The Kept Woman (20 page)

"I didn't get you a gift," Sam said, crying, too.

"Oh, sweetie. Yes, you did."

Christy lay in bed reliving the night's surprises, waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in—her wisdom teeth were really starting to annoy her.

Of all the people to run into at the mayor's Christmas Eve shindig! Marguerite Tolliver! Oh, that woman was smooth. But a lifetime as a politician's wife had made her that way, and, as everyone knew, it was often the wife who ran the show anyway. It had probably been that way during Gordon Tolliver's reign as well.

She was there with Allen Ditto! To someone who didn't know that the oldies had been lifelong friends it would almost have appeared that they were on a date. Ditto leaned in to catch her every word. He fetched her drinks at an event where there were plenty of catering people on hand to take care of that chore. He stayed at her side through the night.

Of course, it was too much to resist. Christy couldn't stop herself from bringing up business, even if it meant she might never again be welcome at one of the mayor's invite-only gatherings. There was an unspoken rule at these elite functions to steer clear of the nasty side of politics, at least for a night, but Christy believed a person would never get anywhere in life if she didn't take full advantage of every opportunity that came her way.

Marguerite seemed a bit chilly. It was almost as if it took her a few moments to remember who Christy was and that she'd once invited her on a girls-only shopping trip to Chicago. Allen was his usual self, pleasant in an earnest sort of way, talking in generalities, not saying much of anything quotable. She supposed that's how he'd lasted so long in the Senate.

Eventually, she'd gotten around to asking Marguerite what she thought of her future daughter-in-law. That moment right there was worth the price of admission. Even frequent-flier Botox injections couldn't mask the very real reaction that little question got. Marguerite's face went rigid, and Christy could see her pulse pound against the paper-thin skin at her throat.

After a too-long silence, in which Allen had cleared his throat at least twice, Marguerite smiled at Christy and replied, "Tolliver men have always had excellent judgment when it comes to women."

They walked away after that, leaving Christy to wonder if that was a compliment to her, since, after all, Jack had once chosen her, or an insult because he'd eventually dumped her.

Christy pulled the covers under her chin and closed her eyes, smiling to herself in the dark, knowing that the real important bit was that Marguerite was clearly uncomfortable talking about Jack's alleged fiancee and Marguerite Tolliver never let it show she was uncomfortable about anything.

There was definitely a story here, and Christy would get it if it was the last thing she ever did.

The day had arrived, and Samantha was more nervous than she thought she'd be. The kids were doing great. Jack had taken Greg to his tailor and bought him his first suit, and he looked so grown-up and sure of himself standing there next to Sam. Lily had agreed to wear what she referred to as "normal people clothes" for the press conference, even volunteering to lay off the kohl for a day. Sam had taken Dakota to the bathroom three times in the last half hour, praying that they could avoid any kind of pants removal in the time it took for this thing to be over with. She had Dakota swear to her that he would tell her when he had to go potty so they could leave the stage.

"No pwobwem, Mommy," he'd assured her, giving her a thumbs-up.

Kara had warned them that reporters would try to corner them at every turn, even if they went to get a drink of water or use the bathroom, and that's exactly what happened. They said nothing, just as they'd been instructed. Sam and the kids knew the whole idea was to make it look like Jack brought them just to see the dolphins, and when the media hounded him about his political ambitions as a matter of course he would happen to admit that he'd decided to run for Senate and then find a way to get Sam and the kids to join him onstage.

They stood on the floor next to the raised dais, not on display but not exactly hidden. Marguerite sat in the front row, and Sam would occasionally feel her evil eye descend upon her. They had successfully avoided each other these last two weeks, as Marguerite had moved into a hotel Christmas Day and never returned to Sunset Lane, much to everyone's relief.

Sam glanced at Greg and Lily and knew they were starting to get nervous. She couldn't blame them and wished this were already over. The whole thing had been a zoo in more ways than one, the kind of production Sam had only seen on TV. When Jack had cut the ribbon on the new dolphin exhibit a few moments ago, the spectacle of all those video camera lights, reporters, and big shots was overwhelming. Jack was now up onstage using his politician's voice to describe what an asset the zoo was to Indiana and how the new exhibit was an example of how private and public partnerships could be the bedrock of economic development.

It unfolded just the way Kara said, and she watched Jack handle the barrage of questions with grace and humor. He didn't seem to mind the camera flashes and the occasional impolite shout. He looked the part up there at the podium, in a simply cut black suit, white dress shirt, and beautiful tie in abstract blues and greens, a choice Kara had spent days agonizing over. It had seemed silly to Sam at the time, but she guessed the genius was in the details.

Eventually, Jack made his announcement, and that's when things got hairy. Reporters started shouting, and Jack answered a few basic questions, then reminded them that the day was about the zoo and not about his campaign and told them to all enjoy themselves. He turned to go and someone shouted, "At least introduce us to your fiancee!" Jack laughed and motioned for Sam and the kids to join him. He reached for Sam's hand as she walked up the steps.

"This is Samantha Monroe and her children, Greg, Lily, and Dakota Benjamin."

Sam's head started to spin. Her knees shook. She smiled as naturally as she could, but she hadn't been on a stage since Valpo High's production of
Bye Bye Birdie
her sophomore year, an experience that made her so queasy she decided to stick to set design. As the reporters continued to shout, Sam was so preoccupied with preventing herself from fainting that she hardly noticed Dakota pulling on her hand.

She felt Jack's arm come around her shoulders and she was grateful for the support. She continued to smile.

"The rumors are true. We are engaged."

The questions spiraled out of control.
How did they meet? When was the wedding? Did he plan to adopt her children?
Sam was seriously beginning to question her sanity in ever agreeing to this when Greg whispered into her ear with urgency, "Mom! Get D-d-dakota!"

The crowd burst into laughter as Sam handled the calamity as quickly and efficiently as possible. In one motion, she yanked up Dakota's pants and tucked the wet diaper under her arm, whisking him down the stairs and to the bathroom.

Jack's next comment echoed throughout the dolphin pavilion and was received with warm laughter.

"It's potty-training time, and we're fighting the good fight, something I'm sure all of you parents out there can relate to."

"My God, that was pure genius! Are you sure I can't get you to do a soft bio spot with Jack?"

"Soft
what
?"

Kara laughed. She'd been laughing a lot that night, on the ride back from the zoo, while the kids swam, and now over pizza in the kitchen. Kara claimed Sam and her brood had "charmed the shit" out of Indiana's voting public. Sam had to shake her head—and she'd thought working in a hair salon was a bizarre way to make a living!

"Is that anything like soft porn?" Monte asked.

"Sort of. Soft bio spots are usually thirty-second TV ads that don't get to the nitty-gritty on issues, just kind of give you a look at the candidate as a person, you know, touchy-feely drivel." Kara dug into her pizza with abandon and continued talking with her mouth full. "We've already spent close to a million on his issue spots, but we could always do another soft one and run the living hell out of it right before the primary."

"A million dollars?" Sam asked, astonished.

"What I'm picturing here is Jack taking the kids sledding. Or maybe throwing the Frisbee for Dale, hiking with you in Eagle Creek, or antiquing in Brown County."

Monte said, "Why don't you just videotape Jack changing one of Dakota's big ole stinky diapers?"

"My God! That's brilliant!" Kara swigged down some of her Diet Coke. "You should go into politics."

Monte shook her head slowly. "You're damn crazy."

After they'd stopped laughing and the kids had come and gone, grabbing more pizza to take back to the great room, Sam decided to make certain that Kara had heard her. "I'm serious. No kids in the ads. It's bad enough that they were on TV today. I think now that everybody knows we exist, they don't have to be paraded around in front of the cameras ever again."

"But
you'd
consider doing it, right?"

Sam sighed. She knew her contract called for her to participate in campaign advertisements as needed. "I will. But I'd like to have some say in the finished product, because you know they'll run it on TV after we break up, and if it's too mushy it will make all of us look ridiculous."

"I've considered that, too," Kara admitted, nodding thoughtfully. "So, it'll be low-key but high-impact. We'll start shooting in the next few weeks."

The natural light was remarkable in this room, and sometimes Sam would imagine what the space must have looked like back in the 1930s, when Jack's dad was a baby. It had probably been decorated with intricate wallpaper and heavy drapes and filled with ornate wood furniture. It would have been the exact opposite of the room now, with its white walls, unadorned windows, and tarp-covered floors. But the room felt like pure extravagance to Sam. It was her space and filled with her things. It was where she went to think and feel and dream and paint. Sam didn't know if the room had a generous vibe all its own or if it just reflected her own reawakened enthusiasm, but the result was the same—her studio was a heavenly retreat, where she escaped every afternoon during Dakota's nap and every other chance she got, to reacquaint herself with herself.

Sam had been working on several simple paintings since Christmas, and it felt like she was hearing her native tongue spoken after years of silence. Some days, Sam would enjoy the process so much that she'd cry with relief, thrilled to see something come alive under her hand again. Other days, she'd get so frustrated with her lack of finesse that she'd stomp her feet and scream and yell at the canvas. Once, she'd given the anger a name—
Mitch
—and she looked at what she'd been working on and realized she'd been painting his face. Sam knew all the pent-up sadness had to come out somehow, and this was as good a way as any.

Many days, Sam would paint while her mind picked at the concerns that swirled in her head. Lily had settled in fine at Park Tudor and had found some nice, nonconformist friends, and she was blossoming with her advanced placement classes. Sam had always known Lily was smart but hadn't expected her to dive into academics the way she had. It was a joy to watch.

Greg was having a rougher time, which surprised Sam. His private speech therapy was progressing extremely well and he was excelling at his classes, especially history. The problem was he missed Simon terribly—Greg only saw him a couple times a week now—and had retreated into himself, reading for hours on end in his room. Sam and Monte had discussed getting Simon into Park Tudor for his high school years, even if it meant splitting the tuition.

And then there was Dakota. He needed to get out of diapers and it needed to happen
yesterday
. Sam knew he was on the edge of a breakthrough and all her hard work was about to pay off, but it couldn't happen fast enough. Sam also needed to really start looking for a house. She needed to get more life insurance. She needed to talk to Marcia about working part-time when she went back to the salon instead of full-time, a request she might not like. Sam had been seriously thinking about hiring a competent private investigator to find Mitch. She could afford it. She had unfinished business with her ex and she wanted it over and done with. She was ready to move on.

Of course, Jack was on her mind all the time. He'd taken up residence in her head and her heart and sometimes she could even feel him and smell him when he wasn't anywhere near. And things just seemed to get better—and more complicated—as time went on. The weeks of fake-but-actually-real dates, campaign events, and excellent sex were moving along at a fast clip, and with each day she found she craved him more, laughed with him more, and knew him better. She was in love, no doubt about it, but she'd never bring it up. It was as if the two of them had an unspoken agreement to never mention life after May, so there she was, headed to her own execution and liking it.

On that Wednesday afternoon in mid-February, Sam was working in her studio while Dakota slept. She was swimming in calm waves of ideas and form, at peace with what she was sketching. She thought maybe she was getting somewhere with her plans for the three large canvases, still stacked up against the far wall of the studio waiting for her inspiration. Sam knew it would be silly to push herself to start the triptych before the primary when she'd only have to pack up and move everything. She'd give herself time with this. She deserved to.

A faint knock on the door brought her out of her sketch, and she assumed it was Mrs. Dyson, the housekeeper, who often chatted with Sam for a few minutes before she left for the evening. But it was Jack, who poked his dark head into Sam's studio and smiled at her. From behind his back he pulled out a potted hydrangea, and Sam felt her stomach drop.

She loved him so much.

"Hey, Senator." Sam put down her sketchbook and pencil and smiled. She enjoyed watching him walk across a room—any room, but it was especially erotic to see his graceful and strong body saunter through her space, just like he did her heart.

Jack set the pot down on a windowsill and leaned in to kiss her.

"How's my sweet Sam?"

"Good."

"May I?" Jack waited for her OK and he picked up the sketch pad. "Wow." She watched him frown. "What the hell is it?"

Sam laughed. "It's an abstraction. It's supposed to convey a feeling rather than an actual thing. Like one of your thirty-second soft bio spots."

"Got it. Come here, Samantha." He sat on the sturdy worktable and motioned for her to join him. She climbed up on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"We get to see the video this week; did Kara tell you?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "I'm a little scared."

Jack chuckled. "It can't be too bad. It's just the two of us walking down the street in Bean Blossom while it snows. I know we were there for hours and hours, but they'll probably use about three seconds of it."

"I know."

"And no one will ever suspect you were wearing that white lace bustier under your down jacket."

"No one but you." She kissed his cheek and laughed with him, and it took just a few seconds for everything to change, as it often did with them. Jack tightened his grip and pulled her close.

"It's been four days, Sam."

"Five. I counted."

"God, I need you so bad."

Sam began ripping off her clothes and shucking her boots. Jack was naked and gleaming in the golden afternoon light and Sam moaned at the sight.

"I have to paint you."

His eyes went panicky. "Now?"

Sam laughed and climbed back up on the table with him, spreading her legs to sit on his lap, facing him. "Not right this second, silly, but sometime soon. I've wanted to paint you every since I met you."

"Yeah? I've wanted to do certain things with you from the very beginning, too."

Sam put her hands on his big, solid upper arms, getting that same thrill she felt every time she touched his body. She smiled down at that impossibly handsome face and asked, "What kind of things?"

"I wanted to kiss you, for one." And he did. Jack kissed her so hard and hot and good that she could feel a tingle of need start in the core of her body and spread outward, warm and luscious as it coursed through her. It still amazed her, what Jack was able to accomplish with a single kiss.

"And I wanted to touch every inch of you. I wanted to hold you tight." His arms went around her and then his hands slowly explored her bare flesh—her shoulders, back, butt, and thighs—leaving little electrical flashes of pleasure wherever his fingertips landed.

Then Jack grabbed her by the waist and raised her up just enough to position her above his hard cock. He looked her in the eye and said, "Sam, sweetheart, I wanted to take you the second I laid eyes on you." He pushed her down just enough that his cock head parted her pussy lips, and he stayed there, moving in small circles.