My mother beams. “That’s my pet project. Logan handles the political end, but the foundation is my baby.”
“It shows,” Jess responds. “The retention rates for your scholarship recipients are well above the national average. You must have excellent mentorship components.”
The conversation flows surprisingly easily after that, with Jess holding her own as the topic shifts between politics, the foundation’s work, and upcoming family events. I find myself watching her—the animated way she talks with her hands when she’s passionate about something, how she leans in slightly when listening to my mother describe a recent scholarship recipient’s success story.
She fits here, I realize with a start, not in a political-wife, stand-behind-your-man way, but as herself—sharp, engaged, compassionate.
She’s the kind of woman I would actually choose to marry.
The thought hits me like a physical blow, and I nearly choke on my coffee.
“You ok there, little brother?” Lucy asks, eyeing me with amusement.
“Fine,” I manage. “Just went down the wrong way.”
My father checks his watch. “I need to make some calls before the event begins. Lucas, walk with me to the office? There are some gala details we should discuss.”
It’s not a request. I squeeze Jess’s knee under the table and follow my father down the hall to his home office. It’s a wood-paneled shrine to his political career, with photos of him alongside presidents and world leaders lining the walls.
He closes the door behind us. “So. Your wife.”
I brace myself. “Yes?”
“Not what I expected,” he says, settling behind his desk. “Intelligent. Well spoken. Not easily intimidated.”
“No, she isn’t,” I agree, with a hint of pride creeping into my voice.
“And clearly not the type to simply fall in line with the Carmichael agenda.” He studies me, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “This isn’t some temporary rebellion against my plans for you, is it, Lucas?”
“Not everything is about you, Dad,” I reply as the familiar irritation rises. “I married Jess because I wanted to, not to spite you.”
“And the timing? Just when discussions with the Bishops were progressing?”
I clench my jaw. “Purely coincidental.”
He watches me for a long moment, his expressionunreadable. “Well, she’ll certainly liven up our family gatherings. Your mother is quite taken with her already.”
“I noticed,” I say carefully.
“We’ll need to discuss how to handle the press, of course. A hastily arranged Vegas wedding doesn’t exactly align with our family’s image, but we can spin it as young love, the romance of spontaneity.”
“We’re not ‘spinning’ my marriage,” I say firmly. “It’s not a campaign strategy.”
My father raises an eyebrow. “Everything is strategy, Lucas. You of all people should understand that.” He rises, signaling the end of our conversation. “The gala begins at seven. Make sure Jessica understands the importance of tonight. Half the state’s political establishment will be there.”
“Jess,” I correct him. “She prefers Jess.”
“Of course,” he says dismissively. “Jess.”
twenty-five
. . .
Jess
The grand ballroomis already filling with guests when I arrive at the top of the staircase, taking a moment to observe the scene below, where Sacramento’s political elite mingle beneath crystal chandeliers. There are governors, judges, tech moguls, and old-money families whose combined influence shapes the state. I’ve covered events like this before, but I’ve never attended as someone’s wife.
I smooth down my emerald gown, feeling unexpectedly nervous. Last night changed something between Lucas and me. We crossed a line we’d been dancing around for weeks. His touch was commanding, deliberate, focused entirely on my pleasure in a way that still makes my skin flush thinking about it—the touch of someone who knew exactly what he wanted and took it. In his bed afterward, with his arms around me and his heartbeat steady against my back, I’d felt safe. Adored. Content.
