4. Jesse

Chapter 4

Jesse

I closed the veranda door behind me and leaned against it. I couldn’t decide what unsettled me the most about Anthony: the fact that he knew I was hiding something, or how far under my skin he could get just by looking at me.

I pushed myself off the door and looked back outside.

I could only see part of Anthony’s face. He was mostly turned away from me, staring out at the Pacific. One hand drifted up to his mouth, and when he drew that hand away to tap ashes into the ashtray beside him, a thin wisp of smoke rose from his lips.

God, now I understood why some people thought smoking was sexy. I’d always thought it was a disgusting habit, but Anthony made it look suave and smooth. He made everything suave and smooth. He made it look hot. Like it was just a way to occupy his mouth until he found something better to do with it.

Shivering, I made myself look away from him. Then I started out of the kitchen toward Roger’s den so I could say good-bye. The farther I walked from the veranda, the more some unseen gravitational force pulled my mind right back toward Anthony. Somehow I had to get used to being around that man, but it wasn’t happening today. Or tomorrow. Or…who was I kidding? It wasn’t happening anytime soon.

At least I’d have Ranya with me in the future. She’d had today off, or she would have been here with us now. Today aside, whenever I was in Anthony’s presence, she’d be there with me. Not that I needed a babysitter or a go-between, but at least if my concentration wandered toward Anthony’s shoulders, or eyes, or voice, or something other than his campaign managing, I’d have her there to fill in whatever I didn’t hear him say.

I went into my uncle’s den, and just as I expected, he was at his battleship-sized desk.

He looked up from whatever he was working on and smiled as he took off his glasses. “You and Anthony come to a consensus about ads?”

I blinked. “About—” Then the piece fell into place, and I remembered the end of the conversation in the living room. “Right, yeah. Ad content. We’re, um…” I gestured at the door behind me. “We’re still working on a few ideas, but it sounds like Anthony knows what he’s doing.”

“That he does.” Roger folded his hands on the blotter. “I’m impressed at how you handle him.”

“I—” I almost choked on my breath. “What?”

He chuckled. “I’ve seen Anthony make a sitting Speaker of the House stutter and stammer. He’s intimidating, son. Even I’ll admit that. ”

“Oh. Well.” Ignoring the heat rushing into my cheeks, I managed a quiet laugh. “He is rather, um, intense.”

“Perfect for a campaign manager, though.” Roger’s leather desk chair creaked as he leaned back. “You can’t ask for a better man to be on your side during an election, let me tell you.”

“I don’t doubt that,” I murmured. “Anyway, I, um.” I coughed, wondering when I’d forgotten how to articulate my thoughts. Oh right. When I met Anthony. “I should get going. Chris and Julie are coming to dinner tonight.”

“Very well, then.” He rose. “Do say hello to Chris for me.”

“I will.”

With Roger behind me, I left his den, and we walked down the hall to the foyer. At the enormous double doors, I reached for the doorknob but hesitated.

Roger shifted his weight. “Something on your mind, son?”

I glanced back down the hall in the general direction of the veranda, where I’d left Anthony. “I’m not sure about everything we discussed with Anthony earlier.”

My uncle furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he said he needs to know anything that’s going on. So he doesn’t get blindsided by it. Don’t you think we should tell him—”

“Absolutely not,” Roger said sharply. “The fewer people who know, the better.”

“You don’t trust him?”

“Of course I trust him.” My uncle clapped my shoulder. “I wouldn’t let anyone else run your campaign. But the more people who know, the more likely the truth is to come out. Even inadvertently. It’s better to keep it between the handful of people who already know.”

“Still. A few people do know. It could theoretically come out.”

Roger smiled, tilting his head just so. “Jesse, no one will find out. As long as no one knows who doesn’t need to, there’s no reason for Anthony, the media, or anyone else to find out.” He lowered his chin, giving me The Look, the one he and my father had both inherited from my grandfather. “Right?”

I dropped my gaze. “Right.”

“I assume Simone will keep this to herself as well?”

“Of course.” I met his eyes, silently cursing how easily he could intimidate me with nothing more than a look. Arguing with a man who could spearhead an act of Congress and persuade people to vote for it was much easier said than done. “The thing is, Anthony’s no more likely to let it out than anyone else who already knows, but he of all people needs—”

“Jesse. Son.” Roger put both hands on my shoulders, pressing down just a little. “Stop worrying about it.”

Right. Of course. That was easy .

“All right.” I hoped he didn’t feel the resigned drop in my shoulders. “I should go. Simone won’t be happy if I’m late.”

Roger chuckled. “Not if she has to entertain that wife of Chris’s.”

I forced a laugh. “Yeah, no kidding.”

He patted my shoulder just hard enough to make me feel like a little kid instead of a grown man. “Well, have a good evening. Do give Simone my best.” His pointed look said nothing if not and remind her to keep her mouth shut .

“I will.” I reached for the door again.

Once I was outside, it was all I could do not to sprint across the courtyard to my car. I needed…I needed…fuck, I had to get out of here. Away from here. Not that I was looking forward to where I was going, but right now I wanted to be anywhere but here.

I turned the key in the ignition, and the car roared to life with a satisfying “we’re about to get the fuck out of here” sound. As the engine rumbled impatiently beneath the hood, I put on my seat belt, put the top down, and pulled on a pair of sunglasses.

Then, not a moment too soon, I got the fuck out of there.

All the way home, I couldn’t get Anthony out of my mind. On one hand, there was the guilt that I was keeping some information from him. On the other, he was… Anthony .

I was lucky I’d made it through the conversation with him and Roger this afternoon, never mind the one-on-one out on the veranda. The subject matter—both spoken and not—was anything but comfortable. The looks Anthony kept shooting my way alternately intimidated me and pushed the breath out of my lungs.

I didn’t get it. He was more intimidating than my uncle and father combined, and yet he wasn’t. One second I was so tongue-tied I could barely answer his pointed demands for information about my past. The next I could keep up with him in a volley of good-natured sarcasm even while my brain wondered where the fuck my comments—or the balls to say them—came from.

Good thing he had my campaign under control, because I was fucked for concentration when I was anywhere near him.

I swore under my breath and thumped the wheel with the heel of my hand. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t stand up to Roger, couldn’t keep my wits about me with Anthony, and still thought I was cut out to govern the damned state?

I rested my elbow on the door and gnawed my thumbnail. I could do this. Roger knew his shit when it came to politics, and he wouldn’t have hesitated to tell me I had no business running for anything, never mind governor, unless he genuinely thought I could do this. But could he have picked a worse campaign manager if he wanted me to get through this election with my sanity intact ?

About forty-five minutes after I left Roger’s place, I keyed in the code to my security gate. It screeched open, and I pulled past it. As I drove up the driveway and reached for the button on the visor to open the garage, a red sports car caught my eye. Grinding my teeth, I clicked the garage door button.

Just the sight of my sister-in-law’s Maserati GranCabrio always made my blood boil. I took a deep breath and turned my attention to the garage, tapping my fingers on the gearshift until the door had finished yawning open.

Once inside I parked, put the top back up, and killed the engine. As the garage door slowly closed, I went into the house.

Voices and clattering cookware drew me toward the kitchen. A distinctive shrill laugh raised the hairs on the back of my neck, but I plastered on a smile and walked in to join everyone.

Just as I expected, Simone was hard at work cooking entirely too much food for the four of us. My brother Chris sat on one of the bar stools on the other side of the kitchen island, a glass of white wine in his hand. Beside him, his wife, Julie, had her arms folded on the counter behind a mostly empty glass of the same.

Simone looked up from chopping something, smiling broadly. “There he is.”

“Sorry I’m late,” I said.

“Well.” Chris clicked his tongue and shook his head, making a grand gesture of looking at his watch. “We’ve only been waiting half the evening.”

Julie gave a tight-lipped laugh and made the most fleeting eye contact with me before turning her attention to the last half inch of wine in her glass.

Simone glanced up at me before continuing to chop a red bell pepper. “So how did everything go?”

“Everything went great.” I stepped behind the island, put a hand on the small of Simone’s back, and kissed her. “Roger’s campaign manager definitely knows what he’s doing.” Even if he doesn’t know what he’s doing to me. “Might win this thing after all.”

I ignored the dry sniff of laughter from my sister-in-law, focusing instead on leaning in to kiss Simone again. While she was distracted, I reached around her to grab a piece of a pepper, but she laughed and batted my hand away.

“Must you?” she asked with mock exasperation. To Julie she said, “I swear to God, I have to cut twice as much of anything since half of it doesn’t make it into the pot.” She threw me a playful glare.

I returned a toothy grin, and she laughed, shaking her head.

While she continued cutting vegetables, I went around to greet my brother and his wife.

Chris and I exchanged our customary half handshake, half hug, and as per usual, Julie and I both faked smiles before I kissed her cheek.

Simone and I made eye contact over the island. She gave the subtlest of nods, and I returned it .

To Chris I said, “Want to shoot a game before dinner?”

“Sure, why not?” He started to stand, but a look from his wife stopped him. He cleared his throat. “You, um, don’t mind, do you?”

“Oh go on,” Simone broke in, shooing us with one hand. “Then Julie and I won’t bore you with girl stuff.”

At that, Julie shrugged and reached for the bottle of wine. “No, I don’t mind.”

Yeah right . I looked at Chris, eyebrows up.

He nodded toward the hallway. “Let’s go.”

Without giving his wife a second look, I glanced at Simone, gave her an apologetic shrug, then left the kitchen with my brother. While our wives chatted in the kitchen, Chris and I went upstairs to the game room.

“Eight ball?” I asked.

He sniffed with cocky amusement. “Didn’t get your ass kicked hard enough last time?”

“Oh please.” I took a cue off the rack and picked up the chalk. “Just because you won two whole games does not make you God’s gift to pool.”

“Two whole games that night.” He picked up his favorite cue. “But then there’s the time before that. And the time before that . And—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.” I rolled my eyes and handed him the chalk. “I’ll rack. You break.”

For the first half of the game, we kept the conversation to the usual shit: the film Chris had just finished shooting, our dad turning up his nose at everything we did or didn’t do, crap like that.

Ahead by two and not about to let the SOB beat me like he always did, I gestured at the table with my cue. “Three ball, side pocket.”

As I leaned down to take my shot, Chris said, “So you’re really following in Roger’s footsteps?”

“Well, sort of.” I snapped my cue forward, and the cue ball shot across the table. When the three fell in the pocket with a satisfying thunk , I stood. “Don’t know if I’ll ever make it to the US Senate, but hey, we’ll see, right?”

Chris shrugged. “Good luck, man. I could think of worse lines of work.”

I laid my cue across the table and aimed it. “Like acting?”

“Hey. Hey. Shut up.”

We both laughed.

“Four ball, corner pocket.” I took the shot but, this time, narrowly missed. “Damn it.”

He picked up his cue. “Good thing you’re not trying to be a professional billiards player.”

“Oh fuck you.” I laughed and leaned against the wet bar. “Can you imagine Dad’s disappointment if I followed that career path?”

Chris grimaced. “Well, given how well you play…”

“Let’s hope I play the political games a little better, then. ”

“No shit.” He paused. “Nine ball, side pocket.” He eyed his cue, probably making sure he had the angle right to make the shot. “Run for president, Dad’ll probably stop being butthurt about everything.”

“Only if I win,” I muttered.

“I said he’d stop being butthurt.” Chris walked around the table, looking at the available shots even as he spoke. “I didn’t say he’d be satisfied.” He glanced at me and grinned. “Even he would have to admit you’ve got a set of brass ones to try for the White House.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Yeah, well, let me start with Sacramento and we’ll go from there. I’m two days into all this campaign bullshit, and it already feels like six months.”

“And you wonder why Roger went gray so young.” He leaned over the table to line up his shot. As he turned his head, an odd shadow peeked over the top of his collar. When he shifted slightly, the shadow stayed with him.

I craned my neck. “What’d you do to your neck, man?”

“What?” He reached back, his hand going straight to the bruise. “What do you mean?”

I raised an eyebrow.

His cheeks colored. He cleared his throat and focused again on lining up his cue. “Just a little stunt mishap.”

I pursed my lips. “Really?”

He glanced over his shoulder at me. Then he exhaled and shook his head, turning back to the game. “Quit worrying so much, Jesse.”

“Why should I?” I tapped my index finger on my cue. “Every time you’re here, you—”

“Jesse.” He stood and faced me. “Stop worrying. I’m serious.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek, my stomach winding into knots.

Evidently satisfied I wasn’t going to press the issue—when didn’t I back down on this subject?—he returned his attention to the game.

I exhaled and looked out the window at Julie’s gleaming Maserati parked beside the fountain. Gnawing on my lip, I glanced at Chris, at the car, at Chris again. Bring it up? Don’t bring it up?

Heart pounding, I cleared my throat. “Didn’t bring the Porsche tonight?”

“Nah.” The cue ball cracked sharply against another ball, and something dropped into a pocket. “In the shop.”

I turned around, eyeing him. “Again?”

“Yep.” He focused extra hard on lining up a shot. “Twelve, side pocket.”

“What happened this time? Severed brake lines?”

He glared at me. “That’s not funny.”

“Who’s laughing?”

He locked eyes with me for a moment but then looked back at the balls on the table. “Twelve, side pocket,” he repeated and took the shot. The twelve missed its intended pocket by a good two inches. Chris stood and pushed himself away from the table. “Your shot,” he muttered and reached for his wineglass.

“Chris, what’s going—”

“Let it go ,” he growled. Gentler now, almost pleading, he added, “Jesse, please.”

We locked eyes again. I tried to work up the nerve to keep at it. He silently dared me to and begged me not to. I swallowed.

Then I cleared my throat. “It’s…um…my shot?”

“Yeah.” He brushed past me.

Gut in knots, I picked up my cue.

I dropped onto the couch and held my soda can to my forehead. “Jesus Christ, they are exhausting.”

“Not ‘they.’” The cushion shifted as Simone sat beside me. “ She is exhausting.”

“Good point.” I rolled my eyes, then took a drink. “I don’t know how you put up with her.”

She chuckled. “Well, it’s not like you leave me much choice when you drag him off to the game room.”

“Sorry. You know I don’t like inflicting her on you.”

“I know.” She smiled. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have let you two run off like that.”

“Let me?” I snorted. “Woman, please. Let me, my ass.”

She elbowed me. “Whatever. You know if I told you to stay in the kitchen with the grown-ups, you would.”

“Yes, dear.” I gave her my most sheepish look, and we both laughed. As my humor faded, the knots in my stomach twisted and tightened.

Simone squeezed my arm. “You okay?”

I watched myself play with the tab on my soda can. “I’m worried about him. I really am.”

“I know you are. Me too.”

Still playing with the tab, I said, “He had a bruise on his neck.”

Simone forced out a sharp breath. “God, another one?”

I nodded. My throat ached, and I gritted my teeth. “And his car’s in the shop again .”

“Shit.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Did he say what’s wrong with it this time?”

“He didn’t think it was funny when I asked if the brake lines were cut.” I took a drink as an excuse to swallow the lump in my throat. “She probably smashed a window or something again. Who knows? ”

Simone ran her hand up and down my forearm. “He knows he can come stay with us anytime he needs to, right?”

“I’ve told him time and again. But…” I gestured with my drink. “Everything’s fine.”

“Of course it is,” she whispered.

We both fell silent for a long, long time. Every time my brother and his wife left after having dinner with us, Simone and I found ourselves just like this: exhausted, depressed, with no idea what to say or do. We’d both long since stopped trying to come up with a solution, never mind convince Chris to implement it. Next week we’d do this all over again. Same bullshit, different week. Such was the price we paid if I wanted to see my brother on any kind of a regular basis, because he sure as fuck wasn’t allowed to come visit me alone.

Eventually I set my empty soda can on the coffee table and leaned back against the couch. “So, besides having to spend the evening with Julie, how was your day?”

She shrugged and pulled her feet up under her on the cushion. “I spent most of the day cooking.” She smiled. “So, not a bad day.”

I smiled back, wishing I hadn’t noticed she’d barely touched her plate during dinner. “Good. Glad to hear it.”

“What about you?” She rested her elbow on the back of the couch. A playful grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Have fun with your campaign manager?”

“Yeah, something like that.” I exhaled. “Concentrating around him is going to be a bitch and a half.”

“I don’t doubt that for a minute.” She whistled. “He is fucking gorgeous.”

“Tell me about it. One of these days, I just know I’m going to make an ass of myself in front of him. He’ll ask me a question, and I’ll say something exceptionally stupid, and…” I gestured sharply.

She laughed. “I can imagine. As hot as he is…”

“It’s not just that. He’s… God, I can’t even describe it. He’s just… distracting .”

She cocked her head, grinning. “Are you sure it’s not just because he’s, you know, a good-looking guy?”

“I have no idea.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I really don’t.”

Simone giggled. “You know, you are so adorable when you’re twitterpated.”

“Twitterpated?” I laughed. “Oh come on. I’m not that bad.”

She nudged me with her elbow. “You so are. Jesus, Jess, I’ve seen you around guys who make me trip over my own feet, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen someone have this effect on you.”

I glared at her, but when she giggled again, I couldn’t help chuckling.

She snickered. “That’s what I thought.”

I rolled my eyes and tried not to laugh. “Whatever. ”

“Or maybe it’s not just him.”

“What do you mean?”

Simone shrugged. “Maybe it’s you. I mean, maybe you just need to get laid.”

My cheeks burned, but I couldn’t really argue with her. “Okay, maybe.”

“Just a thought.” Some of the humor had faded from her voice.

“You might be right, but I think I’ve used enough people, don’t you?”

She smiled weakly. “Just part of getting into politics, I guess. But if you find anyone who interests you, you know you can…”

Our eyes met, and the hurt in hers cut deep.

I sat up and pulled her to me, wrapping my arms around her so she could rest her head against my shoulder.

“The same goes for you. You know that. If someone interests you.”

“I know,” she whispered. “Kind of hard to meet people when I can’t let a single soul know about this, though.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Closing my eyes, I released a breath as I stroked her hair. “I’m so sorry about all this. I really am.”

“It’s only for a few more months. I’ll manage.”

“Yeah, but…” Pulling back, I looked her in the eye and took a breath. “Anthony wants you out on the campaign trail with us. On your own, even.”

“What?” Her eyes widened and her lips parted. “But I…Jesse, I don’t know the first thing about—”

“I know.” I put a hand on her arm. “The campaigning will be up to Anthony and me. All you’ll have to do is smile for the crowd, maybe visit some schools and things like that.”

Her thin eyebrows climbed as she sucked in a breath. “Visiting schools? I-I wouldn’t even know what to do. Or say. Or—”

“Simone.” I touched her face. “Anthony will let you know what you need to do and say. He just wants you as visible as possible because of how we’re presenting our marriage.”

She scowled.

“I promise,” I said, “he knows what he’s doing. I’ll ask him to keep your involvement to a minimum if you’re not comfortable, though.”

She released her breath and put her hand over mine. “I’ll manage. Whatever I can do to help you get elected.”

“I just don’t want you to overdo it.” I tried not to notice how cold her fingers were against mine. “If you’re not sure, or—”

“Jess.” She smiled, though it obviously took a lot of effort. “I’ll be okay. You’ve got an election to win. Don’t worry about me.”

“You know I’ll worry about you.”

“Yes, I know you will.” She took my hand from her face and laced her fingers between mine. “But I’ll be okay. I promise.” Turning our joined hands, she looked at her watch. “And it’s late. You’ve got an early day tomorrow. ”

“Yeah, I should get some sleep. God only knows what Anthony’s got in store for me tomorrow.”

Simone giggled again, and more heat rushed into my cheeks.

“That’s not what I meant,” I said, laughing.

“Whatever.” She released my hand and patted my arm. As she stood, she said, “I’m sure you wouldn’t complain if that was what he had in mind.”

Chuckling, I rose. “No, I can’t say I would.”

“Big shock. All right, you. Get some sleep.”

“You too.”

She hugged me, and we both held on a moment or two longer than we usually did. Then she went upstairs to the bedroom we used to share, and I went down the hall to the guest room that was now mine.

Between Anthony…and Chris…and Simone…and the election, I didn’t sleep for shit that night.