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Chapter 21
Lance
The town square looks like something out of a campaign ad.
Red, white, and blue bunting stretches across the gazebo. The Verona County high school jazz band warms up off to the side, and a table near the fountain offers complimentary coffee and Penngrove for Progress buttons.
I fucking hate it here.
But Art’s not answering his phone, and I need to talk to him about everything with Genevieve. Hopefully before thatRagarticle spreads further than it already has—or before he realizes Genevieve’s not at her apartment. So here I am, standing at the edge of the square, scanning the crowd for his face.
He’s near the gazebo steps, shaking hands with an elderly couple who are looking at him like he’s their savior. His smile is easy and practiced. He laughs at something the woman says and touches her arm, and she practically melts.
That’s Art. The people’s prince.
His father Franklin stands a few feet away, working his owncluster of supporters, but even he glances at his son with pride, and though Art will never admit it, I know that approval feeds his soul.
Art’s the real draw here, and everyone knows it.
Franklin’s the name on the ballot, but Art’s the one who makes people believe in it.
He works the crowd, and people part for him, reach for him, want to be near him. Where I’m a shadow that clears rooms, Art fills them. He always has.
And twenty-four hours ago, I would have watched this without a single doubt in my mind about who he is.
But that was before Genevieve showed me an email in his desk that proved someone orchestrated her entire life. Before her father used an emergency code word on a phone he thinks is tapped.
I don’t want to believe any of it points to him. But I was trained to read people, and right now, I need to read him like my life depends on it, even if it guts me.
“Holy shit.”
I turn to find Juliette staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. She’s got a coffee cup in one hand and a Penngrove for Progress button pinned to her jacket.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“Nice to see you, too.”
“No, seriously.” She steps closer, eyes narrowing. “I’ve seen you climb out a bathroom window to avoid these things.”
“Maybe I’m evolving.”
Roman appears at her shoulder, his hand settling on the small of her back. He raises an eyebrow at me.
“Lance.”
“Roman.”
“Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Seems to be the consensus.”
Juliette’s still studying me like I’m a puzzle she can’t solve. “Is everything okay? Are you sick? Did you hit your head?”
“I’m fine. I just need to talk to Art.”
Her expression shifts and she leans in conspiratorially. “About theRagpiece?”
