Sway (Landry Family #1) (30 page)

The place is beautiful, filled to near capacity, and I can feel the weight of the stares on my back. Barrett is sitting in the corner so he can see the entire room; I’m thankful I can’t.

“Your hand is shaking,” he says, lifting it off the table and planting a sweet kiss to the center of my palm. “Will you relax? Please?”

“I’m trying,” I whisper. “I just know they’re all talking about us right now.”

“I’m sure they are. Everyone always talks about the most beautiful girl in the room.”

My cheeks heating, I pull my hand away. “I thought I was prepared for this. When I would go places with my ex-husband, things like this would happen.”

“No offense, but I don’t really want to think about you at dinner with him.”

The grimace on his face makes me giggle.

“I’m not joking,” he says.

“I know. But I like that it bothers you. Call me crazy.”

“You’re crazy to think it wouldn’t,” he smiles.

Drinks are placed in front of us and we order off the menu. The server is a man, but that doesn’t stop him from flirting with Barrett.

Once we’re alone again, Barrett looks at me with a seriousness in his eye. “Are you happy?” he asks me.

I run my finger along the edge of my glass. “Yes. Why would you ask me that?”

He pulls at the collar of his shirt. “Because it’s the most important thing to me.”

The earnestness of his tone hits me right in the middle of my heart. My cheeks split with a smile and I mean every inch of it. “I feel like, for the first time in my life, things might be going where I want them to go.”

His hand drops to his lap and he takes a rough swallow. “Where’s that?”

“To being happy.”

“Do I make you happy, Alison?”

“Yes, you do.”

“I know this whole thing is hard for you, me being a politician. And sometimes . . .” he looks at the ceiling before finding my eyes again. “Sometimes I feel like I maybe pushed you into this and that makes me—”

“You didn’t push me into anything,” I interject. “Yes, maybe you were a little aggressive in your methods. But every choice I’ve made, including being with you, is one
I
made. Okay?”

He nods and looks around the room. “You have no idea how proud I am to be sitting here with you.” He looks at me again and takes my hand, holding it on top of the table. “You’ve made my life better. I just hope that your life is better because of it too.”

I think about it for a long minute before responding. “My life is harder with you in it.”

He tightens his grip on my hand, his eyes flickering with worry.

“It is, Barrett. I worry so much that things will go wrong. I stay up at night wondering if this has a chance to work out in the end. But,” I say, just as his mouth opens to speak, “I always come to the same conclusion: it has to. Because I can’t imagine not sitting here with you tonight or not getting your texts first thing in the morning. Regardless of how hard it is, it’s worth it.”

He starts to speak when the server approaches the table. “I’m sorry, sir. There’s a man at the bar, a Miles Monroe, that has asked that you speak with him for a minute.”

Barrett falls back in his chair and looks at me.

“Go if you need to,” I say, noting how sexy he looks when he’s on the verge of getting mad. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“This is our date,” he grumbles.

“And you’re the mayor running for election. I can handle not being with you for a few minutes. I’ll just check on Hux. It’s fine.”

He stands and stops in front of me. He bends down, a sinful look on his face, and kisses me, letting our lips linger for a moment longer than necessary. When he pulls back he whispers against my mouth, “That should serve a few purposes. One, it will remind you of the things to come after we get out of here. Two, it should tell you how fucking gorgeous you look tonight. And three, it will make it clear to every person in here that we are together, like it or not.”

Before I can respond, he’s gone. My heart is pounding in my chest, my cheeks flushed from his kiss. If I sit too long and feel the stares of the other patrons, I’ll be a nervous wreck, so I pull my phone from my purse and send a quick text to my mom to check on Huxley. As soon as I hit send, a woman’s voice, breathy a la Marilyn Monroe, speaks from my side.

“You must be Alison,” she almost whispers.

I look up, her curvy body stuffed into a baby pink dress that must have cost more than my tuition this semester. I force a swallow and plaster on the practiced smile I’ve used many times over the past few years.

“I am,” I say, my voice even. I recognize her as the girl Barrett escorted out of the Savannah House the night I met him. “Can I help you with something?”

“Uh, no,” she laughs, like the idea is ridiculous. “I’m Daphne Monroe, but I’m sure you knew that.” She licks her ruby red lips. “I just wanted to thank you for helping Barrett with his campaign. You’ve been such a blessing to him.”

My mind scrambles and I catch my jaw from dropping right in time. I don’t know what she’s getting at and I’m not about to ask. Instead, I play along. “Not that he needs my help,” I muse, “but I’m glad I can assist where I can.”

Her eyes narrow and I know she’s trying to keep the upper hand. Behind those heavily-lashed eyes is a breadth of fury. “I know what it’s like to be in the middle of a campaign year,” she says, her words tempered with a smile that’s not at all genuine. “I can only imagine how . . . someone
like you
. . . is dealing with it. It will be over soon and you can go back to your life. Just hang in there.”

My blood roasts my veins at her thinly-veiled insinuations. Her hand finds the bend of her hip, angling her hand so I can see the expensive jewels on her fingers.

I laugh.

“Someone . . .
like me
. . . is dealing with it very well,” I smile sweetly. “But you’re right—we are just waiting for it to be over so we can get some kind of normalcy in our lives. Although I suppose we’ll have to find a new normal once we get moved,” I add, hoping she gets the point that I will be going with him to Atlanta. “I just dread packing everything.”

“Oh,” she gushes, putting me on edge, “it’s so nice of Barrett’s people to get you a new house as payment. You must give great blow jobs because that’s not usually in the deal. It’s usually a quick check or a new car or something for you fillers,” she smirks. “Fillers. That’s what girls like you are called.”

My lips spring open, my eyes wide, my fingers ready to rip her apart when I see Barrett walking up to us. His eyes are frantic, his steps hurried, as he makes his way to the table.

I give a quick look to Daphne, who has no idea he’s behind her. I’m not about to play into her hand and start something in front of him. Everyone in this building knows her and her father and would surely take her side in any kind of argument. I’d lose.

And I’m not losing to this bitch.

“Hey, baby,” I say when Barrett is just behind her.

“Is everything okay here?” he asks, eyeing Daphne carefully.

She whirls around, her hand flying to her chest, at the sound of his voice. “Hey, you,” she says. “I was just meeting your date tonight.”

He side-eyes her and takes his seat. “I take it you met then.”

“We did,” I laugh, making him more nervous. “It’s nice meeting your friends, Barrett. It really puts some things in perspective.”

“Does it now?”

Daphne cuts in, stepping to Barrett’s side. “I’m going to get back to my table. I think our mothers are co-chairing an event this week. Maybe we’ll see each other there, Barrett.”

He shakes his head. “I think my week is booked solid. But it was good to see you, Daphne.”

“You too.” She glances at me, her eyes lethal. “Nice to meet you, Alison.”

“That pleasure was all mine,” I emphasize, watching her try to keep her composure as she skirts off across the room.

Barrett laughs and takes a sip of his wine. “I’d ask how that went, but I think I already know.”

I consider telling him what she said, voicing to him what she just implied: that I was no more than a pawn in his career. Before the words can free themselves from my lips, I decide not to. It’s bullshit, plain and simple and if I bring it up, I’m not sure what he’ll do. I don’t want to give that nasty woman any power.

Instead, I say, “How can you be friends with someone like that?”

“I’m not anymore,” he insists, placing his glass back on the table. “We grew up together, went to the same schools all our lives. She was someone I could . . .”

I shake my head emphatically. “Nope. I don’t want to hear this.”

He laughs, his eyes shining with a sentiment I could get lost in if I let myself. “She was someone I could . . . forget,” he whispers. “She was someone I couldn’t care less about, someone that wasn’t even a blip on my radar.” He leans against the table, his features striking against the candlelight. “She was never anything to me. You, Alison Baker, are mine.”

I bend forward, our lips finding each other’s over the center of the table. For the first time, I don’t care who is watching, I don’t care who is whispering. I just want to revel in this man, his words, and the fact that I know he means it.

Barrett

“YOU OKAY BACK THERE?” TROY
asks, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.

“Yeah,” I say, going back to my phone. “Why?”

“You just seem jittery, I guess. That’s not normal for you. Even when you’re stressed or pissed, you’re always composed.”

I toss my phone into my briefcase and lock it. Resting my head on the back of the Rover seat, I take a deep breath. “Just stressed the fuck out.”

He clicks off the radio and turns down Alison’s street. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, how serious are we about this girl?”

“Serious.”

“That’s what I thought,” he says, slowing to a stop along the curb. “For the record, I really like her. She reminds me of Camilla, but without the trust fund.”

“She’s nothing like Swink. She keeps to herself, wants no part of this world. Camilla eats it up.”

“Yeah, but Camilla is the classiest woman I know. And Alison, she has that same vibe.”

I open my door and smile at my friend. “Thanks, man.”

He nods and as soon as I step out, he pulls away as I instructed him to do.

I make my way up the sidewalk to the front door, stepping over a baseball bat. It makes me smile because it’s so normal, such a typical family-in-the-suburbs thing to see.

There’s a chip in the front window of the house and I wonder as I knock if she’d be pissed if I had someone come over and fix it. And if I had them install a security system.

Before I can think too much about it, she pulls the door open. “Hey,” she grins, letting me inside. “Are you hungry? We just ate, but there are leftovers in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, actually. I am.”

I kiss her in a more reserved way than I’d like. I sit my briefcase down by the door and follow her into the back, watching her ass sway in front of me as we go.

Huxley is sitting at the table, working on math problems. He looks up and smiles. “Hey, Barrett.”

“Hi,” I say, sitting across from him. “How’s everything going?”

He shrugs. “Good, I guess. I hate math though. Are you good at it?”

“Nope,” I laugh. “I had my brother Ford do all my math homework when I was a kid. I hated it too.”

“I don’t get it when numbers and letters go together. That’s just . . . confusing.”

“That it is,” I laugh.

Alison puts a plate of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans in front of me. It looks delicious, like something I’d get in a diner, but more wholesome. She watches nervously as I take a bite.

The flavors blindside me, so much more than I expected. “This is great,” I say honestly and take another bite. I didn’t even realize how hungry I was until now.

A television plays in the living room and I feel myself relax. This is the atmosphere you see on television, the American life you see on sitcoms. A life I didn’t even know was real until now. A life I didn’t know I needed until recently.

We chitchat about Hux’s school and the paper Alison just finished, but we stay away from the election. I’m grateful for that. Bringing that poison into this room would be wrong. It’s so real and pure in this kitchen that I want to preserve it.

“Time to do dishes,” Hux announces, taking my plate and going to the sink. I watch his little body move around—filling the sink, adding the bubbles, getting his towel laid out to catch the wet dishes.

Alison watches me with as much curiosity as I watch him. She raises her brows and I consider my next move, but know what I want to do.

Standing, I take off my watch and place it on the table. I roll my sleeves back to the elbows while I head towards Hux. He looks at me over his shoulder.

“You don’t have to help me,” he grins. “I do the dishes every night. It’s my job.”

“I’d like to help you, if you don’t mind,” I say, trying to figure out how to join into this perfected assembly he has going on. “I’ve never done this before.”

He nearly drops a plate. “What?”

I shrug. “We had people that did it for us.”

“Can we get people, Mom?”

Alison laughs, tucking her legs beneath her on the chair. “Sorry. No people for us,” she tells him.