Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“Excuse me?” I quirk a curious brow. “I’m not, as far as I know.”
I sneak a look at Lennix, whose face reflects my confusion.
“According to Page Six,” Polly says, showing us an article pulled up on her phone, “you may be just days away from the altar, and America might have its next first lady.”
I roll my eyes. “Fake news.”
Polly scrolls down the screen, and a few pictures pop up. All heads on that side of the table tilt in one accord to peer at the screen, including Lennix’s. She and Kimba exchange a quick, unreadable look.
“Excuse me, guys,” Lennix says. “I need to go read this policy paper.”
She stands and walks to the back of the bus. Polly looks after her and shrugs, turning back to the fascinating piece on my potential forthcoming nuptials.
“Could I at least meet my bride?” I ask, holding my hand out for the phone. Polly laughs and hands it over.
Shit.
It was all innocent, but these photos of Salina and me make things look intimate and arranged. The two of us deboarding the Cade Energy plane. Photos some kind parent at the party innocently posted to Instagram from the birthday party. Salina and me smiling, standing side by side, our faces lit by the glow of birthday candles. Us sitting beside each other during dinner on the patio. I thought nothing of any of it at the time, but we present the perfect picture of a courting couple.
America’s Next Camelot? the headline blares, and the sensational speculation that follows only gets worse.
Maxim Cade isn’t the only candidate. Salina Pérez may be mounting a campaign of her own. Maxim for president. Salina for…first lady? Does she get your vote? A young, beautiful couple in the White House! First babies! We are here for it!
If my father leaked this…
Right on time, my phone buzzes with a notification.
Dad: I didn’t do this. Just some reporter piecing shit together and speculating. Trying to take advantage of a slow news cycle.
Me: Why should I believe you?
Dad: If I did it, I would tell you. I’m not scared of you, boy.
Typical.
When I glance up from my phone, Kimba is staring a hole in my head. I lift my brows into the shape of what?
She tips her head toward the back of the bus.
Lennix has played it safe since the Glenn incident, barely looking at me the past few days.
“I need to ask Lennix something about this speech for Detroit,” I tell the team at the table with a quick smile. “Be right back.”
I set off down the long aisle. On the bright side, I get to be alone with my girl for the first time in days, even if it’s in the back of a crowded bus. She’s in the very last row, knees up against the seat in front of her.
“This seat taken?” I ask, nodding to the empty space beside her.
“Yeah.” She scoots into the spot. “It is.”
I move her slight weight over so I can sit.
“Could you not touch me in public?” she whispers. “We had a close call. We’re lucky Glenn hasn’t blabbered to the press.”
“Is blabber a word adults actually use?”
Her mouth twitches, but she schools it into a straight line. I lean forward to catch her eyes with mine, glad the high back of the seat obscures us, provides a small measure of privacy.
“Look, I know you saw those photos of Salina and me at the twins’ party. We just happened to be standing together and seated together. We were the only single people there. Everyone else had a kid and a spouse.”
“Whatever.” She shrugs but looks up to search my face. “You didn’t mention the plane ride.”
“It wasn’t worth mentioning, and I didn’t know about it until she got on the plane. My father—”
“Never mind. Enough said. I know he doesn’t think I’m good enough for you, so I guess he has aggressively taken matters into his own hands to find a viable alternative.”
“I told him to stop and that it’s useless. There’s no one else but you. He knows that. You should know that. Are you jealous?”
“Yes.” She glares at me. “And you like it.”
I chuckle because I kind of do. “I can laugh because it’s ridiculous to even think I’d want someone else.”
I lean my head out into the aisle to make sure no one can see us and interlock our fingers. Holding her hand is a privilege I’ll never take for granted again.
She relents her first smile since Polly’s little bomb. “It’s probably a good red herring. Diverts attention away from us.”
“You know the press will keep speculating and digging because America doesn’t just elect a president,” I say. “People have to feel good about the spouse, too. They want to know who that will be. We could end it,” I whisper, bending until our heads touch and taking her hand, kissing her wrist. “If we just tell them I already have my first lady. An affair sounds bad, but an engagement sounds romantic. Getting married could solve all our problems.”