A Political Affair

by Mary Whitney

  “He would’ve.” He patted Stephen on the back. “Well, Laura and I would be delighted to have you two for dinner. This friend of your mother’s can also be a friend of ours.”

  “I don’t think you want to be involved in this, Grayson. I appreciate the offer. It’s very kind, but you know—”

  The warning made Grayson laugh heartily. “You’ve got to remember, I can do whatever I want, and the people of Georgia will still reelect me. I’ve been in office since before most of them were born, and Atlantans drive on the Grayson P. York Highway every day. I’ve brought home so much federal money to our state I could be caught with an intern and I’d still win by twenty points.”

  Stephen laughed, but he kept thinking of Grayson’s generous invitation. The elderly statesman offered a cloak of respectability to his relationship with Anne. “It’s incredibly kind of you to invite us.”

  “Well, I’d like to get to know her, as would Laura. After all, it’s not every day I get to spend time with a woman who can hold your eye.”

  Chapter 15

  Thanksgiving week was hard on Stephen and Anne. For Stephen, Thanksgiving Day was his only time off, spent at their traditional family dinner and watching football with Marco. The remainder of the week, he was in full campaign mode, with meetings and events. Throughout the days, his thoughts turned to Anne, and rote campaign events were especially hard.

  As he waited his turn to speak at an event for the state firefighters’ organization, he tuned out and wondered what it would be like if Anne were at his side. His gut reaction made him smile—everything would be better. They could joke and endure the painfully slow events together, and she’d be supportive in a less-than-welcoming crowd.

  Surveying the largely male audience before him, he was sure she could work the room. The firefighters were all chronically disaffected Reagan Democrats-turned-Obama Republicans. Down-to-earth and pretty, Anne also understood how a more conservative mind worked; they would eat her up.

  Yet she had another side, and she moved easily in well-heeled circles. Thinking of the fancy fundraiser he attended the previous night, he was sure she’d also have done well there. He sighed to himself. If she weren’t so young—if she weren’t an intern—she’d be a perfect political partner. He wished she were there with him.

  While Stephen was in Colorado, Anne missed him terribly, but she became even more troubled on Thanksgiving when she spoke with her parents. The initial lies she told her family at the start of their relationship seemed innocuous. She told herself they weren’t really lies, but rather omissions. Yet, the more time she spent with Stephen, the harder it became to simply leave out important details of her life; omissions turned into white lies followed by outright lies. Thanksgiving Day proved to be the worst conversation of all.

  “So, this Keith . . . you’re having Thanksgiving together. Are you dating?” her mother, Mary Beth, asked.

  “No. He has a girlfriend. We’re just friends, and lots of people will be at the dinner.” Anne cringed. She worried she sounded defensive.

  “Well, are you dating anyone?”

  “Sure. Sometimes.” Anne closed her eyes. Lie number one.

  “Well, that’s okay to casually date. At this point in your life, you don’t want to be tied down with a serious relationship.”

  “Right,” Anne mumbled. Lie number two.

  “Oh, I wanted to ask if I should buy your plane ticket for Christmas. When do you think you’ll be coming in?”

  She held the phone away and grimaced, thinking about Lillian McEvoy’s offer to fly in their plane home for the holidays. She wanted to go with Stephen, but it meant the lies were stacking up. She punted the decision. “It’s okay, Mom. I’ll buy my own ticket. I’m not sure when I’m leaving.”

  “Are you not sure because of school or the internship?”

  “Both.” If only she could get off the phone and run away from the deception, but it was too soon to end the call. She changed the subject. “So what are you bringing to the Walkers for Thanksgiving?”

  As her mother detailed her oyster dressing and cranberry stuffing, Anne closed her eyes in sadness. She hated deceiving her family. Yet how could she ever explain Stephen to them?

  The following weekend, while Megan kept the car running, Stephen unlocked the gate to the McEvoys’ West Virginia property. It was a western cattle gate attached to a traditional barbed-wire fence, encircling blackness. The deep night, dark forest, and heavy snow gave an inaccessible feeling to the location, and the mile-long drive down a bumpy, dirt road clinched its remoteness.

  Arriving in separate cars, Marco and Anne pulled up to the cabin behind them. Anne smiled and gave him a sideways glance. “Stephen said the cabin was private and rustic. He didn’t mention it was gigantic.”

  Marco snickered. “The McEvoys have a different notion of size compared to us commoners.”

  “I’m learning that.”

  When Anne opened her door, Stephen stood there ready to help her out of the car. “Hey, how was the drive? I missed you.”

  “Marco’s great company, but I missed you, too.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. Her lips brushed the snow on his face, and it reminded her of the temperature. “Brr. It’s cold out here.”

  “Go on inside with Megan. Marco and I will get the bags.”

  Adirondack chairs dotted the house’s large wraparound porch. Anne guessed somewhere in the pitch black there was a nice view from those seats. As she followed Megan inside, she looked all around and smiled at the dark wood and homey décor. “It really is rustic.”

  “Of course.” Megan chuckled. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, West Virginia.”

  “I like it.”

  “I’d like it a whole lot more if it were warmer.” Megan pointed to a bench. “Let’s take off our boots here, and then we can turn on the heat. Don’t take off your coat yet.”

  Stephen and Marco soon came inside, suitcases and bags in tow. Megan took the provisions to the kitchen en route to the thermostat.

  “Are you freezing?” Stephen asked Anne as he untied his boots.

  “I wouldn’t say freezing.” She smiled as she stood in her coat with snow crystals melting in her hair. “But I would say it’s about forty degrees in here.”

  “There’s only one way to deal with this place when it gets this cold,” said Marco, setting his boots off to the side.

  “What’s that?” asked Anne.

  “Get the woodstove going in your bedroom and get under the covers,” he answered with a mischievous grin. “Works every time.”

  Anne chuckled, but looked down as she felt a nervous pang. It would be the first time she and Stephen slept together, in both senses of the term.

  Megan sped by them, rubbing her arms in an attempt to create heat. “Food’s in the fridge, and the heat’s on. Night.”

  Stephen touched Anne’s arm and smiled. “Come on. I’ll take you to our room.”

  “Night, you two,” Marco called out. “I’ll have coffee ready in the morning, though I can’t promise when.”

  “Thanks. We’ll see you tomorrow,” Stephen said. He pointed Anne to a short set of stairs off to the right. “We go down here.” After eight creaky stairs, he opened a door to a large room and turned on the lights. “This is it.”

  As he placed the bags on a chair, Anne looked around the room, which could be described as refined country. A hope chest sat at the foot of a giant sleigh bed, which was covered by a floral duvet and a mound of puffy pillows. It looked comfortable, and the extra quilts folded along the bottom only made it more inviting. The old black iron stove sat near a sitting area and french doors to the outside. Another door, slightly ajar, led to the bathroom.

  She turned to him and smiled. “It’s lovely.”

  “It’s the guest bedroom. I thought it would be more private.” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he nuzzled her hair, still damp from the snow. “I hope it’s comfortable, too.”

  “I’m sure it will be.” She kiss
ed him; it began as sweet but slowly turned passionate. She was surprised when he pulled away and placed his forehead against hers.

  “Can I admit to some performance anxiety?”

  “You?” She lifted her head to look him in the eye. She thought of the handful of guys she’d been with compared to what had to be a multitude of women for him. “I’m the one with performance anxiety.”

  “You have no reason to be anxious.” He shook his head with a shy smile. “But I’ve got it on two counts.”

  “Two? How so?”

  “First of all, and to be expected, I’ve wanted to be with you for so long.” He stroked her hair. “I’m a little nervous now that the time has arrived.”

  “I’m familiar with that feeling,” she said with a chuckle, but it was a mask. She was deeply touched he’d admit something like that to her.

  “Plus, I’ve got another problem.” He smiled and nodded to a spot across the room. “I’m not good at lighting that stove.”

  “Come on.” She pushed his arm.

  “I’m serious. I’ve got two issues. I’m worried at being too slow and too fast.”

  “So you’re worried you’ll light the stove too quickly?” She smirked.

  “Yeah, right . . .” He rolled his eyes.

  “I’m joking.” She smiled. Using his coat as leverage, she pulled him closer and stood on her toes to kiss him.

  His lips were hungry for hers, and the spark between them flared once again. This time, though, there were no boundaries. She felt free in his arms, and her nervousness soon disappeared, leaving only unmet desire.

  He hummed and murmured, “This is too good. Please don’t make me light that fire first.”

  “I won’t.” She stepped away, and staring him down, she slowly pulled her turtleneck over her head. She tossed it aside and shook her hair out, but when she tried to look him in the eye again, his sights were set a bit lower. His attention was elsewhere. A hungry smile appeared on his face as he stared at her chest.

  Her bra did nothing to enhance the size of her breasts, but the thin lacy material showed them off perfectly. She’d chosen it for a reason.

  He ran a finger across the edge of the lace. “You’re so beautiful, but you’ve got to be cold,” he whispered.

  “I’m okay.” She reached behind her back, undid her bra, and tossed it aside.

  Lowering his head, he fixated on her breasts, and she ran her hands through his hair. Her body was the center of his attention, giving her a rush like no other.

  “I need to touch you,” he said in a raspy voice.

  “I want you to.”

  Sometime long after the sun rose, Anne stepped out of the bathroom into the warm room and saw Stephen with his eyes closed again. She smiled. “I’m glad you’re getting some rest, but don’t you need to at least check in with someone? What if North Korea bombs us or something?”

  He opened one eye and smiled. “Megan will tell me. She and Greg know only to bother me about work if there’s a nuclear attack.” He patted the pillow next to him. “Come back to bed.”

  “Okay,” she said and sprang to his side in glee.

  After making love, talking, and sleeping a little more, his stomach growled. She kissed the spray of black hair on his chest. “You’re hungry, babe. You should eat.”

  “Maybe. What about you?” he asked. He was more focused on playing with her hair as it shone in the sunlight.

  “I could eat something. We should take a shower first though. We probably reek of sex.”

  He raised his eyebrows and gave her chest a combination of sniffs and kisses. “Yes, you do,” he said, and kissed her lips. “In the best possible way.”

  She giggled and touched his face. “Well, you do, too, and you smell of me, I might add.”

  “And I like it.”

  With a grin, she kissed him. “I really liked it.”

  “Hmm,” he said after the kiss. “Let’s get cleaned up, eat, and then come back here. What do you think?”

  “Sounds good. Are we going to get grief from Megan and Marco for being antisocial?”

  “Doubt it. I bet they haven’t spent much time outside their bedroom either. According to Marco, they’re working on getting pregnant.”

  “Really? That’s so sweet.”

  “Yeah, it’ll fun to be an uncle, and my mom will be over the moon when she’s a grandmother.” As he finished his sentence his belly rumbled again.

  She rubbed his stomach. “Time to eat. Do you want to take a shower first?”

  “I think we should take one together. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone,” he answered, waggling his eyebrows.

  “Sounds good, but where is the shower? I only saw a big bathtub down here.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Showers are upstairs.” He smiled and skimmed his hand over her hip. “Wanna take a bath?”

  The next day and a half was spent just as that morning, with only a few hours out of their bed. Bodies, hearts, and minds were explored, and as the magical weekend dwindled away, they spoke less and touched more. With only minutes left together, Stephen curled up next to Anne, his cheek against her breast as he looked outside the windows.

  “I don’t want this to end,” he said softly.

  She played with the short black spikes of his hair. “I don’t either.”

  “No, I mean I really don’t.” He maneuvered so he could look her in the eye. “I don’t want to go back to the way things were. I want to see you, and I want to talk with you—in person—during the week. I’ve thought about it a lot. I’m happier with you than when I’m without you.”

  She could see the intensity in his eyes, and she swallowed hard as her own feelings welled up in her. Too emotionally raw, her response was awkward. “Yeah . . . we do the all-the-time-together thing really well.”

  “I’d say we do.” He reached for her hand and kissed it. “So, let’s figure out how we can spend more time together during the week. There has to be a way.”

  “There are ways, but they pose more risk. You know that.” She brought his hand to her lips.

  “I’m willing to assume the risk.” He smiled and shook his head. “I’m not going back to life without you—that’s for sure.”

  There were many interpretations to what he said, and Anne wasn’t sure which one he meant, but every potential meaning made her giddy. It was a feeling of silly, happy love and connection—and something she’d only ever felt with him. She gave him a sweet kiss and declared, “Good. I’m not going back either.”

  Chapter 16

  Later that week, the Yorks invited Stephen, Anne, and Lillian to dinner at their brownstone on East Capitol Street. When it was time for dessert, Grayson announced he needed a “snort” following such a wonderful meal. While the women prepared dessert, he led Stephen to the sitting room where he poured some of his favorite bourbon. Stephen settled on the sofa, avoiding Grayson’s large, leather chair, which dominated the room like a throne.

  Grayson handed him a snifter. “Cheers,” he said, as he eased into his seat.

  “Cheers.” Stephen took a drink, the sweet alcohol causing him to purse his lips.

  He nodded at the dining room, as if Anne remained there. “So . . . what do you think?”

  “What do I think? Haven’t Laura and I shown you what we think? We think she’s charming.” Grayson raised his eyebrows. “And astute. That’s a good thing.”

  Stephen hesitated for a moment. “And what do you think my father would say about—”

  “Please, Stephen.” He reclined in his chair. “Stop worrying. He’d think the same damn thing as the rest of us.”

  “That’s good to hear.” Stephen smiled and sighed.

  “Want to know what else I think?”

  “What?”

  “Stick a fork in you. You’re done.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s obvious you’re completely taken with this young lady. There’s not another who’ll catch your eye.”

  Stephen n
odded slowly as he considered what he’d said. It was an objective observation by someone he trusted implicitly as a friend and as an advisor. The statement caused the same reaction to the one he’d had when he heard his father died. He needed to question it in order to believe it, even though he knew it to be true. “You think so?” he asked hesitantly. “You think she’s the one?”

  Grayson frowned in disbelief. “Don’t you?”

  “Maybe . . . I haven’t thought about it like that yet. I only know how she makes me feel.” Grayson looked at him like he was crazy, and Stephen felt stupid for being so unaware of himself. He tried to express his heart. “She means so much to me.”

  “Well, if you don’t mind me saying, you need to start thinking about it. You need to decide how you feel about her . . . what you want to do.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked warily.

  “Let’s not kid ourselves. This is going to come out, one way or another.”

  “And?”

  “And that Langford character is going to spend millions of dollars trying to define you in the media. You need to know where you stand, what your intentions are. A wishy-washy response isn’t acceptable, and if that’s what you plan to give, you should stop seeing her right now.”

  Stephen remained silent. Everything Grayson said was true, yet the calculations were different than a normal political analysis. He was uncertain how to respond as it required answers from his heart.

  Tapping his cane on the floor twice, Grayson laughed. “Now, wipe that worried look off your face. This doesn’t require much thought, and you’re always overthinking things. She’s a good woman, good company, and a pretty little thing. Just get on with it.”

  “You think it’s that simple?” Stephen chuckled.

  “Most things in life are that simple, son,” Grayson answered and took another drink.

  The next morning, Anne felt a tap on her shoulder as she stood at the copier making extra maps of the Capitol. She turned to see Stephen at her side.