The Candidate's Affair (17 page)

“Let me get back to my station and take a look. I’ll call you.”

“Thank you, detective.”

I watched as he walked down the sidewalk, carrying the stick Paxton had created. There was real data on it, I told myself. It didn’t matter if we had to blur a few lines. Senator Hughes was responsible for killing my husband.

Paxton had come through for me when no one else had. No one else would have been able to do what he had done either. He had the money and resources to catch Hughes. He was a step ahead of the police. It may have taken a few weeks, but it would be worth it when the police arrested the bastard who had Spencer killed.

Today Pax was attending a rally on gay rights. He said he would call later, and stop to check on me. He would want to know what Pendleton said.

I sat on the couch and waited for the detective to call.

The next day, the only story on the news was the arrest of Senator Hughes. He was taken into custody immediately following one of his stump speeches. I watched it, giddy almost. The man who was behind Spencer’s death didn’t look like a murderer. He wore round glasses, spectacles really, and his salt-and-peppered hair was definitely more salted than in his campaign photos.

I had read somewhere that he had four children. They were adults now, but what kind of father would put his family through something so evil? What kind of man could do this to me?

Detective Pendleton told me they had found an email from Spencer. In the email, he tried to warn his fellow partners that their business deal was suspect. Lewis Anderson was siphoning money to the incumbent senator’s campaign.

The detective said it was enough to provide motive. That along with the statement from Paxton that Hughes had threatened to ruin his campaign, the police didn’t delay with an arrest.

I granted a few choice interviews. I crafted quotes ahead of time with Paxton’s help.

“I’m happy justice will be served.”

“I have the utmost faith in the Charleston Police Department.”

“My family can take the time to grieve in peace now.”

They all sounded appropriate. They all sounded like things I should say, only there were more things I could have said. I had to keep those to myself.

“Just the bare minimum,” Paxton had warned. “If you give them any morsel, they’ll run with it. Keep it short and simple.”

“Is this how you were trained?” I asked.

He chuckled. “I had professional coaches and image consultants, but yes, it was something like this.”

I turned off the bedroom lights. He followed me to the bed.

“How long do you think before we can stop sneaking between houses?” I asked.

My apathy included not caring what people thought anymore. Spence was gone. Paxton was taking care of me. He made dinner for me the night’s he didn’t attend a political function. He made sure my wineglass was always full, and he made sure the last thing I saw before I fell asleep was him on top of me. This was my new normal.

“I think as soon as the election is over we should be together publically.” He stood behind me, rubbing against my back.

“November?” It seemed reasonable.

“By then it will have been a few months since Spencer’s death. Also, I think it will give meaning to how our relationship started. People will see this as a love story, not something dirty. You’ll see. Voters forgive.” He peeled the pants from my thighs, and I willingly stepped out of them. He spread my legs apart, stopping to cup my ass.

“I don’t see how, Pax. This is dirty.” My body was already trembling, needing him, needing things to be hard and rough. I didn’t want tender and sweet.

He nipped at my ear. “You a widow. Me a widower. Finding comfort together. It’s political poetry.” He unsnapped the hook on my bra and took me in his hands.

I leaned back against his shoulder while he pinched and squeezed me. “Poetry?” I groaned.

“Poetry. Like how you sound when I do this.” He bent me over the side of the bed. My head was spinning. He was making me wait, torturing me, asking me what I wanted. Finally, when I answered him and told him I needed him, he slammed into me and I screamed. I smiled, knowing I could stop thinking now.

So, I gave my interviews as he instructed. I practiced my lines. I read his speeches and gave suggestions. There was no contest for the senate seat now that Hughes was out of the race preparing for a trial, but Paxton wanted to give the campaign the best he had. There were still two independent candidates, and he said he had to catch any undecided Hughes fans. Every vote counts, he reminded me.

Little by little, I started staying longer each morning. Breakfast, turned to lunch. Some days, lunch turned into dinner. I brought Pepper with me. He slept on the couch. Paxton never said anything.

I watched TV. I drank wine. I waited for night to come when Pax would take me under.

Weeks passed like that. He never complained if I didn’t shower. He didn’t tell me I needed to start looking for another job. He let me be, as long as I was in his bed at night.

Tomorrow was Election Day. I tossed a few eggs in the frying pan and whisked them over the heat. Paxton walked into the kitchen, wearing his dark suit. The black one that set off his eyes. My breath hitched.

“Eggs?” I cracked another one into the pan.

“No, I have to meet the team to go over polling numbers.”

“Polling numbers? You’re practically the senator now. The election is just a formality.”

I smile crept across his face. “Not for tomorrow’s election. It’s to talk about the next one.”

“What do you mean?”

“The governor’s race.”

“What?”

He was light on his feet, bouncy almost. “Polls are showing I’m an early contender. If I can get these mid-term elections wrapped up, we’ll launch my campaign for governor immediately.”

“But you haven’t even voted on your first piece of legislation. You haven’t done anything yet.” This was more proof I was illiterate in the political world.

“I’ve got to stay one step ahead. I should thank you.” He kissed me on the forehead.

“Me?”

“Yes. The initial feedback shows that 80 percent of voters could see you as first lady of the state.”

I almost dropped the pan of eggs on the floor before I scooped them onto my plate. “What are you talking about?”

“First lady. You know of South Carolina.” His eyes gleamed. He crammed a muffin into his mouth and poured coffee in a to-go cup. “They love that you are a first grade teacher.”

“That’s what this is?”

“You’re mad?” He fastened the lid on top.

“We haven’t talked about anything like that. It’s presumptuous, I think.”

“Audrey, we’ve made it through hell together. We sleep together every night. You’re in my kitchen, wearing my shirt, making breakfast. I want this. I know I want this. And apparently the focus group wants it too.”

I shook my head. “This is crazy. First lady? I don’t know anything about politics. But it’s more than that. I don’t know that I want to get married again. I can’t think about marriage.” I had moved my wedding ring to my right hand after the funeral. It felt better there. I looked at it now.

He looked at his phone and typed in a text. “Look, I’ve got to go. We’ll talk about this tonight. See you at dinner.” He kissed me brusquely on the cheek. “Just think about it, Audrey.”

“C
an we move?” There were candles and roses. Champagne and a ring perched in a velvet box sitting in front of me on the coffee table. The diamond was large. Too large.

Paxton looked puzzled. “Where?”

“Just out of this neighborhood. I don’t want to see my house anymore.” I couldn’t live here and look over there.

“Yes, yes, we can move. We have to stay in the district, but you can pick any house you want.” He was still on his knee. “Does that mean you’ll say yes? You’ll marry me?”

“It’s only been three months,” I stated. I knew exactly how many days, but that wasn’t the kind of detail Paxton wanted to hear in the middle of his proposal.

“We can keep it to ourselves for a while. Maybe make an announcement after the holidays. Plan a summer wedding?” he suggested.

“No wedding.” I blinked.

“We can’t get married without a wedding.”

“A ceremony. A court ceremony. I don’t want a minister. No flowers. No big poofy dress. We’ve both done that.”

“What if I just fly us to Vegas and swing through one of those drive-through chapels?” He was mocking me.

“I don’t care. Just promise me no wedding.”