Save the Date (11 page)

“It’s lovely to meet you, Ms. Wiltshire,” Governor Trenton said. “We’re so glad to have our favorite football player back in this great state full time.”

Alex’s grip on her waist tightened. “Yes,” Lucy blurted. “No one is more pleased than I am that he’s making his full-time home here once again.” It was so hard to carry on charming sweet talk when all she wanted to do was call Matt and beg him to understand. All afternoon she had rehearsed what she would say to him. She had to speak to him before the media ran the first photo of her on Alex’s arm.

“Lucy runs Saving Grace right here in Charleston.” Alex gazed down at her with something that resembled adoring pride. “You might’ve heard of it, Governor Trenton. She’s done incredible things to help girls who’ve aged out of the foster-care system.”

The governor’s wife entered the conversation, describing her own initiatives for teenagers. As Lucy told them about her program, she caught Alex’s eye. He gave her a slow wink and ran a caressing hand down her shoulder.

Oh, he was good.

As Alex led her by the hand to their seats, Lucy couldn’t get over the stares and murmurs he caused. He created a ripple of awareness everywhere he went. Alex stopped, muttered something under his breath, then lifted his hand in greeting to a couple she recognized as his parents. Lucy swallowed back the old familiar pangs of bitterness as she met the curious faces of Donna and Marcus Sinclair. They were the Hiltons of the South and made money in their sleep. Minus the large yearly donation, these were exactly the type of people Lucy had spent her adult years staying away from.

Alex made quick introductions. “I thought you two were out of town.”

“We had a little trouble with Finley,” his mother said. “Your sister has gone from seventeen to twenty-five in one month. It’s this new boyfriend. We had to cancel our weekend plans. And theirs.”

“Did you get my e-mail?” Marcus Sinclair asked his son. “I have to go to Orlando to check on a hotel remodel. Come with me—we can hit the greens.”

“Still not interested.” Alex stared straight ahead, his hand still on Lucy’s. “I need to work.”

His father leaned over. “You’re going to wake up one day and realize all you have is work.”

“Marcus, not tonight,” his wife admonished. “Alex, I’m setting a place for you for family dinner Sunday. You know you can’t turn down my mashed potatoes and gravy.”

“I’m sorry, Mom.” Alex’s face softened as he looked at the elegant woman. “I’m in campaign meetings all day. Except for lunch with Lucy.” Alex moved their joined hands to his thigh. “My schedule’s jam-packed, but she talked me into it.” He sent her a look that could melt the caramel off a Twix.

Donna Sinclair leaned across her husband and thwacked her son’s knee. “If you want my vote, Congressman, you better show up at my dinner table. Don’t make me throw around my influence.”

Marcus nodded. “Her garden club can be vicious.”

“You have to eat,” Donna said. “I’ll bet your competition spends time with his family.” Donna looked at Lucy. “We’d love to have you join us.” Lucy was caught off guard by the kind eyes looking back at her. “Maybe you could get Alex to spare some time for the family?”

Marcus glowered at his son. “Your mother cries in her sleep.”

Donna leaned over again, her expression serious. “You’re my son,” she said quietly. “And I miss you. This is a time for our family to draw together,
not
drift apart.”

Though Alex’s face was its usual picture of devil-may-care, Lucy could almost touch the grief swirling around him. “We’ll discuss this later,” he said.

“Your sister needs to see you too.” Marcus lowered his voice. “And we have to make some decisions about your brother’s apartment in Atlanta. Some of his assets.”

“No.” Alex snapped open his playbill. “Handle it without me. I’m sure whatever you choose to do will be fine.”

The lights dimmed three times before plunging the auditorium into complete darkness.

Lucy felt Alex’s breath on her cheek. “Keep your hands to yourself tonight,” he said. “I don’t want my parents to think you’re one of
those
girls.”

She turned to meet his hooded stare. “And by
those
, you mean every other girl you’ve ever dated?”

“Don’t tell me you read those trash magazines too?”

“You say trashy. I say enlightening.”

“Remind me to get you a new subscription to something more mind-enriching.” Alex shifted in the seat, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Like
Sports Illustrated
.”

Chapter Eleven

B
y the time intermission came, Lucy had decided ballet would be better if more full-sized women were allowed to participate. An entire stage full of perfectly shaped dancers was more than any woman should have to look at. Especially while sitting next to a man who had models on speed dial.

The theater came alive with the sounds of swishing dresses and rustling jackets as the house lights came up.

“Alex, I want to talk to you about the Fourth of July.” His mother blinked twice as she adjusted to the lights. “It’s important that we have a big celebration as usual—for Finley’s sake. Your sister needs things to be as normal and festive as possible.”

“I’m traveling on that day,” he said. “I’ll get back with you.”

“But it’s your birthday—”

“Lucy wants something to drink.” With a look she couldn’t decipher, Alex reached for Lucy’s hand and gave her a nudge. “We’ll be back.”

As he led her through the lobby, she wanted to stop him. To ask him about his brother. About the hurt his mother wore beneath her smile. About Alex’s own pain. She settled for a safer topic instead. “Aren’t you going to let your family in on our little game?”

“Of course not. Just don’t get too cozy with them and things will be fine.”

“I’ll try to put away my dreams of a country club lunch with your mother.”

“You’d probably bore her with your Trekkie talk.”

He got her a bottled water and himself a seltzer. “I’m going to go remind some people why they love me,” Alex said dryly. “Can I leave you alone for fifteen minutes?”

She tried to ignore the way his hand lightly rested at the small of her back. “Of course. I’ll just stand here and try to make up some good things to tell them about you.”

“Guess I better give you more than fifteen minutes.” His eyes lingered on hers. “It’s gonna take you a while to list my many fine qualities.”

“Like humility?”

His eyes lit with one of those looks that made a woman think of backseats, hurried hands, and foggy windows.

“Behave while I’m gone.” Leaning toward her, he slowly pressed his lips to her cheek.

She squirmed from his touch. “I’ll count the seconds you’re away.”

The low rumble of his laughter followed him as he went to join a group of men across the lobby.

Lucy reached into her purse and fished out her phone. She had to talk to Matt. By tomorrow morning, pictures of her with Alex would be all over the Internet.

The phone rang twice. “Hi, you’ve reached Matt Campbell. Leave a message . . .” Stifling her frustration, she tried two more times. No response.

“That’s some man you have on your arm tonight.”

Lucy turned to find a woman beside her. She knew they had been introduced earlier, and Lucy struggled to remember her name. “Yes, he’s . . . something else.”

“I was really intrigued by Alex’s health care ideas in the
Gazette’s
interview last week.” Large diamonds swung from her ears. She looked to be about Donna Sinclair’s age. “What do you think of Robertson’s counterattack?”

Lucy checked her front teeth for lipstick with her tongue. “Um . . .” It sure was warm in this place. And so many people. So sparkly. “I must’ve missed that, um, attack. I’ve been so occupied with my own work lately.”

Heavily lined lids went wide. “But everyone’s talking about it.”

“Right.” How much longer until the ballet? Or a good fire alarm. “
That
counterattack. Well, clearly he’s no match for Alex’s ideas on health care.” Whatever those were. Lucy had been too busy keeping her girls off the streets to keep up with any politics.

“He has some very edgy ideas about insurance,” another woman said as she joined them. “As a doctor with my own clinic, I’m very interested in how that’s going to play out.” She turned to Lucy. “What do you think?”

“Well . . .” Was it rude to fake unconsciousness and fall to the floor? “I am really proud of his ideas on health care for children.” Yes. That sounded perfectly safe.

The doctor lifted a hand to her short bob. “He hasn’t outlined any measures for children.”

“Oh.” Lucy swallowed. “Then I guess I can’t talk about those right now. But children”—she nodded lamely—“he likes them. Them and their health care.”
Shoot me now. Someone just put me out of my misery
.

“Nice to chat with you,” the doctor said. She and the other woman walked away. Whispering.

Lucy pinched the bridge of her nose and took five deep breaths. If she was going to be Alex’s fiancée, she had some homework to do. She did know he didn’t represent anything she was spiritually or ethically against. Except looking like total man-dessert in that suit. Why couldn’t he be homely? Or at least average? She was
not
going to fall under his spell like every woman in America. And probably a few misguided men.

“Lucy Wiltshire.” The governor’s wife waved from her post next to a framed oil painting. “Join us.”

Great. The woman was standing in a sea of social piranhas. Beside her stood their leader—Clare Deveraux.

First Lady Trenton patted Lucy’s shoulder. “Ladies, I’d like to introduce you to Alex Sinclair’s friend. This is—”

“I hear someone bought you a present,” Clare said, watching Lucy a little too intensely. “Your home is saved after all.”

This was public knowledge already? Could the man even blow his nose without the whole town knowing? “Yes.” She made her eyes go dreamy as she smiled. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever received. Alex is so thoughtful like that.” Lucy was about to dry heave on her fake Pradas.

“Wiltshire.” The gentleman to Clare’s right stared at Lucy thoughtfully. She recognized him as the lieutenant governor. Finally, a face she could remember. His wife stood beside him. “I went to Yale with a man by that name,” he said. “Are you Cecil Wiltshire’s daughter?”

“No.” In this town, in certain circles, a name still meant everything.

He frowned. “Then what Wiltshire are you?”

The kind that vacuumed after your kind
. “I have no family here,” she said, letting her gaze pan the vast room. Where was Alex?

“You’re not the shipping Wiltshires?” The man wasn’t going to let it go.

“No, my mother was a maid. In fact, she once cleaned Mrs. Deveraux’s Charleston home.” How was it possible for the bitterness to creep in after all these years? But there it was, punctuating Lucy’s every word. “She was the best at what she did and always in high demand.”

A woman who reeked of Chanel arched a pencil-thin brow. “And now you’re dating Alex Sinclair.” Her red lips sneered. “My, how you’ve come up in the world.”

“There is no shame in hard work.” Clare finally spoke, her voice as uppity as an antebellum mansion.

Seconds ticked by in weighty silence before the governor’s wife spoke. “I see Hillary Davidson is here.”

“Going strapless again. She’s been doing that since I was first lady thirty years ago.” Clare chuckled. “Like she’s not seventy-one. And there’s Mimsy Taylor.”

The first lady shared a laugh with Clare. “Hose and open-toe shoes. When
will
she learn?” She then pointed to a woman across the way. “Lucy, look at that woman.”

“Wow.” She fixed her eyes on the lady’s skyscraper hair. “Hello, eighties, huh?”

“That’s my sister,” said the governor’s wife.

“Oh.” Lucy wanted to just sink to the floor and wave a white flag.
Lord, who am I to rub elbows with these people
?

Mrs. Trenton’s lips thinned. “I was going to suggest you introduce yourself to her. She works for South Carolina Department of Social Services.”

“If . . . if you’ll excuse me, I need to find Alex.”
And flush myself down the toilet
. “It was a pleasure chatting with you.”

Clare’s hand stopped her. “Young lady, if you’re going to be dating Alex Sinclair,” she said in a low voice, “you might want to brush up on the who’s who of our state.” The woman only spared Lucy the smallest of glances. “I’d hate for you to mess things up.”

“Right.” Lucy quickly turned to leave, only to find her face colliding into the chest of a man. “Oomph. I’m sorry.” She reached out to steady herself.

Cold hands went to her shoulders. “Lucy Wiltshire?”

She looked at the man who was eye level to her and immediately stepped away. “Yes?”

“Garrett Lewis of the
Gazette
.”

She rubbed her wounded nose. Not more health care questions. Not tonight.

“I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment?” A high forehead gave way to slicked-back hair a shade somewhere between raven black and dead crow.

“I really need to go. Someone is looking for me.” The Jekyll-like nerves were taking over her body. Disaster was sure to follow if she didn’t get herself under control.

“It’ll just take a moment.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Would you like to set the record straight about your relationship with Alex Sinclair? There’s so much public speculation. What about an exclusive?”

“I’m not here to talk about my personal life. Or Alex’s.”

Beady eyes stared back at her. “With his seemingly bottomless bank account, do you think he’s buying his Congressional seat?”

No. Just a fiancée
. “I think he’s passionate about his values and making this state the best it can be.”

“He’s openly spoken against proposed amendment seven. Not everyone agrees with that. What do you think?”

Amendment seven? She had much Googling to do when she got home, and she couldn’t get there quick enough. “I completely stand by and support Alex.”

Garrett Lewis’s face turned smug. “Tell the people in your own words how you would define the amendment.”