 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.”
