Straightening
her back rigidly, Gwenyth threw down the proverbial gauntlet and leered at Sam,
all but daring him to disagree with her. "My brother and I are having
breakfast."
Sam
continued to glower at her.
Gwenyth
shuffled on her feet. "I'm going to the gym?" she squeaked out.
He
said nothing.
Gwenyth
bit her lip. "I'm having an affair?"
Sam
grunted. He placed his hands on his wife's shoulders and smoldered her with the
look he typically reserved for annoying sports reporters that wouldn't go away.
"I don't like your lyin' to me, Gwenyth Marie. Just what is goin' on
that's so bad, you'd rather I believe you're sleepin' around on me than to tell
me the truth?"
Gwenyth
closed her eyes briefly, realizing there was no way around this. She was going
to have to tell Sam the truth and pray he took it well. She shook her head and
sighed. "Get dressed and I'll tell you on the way."
"Fine.
Where are we goin'?"
"To
the police station."
"I
absolutely can't believe that you of all people conspired against me with my
wayward wife." Sam paced recklessly back and forth as he continued to
lecture Harry from the office of his campaign headquarters turned senatorial
home base. "I mean, don't you think this is the very kind of thing a man
should be aware of?" Frustrated, he threw a punch at the wall.
Harry,
who had been pretending to clean his already immaculate fingernails, glanced up
at the fresh fist-sized dent in his wall, then turned to Sam and scowled.
"Gee, and I wonder why Gwen was reluctant to bring you into this."
Sam
shook a finger at his brother-in-law. "Don't test me, Harry."
Harry
sighed. "I'm beginning to see why my sister sneaked off to her
studio," he muttered.
"Oh
she'll be hearin' a hell of a lot more when she gets home tonight, that I can
tell you."
Harry
dropped down into the nearest chair and crossed one leg over the knee of the
other. "I see. So I take it you want to end up in divorce court before
week one of your marriage passes by?" He rested his elbows on his leg and
steepled his fingertips together. "Sam, you better calm down before you
say anything more to my sister. This was precisely why she didn't want to tell
you about all the notes she'd received to begin with."
Sam
gritted his teeth against the anger and desperation that was welling up inside
of him. There was more to this issue than what met the eye. "I'm more hurt
than anythin' else, okay?"
"Hurt?"
Harry shook his head absently. "I don't understand."
Sam
closed his eyes and distractedly massaged the bridge of his nose. He needed to
get his emotions under control. Harry was right. His attitude toward Gwen had
been domineering and appalling this morning. "She turned to you instead of
me," he muttered in a despondent tone.
Harry's
eyebrows rose in surprise. "Is that what's bugging you? You're not upset
about those notes?"
"Oh,
whoever wrote them will get his eventually—have no doubt on that score." Sam
plopped down into the chair next to Harry's. "But no, that's not why I'm
so upset."
"Then
why?"
"Why
do you think? I'm hurt because when my wife was in need of support she turned
to her big brother instead of to her husband."
Harry
snorted his disbelief. "Is that what you believe?"
"It's
what happened, isn't it?"
"No.
It's not."
Sam
narrowed his eyes and frowned. "Then what did happen?"
Harry
shook his head, clucking his tongue in a gesture of mock chastisement. He stood
up and slowly paced the length of his office, his arms clasped behind his back.
Sam followed him with his gaze. "First of all, Sam, you might be my
sister's husband, but you've been back in her life for less than two weeks and
her spouse for less than three days."
Sam's
jaw went rigid. "So?"
"So,"
Harry continued, paying no heed whatsoever to Sam's belligerent mood,
"Gwen could only guess how you would react to those NAM
notes based
upon her experiences with you when you were still a kid. Until less than two
weeks ago, my friend, my sister hadn't had contact with you since you were
twenty-six. And even then, she hadn't spent real quality time with you since
you were twenty-three." Harry stopped pacing long enough to throw Sam a
knowing look. "Do you remember how headstrong and temperamental you were
at twenty-three? I do."
Sam
nodded his head begrudgingly. He hated to admit when he was wrong, but in this
instance, he was. Everything Harry said made perfect sense. "I see your
point," he muttered under his breath.
"Do
you? I hope so, Sam. I really do. Because I'm damn happy to have you in the
family and I'd hate for you to force Gwen to run in the opposite direction
merely because she was worried about you."
"Worried
about me?"
"Of
course." Harry slapped Sam on the back and grinned charmingly. "When
I suggested on the phone this morning that she should tell you about the notes,
Gwen adamantly refused to. When I questioned her further, she informed me that
she could easily envision you hauling off and hitting Larry Green or Webster
Carr—who we all believe to be behind the notes—then spending the first year of
your marriage in the county lock-up, bumming cigarettes off of a fellow inmate
named Bubba."
Sam
stopped himself from laughing, but couldn't control the small smile that
escaped him. "I don't smoke."
Harry
winked at him. "I know."
Sam
sighed deeply as he stood up to take his leave. He felt like a horse's ass,
reprimanding Gwenyth the way he had after they'd left the police station. And
all because he'd been jealous of her brother—
his brother
now
.
"Thank-you,
Senator Jones." He grinned boyishly. "I owe you one, Bro," he
softly admitted.
Harry
stood up straighter. "Senator Jones," he repeated, letting the new
title roll around on his tongue. "I confess I rather like that." He
chuckled as he walked Sam to the door. "By the way, I want to take the
family out for a private victory dinner tomorrow night. Are you and Gwen
game?"
"Of
course—"
"Harry,
there's a gentleman here to see... oh, Mr. Trevianni, I didn't realize you were
still here."
Sam
smiled at Harry's personal assistant, Monique. It was obvious to everyone but
Harry that the poor little thing worshipped the ground the handsome, newly
elected senator walked on. Monique was small and mousy in both appearance and
personality. Her hair was always pulled back into a tight, unattractive bun,
with owlish glasses forever perched on the tip of her small nose. Her fashion
selections, if one could call them such, were downright geeky. She reminded Sam
of a female Einstein.
Still,
if there was one subject Sam had been well versed in before his marriage to
Gwen, it was women and their potential attractiveness. And Sam could see a lot
of potential in Monique—even though the hair, glasses, and god-awful clothes
did a lot to disguise it. "Now Monique darlin', how many times do I have
to ask you to call me Sam? Just Sam. No Mr. Trevianni stuff, y' hear?"
Monique's
face colored slightly, but she nodded her agreement. "Yes, Mr. Trev—I
mean, yes Sam."
Harry
chuckled. He reached toward his assistant and patted her affectionately on the
shoulder, much like one would a favorite puppy. The look on Monique's face made
Sam grimace. "Monique is like that. It took her six months before she gave
up the Mr. Jones routine and called me Harry. She was raised to be a respectable
Southern woman, Monique."
"Respectable
Southern woman," Monique echoed, clearly annoyed. "Yes, that's me.
Not a daring bone in my entire pathetic body."
Harry
appeared not to notice anything untoward about Monique's reply, which Sam
pretty much guessed was what had her in a snit to begin with. Apparently Harry
didn't notice anything at all about his assistant on a personal level.
"Well, I better be on my way." He waggled his brows at Harry. "I
have a lot of amends makin' to do."
Harry
pretended to flinch while smiling good-naturedly. "I'll see you and Gwen
tomorrow night then. Goodbye, Sam."
"Bye,
Harry." Sam inclined his head to his brother-in-law's assistant.
"Monique."
"Well
then," Harry intoned after Sam left his office, "I believe you said
there is someone here to see me?"
"Yes.
Mr. Camp from the Miami Herald."
Harry
nodded. "Thank-you, Monique. I hope he hasn't been waiting long?"
Monique
shook her head. "No. And I served him coffee and donuts, so he's just
fine."
Harry
inclined his head toward his assistant, clearly approving of her actions.
"Excellent thinking. What would I do without you, Monique?"
Monique's
heartbeat quickened until she was certain everyone from here to D.C. could hear
it thumping wildly. She smiled tremulously. "You couldn't do without me,
Harry?" she asked softly.
Harry
glanced at her absently. "Of course not. You are, after all, very
efficient."
Monique's
face fell and her shoulders slumped. Her heartbeat returned to normal.
"Yes," she mumbled, "efficient."
* * * * *
Sam
winced at the sound of slamming cupboard doors. It wasn't going to be as easy
to smooth things over with Cupcake as he'd hoped it would be. Gwenyth was
currently in the end all be all of black moods. The sight of her flared
nostrils and heavy breathing—breathing that made her breasts heave up and down
seductively no less—was as much a turn-on to Sam as it was a reminder of how he
kept getting himself in his wife's bad graces. And they'd only been married
less than three days, he thought grimly.
Gwenyth
was wearing a pair of faded, worn blue jeans with a black Nike shirt that fit
snugly around her breasts and hips. And no bra. Sweet Jesus, didn't the woman
understand what she did to him when she pranced around the apartment with those
sweet, soft breasts bouncing and her tight nipples puckered up? Apparently not.
If she did, she'd realize he was no longer in the mood to argue.
"I
still cannot believe you had the nerve to reprimand me in front of an outside
party." Gwenyth slammed her coffee cup down onto the kitchen counter.
Reaching for the coffeepot, she shook her head and clenched her teeth.
"Detective Anderson must think I'm a weak-willed, ignorant, submissive
woman." She laughed mirthlessly as she poured the Irish Creme flavored
coffee into her mug. "And, of course, he'll have to go on thinking that
because unlike you, I refuse to publicly humiliate my spouse."
"Now
Cupcake—"
"Don't
'now Cupcake' me, Sam, because I don't want to hear it!" Gwenyth slammed
the coffeepot down onto the warmer, then whipped around and eyed her husband
belligerently. "But what galls me the most, what well and truly slays me,
is the fact that you had the unmitigated nerve to demand that I go home and
think about what I'd done." Her nostrils flared to wicked proportions.
"Ooooh that just makes me so damn mad!"
Sam
crossed his arms over his chest defensively. "You did go behind my back,
Gwenyth Marie."
"And
stop calling me Gwenyth Marie!" Gwen picked up her coffee cup and stormed
from the kitchen to the living room, her husband hot on her trail. "I'm
not a little girl you have the right to scold, Sam! I'm allegedly your wife,
remember?"
"What
do you mean 'allegedly'?"
"I
mean that I'm tired of you treating me like a five-year-old! Somehow or another
I actually managed to get through these past ten Sam-less years on my own
without serious incident."
Sam
made a rude noise. "An apparent idiocy on my part. You never, ever would
have spoken to me like this ten years ago, Gwen."
Gwenyth
stopped in her tracks and whirled around to confront Sam. "That's just it!
I'm not sixteen anymore! If you wanted a child bride you should have married
someone a little greener and more amenable!" She slapped her mug onto the
nearest table with a thud, then raged into the hallway and headed for the front
door.
"Where
are you goin'?" Sam bellowed, rushing after her.
"I'm
walking over to Candy's," she gritted out, picking up her house keys as
she continued to fume.
"Like
hell you are! We're havin' a discussion here!"
"No
we're not, we're having an argument," Gwenyth informed him as she slipped
into her black leather jacket. "An argument, I might add, that has reached
a serious impasse."
Sam
regarded his wife wearily. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"What
it means," she countered as she swung open the front door, "is that I
think
you
are the one who needs to sit here and think about his
actions." Gwenyth craned her neck around long enough to impale her husband
with a heated gaze. "And you best figure out what you want in your life,
Sam. Do you want an obsessive, doting fan that has no mind of her own and
therefore does everything you say, or do you want a wife who loves you for who
you are and isn't afraid to be herself?" She shook her head sadly and took
a deep breath. "Because if it's the fan you're wanting, I'm afraid we made
one hell of a big mistake in Las Vegas."