"No."
"You'll change your mind," he says without hesitation, his voice confident. "The day you do, I'll be here. I'll help in any way I can because the last thing I want is for you to disappear like my little sister."
As quickly as he appeared, he's gone. When I hear the door to the suite latch, I let out a breath.
The last forty-eight hours have not turned out the way I anticipated they would. First the mysterious texts. I assumed they came from Gina, her one last attempt to ruin everything, but now I'm guessing those came from Detective Ayers. I'll never know now because I deleted them. I thought about showing Johnathan but knew nothing good would come from that. It's not like he could find out who sent them. Why upset him? It was bad enough I was upset by them. Someone was definitely trying to come between us.
Then Johnathan was a drunk mess at the rehearsal dinner last night. I didn't see him drink anything, but his glass was always full. By the time the evening was over and everyone was gone, except us and Garcia, he was tripping over his own two feet. Garcia carried him to the car and took him home to sleep it off. Thankfully the press was nowhere around to capture his idiocy.
And that leads up to this morning. More accusations against my future husband. A story that pierced my heart, told by a man with such conviction he almost made me want to believe him. Almost. I'm blaming his close proximity and charming good looks on the fact I started to feel faint just before he walked away.
Detective Micah Ayers. A man of mystery. His loss explains the sadness that surrounds him every time we cross paths. But that’s with me. He’s standoffish around Johnathan, harboring hatred and blame toward him. And frustration because he can’t prove his theory.
Because that's all it is. A theory. He might believe it, but he has no proof. No matter who was Johnathan's alibi, the fact he wasn't anywhere near the house when his sister was taken proves his innocence.
Right?
Still, it makes me wonder why he's never mentioned her. Not once. Why there are no memories of her around the house. Not even a single picture. It's as if he's not mourning her loss.
Or he doesn't care she's gone. Missing.
I want to ask him. Not today but someday.
Today isn't about the past, it's about our future. The one we'll share together. The life we're going to create. I don't want to talk about the lives we led before we met. Those people don't exist anymore.
I'm not the struggling singer waiting for her big break. Living off crappy tips from her waitressing job. Fighting off the grabby hands of drunk assholes night after night.
Johnathan's not the bachelor senator living the lonely life on South Padre Island. Coming home to a big empty house. Reheating premade meals for one after a long day out campaigning.
Now he has home-cooked meals. The lights are on when he gets home. We crawl into fresh sheets every night, together.
And soon we'll be united as one.
No turning back.
* * *
"My apologies. I think that's all the questions I have for now. I guess I'll catch up with you tomorrow before the ceremony. Four o’clock, right?"
After confirming tomorrows schedule with Kirsten, she gathers her things and shows herself out. My mind is still reeling with questions of my own.
And I need answers. Answers only Johnathan can give me.
Twenty-Two
Johnathan
My head is fucking pounding when I wake up.
"Amelia," I call but don't get a response. "Bring me a glass of water."
Jesus. How much did I drink last night? I remember the bartender pouring my first glass, but that's it. I sipped on it throughout the night, and then everything is a blur.
"Amelia," I shout, louder this time.
Shit! She's not here. She's at the hotel. We decided to stay apart until after the ceremony. A stupid decision on my part, but it made her happy. Plus, with all the bullshit she has to do today, it's not like I was going to see her anyway.
That reporter is with her most of the day and again most of tomorrow. She said something about her dress and the flowers. I don't remember right now. My mother is going with her to some of it, for support, since her parents refused to come today.
Fine by me. They see through my façade, and I don't need them ruining Amelia's day or whispering doubt in her ear.
"You up?" I hear Garcia call from outside my door. What the fuck is he doing here?
"Yeah."
"You decent?"
"I'm still in the clothes I wore last night, so I look like shit, but I'm not naked if that's what you're asking."
Why am I still wearing my clothes? I always sleep naked. It's easier to slide into Amelia in the mornings when there's nothing between us. She used to sleep in shorts and a tank top until I broke her of that nasty habit.
The door opens, and Garcia appears, a bottle of water in one hand and aspirin in the other.
"Explain," I say, taking both from him and cracking the top on the water.
"Pretty sure someone slipped something in your drink."
That would explain the pounding headache I have right now. It would also explain the fact I barely remember last night.
"Any suspects?"
"No but I have the security footage from last night, and I'm about to start going over it right now."
Let's hope the bastard who tried to drug me is on that tape. I'd love to have five minutes alone with them. Let's see how tough they are when it's one on one.
I call to check in with Amelia just as she's leaving for her dress fitting. She sounds off, claiming she didn't sleep well, but I can tell it's more than that. There's doubt in her voice. It's crept in more than once in the last few weeks. Especially after the Gina scandal.
When Gina found out I had proposed, she freaked out. She wasn't willing to be second in line to Amelia. I knew she was delusional, but I didn't realize how infatuated she was with me. Should I have seen it coming? Probably, but I had my own shit going on.
Instead of listening to her threats, I made one of my own. I would ruin her if she spoke a word to anyone about anything. After all, I took the time to get a verbal contract from her. She may have agreed in the heat of the moment, when my fingers were inside her, making her beg for more, but she agreed to my terms.
Was it legally binding? No, but I didn't need it to be.
She quit on the spot, and I leaked the story to the press. Timing is everything in this business. I made it look like she was a disgruntled employee who was willing to go to any length to destroy my career. I even let a private investigator search my office. Of course, I made sure it was clean before I let him in.
After all the back and forth, the accusations, she ruined herself. She made herself look crazy. She destroyed her own reputation, and mine is still intact. Better than ever, in fact, in large part thanks to Amelia.
Again, that was all part of the plan.
My father, the genius that he is, made it clear to me the first night he met Amelia that I needed to use her to ensure I was reelected. And I did just that. I proposed, threw Gina under the bus, and Amelia stepped up to the plate.
She wanted to help in any way she could. That's what we were banking on.
We moved the wedding up. Proved to the press that we were a united front. She gave her first press conference and stood by my side while I 'went through hell' trying to regain the ground Gina was trying to take from me.
The only thing standing between me and my Senate seat now is Ayers, and I have a plan for him as well. One thing at a time, though. Wedding first, Ayers’ disappearance when I return from my honeymoon.
Ten days in beautiful Turks and Caicos. I've been before, but Amelia doesn't know that. The last time I was there, Monica was with me. That nosy bitch. At the time, things between us were great. In fact, I was weeks away from proposing to her. We never made it that far. She had to go and fuck that up for herself.
Once I found out where she wanted to go, I took over planning the
trip, needing to make sure we weren't at the same resort. It's been a year, but who knows if anyone would recognize me. I'd hate for them to mention Monica in front of Amelia. I've erased Monica from all aspects of my life and never intend to tell Amelia about her. She doesn't need to even know she existed.
If Ayers has his way, she'll know everything he thinks he knows.
The thought makes me laugh. The damn fool is trying so hard to figure out what actually happened he’s moving further and further from the truth. He hit the nail on the head with his first guess and then retracted his theory, finding it too unbelievable.
Laughing to myself, I remember the moment he walked in the interview room. I was talking with my attorney, and he began shouting accusations. All I could do was stare in shock as he described exactly how it played out. It's like he was in the house at the time. Garcia pulled him out of the room, avoiding eye contact with me. Clearly he heard everything and was as shocked as I was.
When Ayers returned, he apologized for accusing me and blew it off as concern for his sister.
He should be concerned. She's not in a good place right now. She'll also never be able to tell her side of the story if I have my way.
Shaking thoughts of Monica and her annoying brother from my thoughts, I shower and get ready for my day. I have a press conference this afternoon and a special meet and greet my father arranged with some influential wedding guests. I get that the wedding is all for show, that it's a part of the campaign plan, but it's also Amelia's day. I don't want her to think it's not about her.
Especially since no one is going to be sitting on her side of the aisle.
Another calculated move on my part. Her parents helped, but not intentionally. When they made the decision not to bless our marriage, they made everything else easier on me.
I mailed the invitations, and the ones to her closest friends, including her roommate, didn't make the cut. Instead, I filled them out as unable to attend and mailed them back the last time I was in Houston on business. I couldn't risk anything going wrong.
It broke her heart, but it was necessary. So when we're married tomorrow, the plan is to keep all her attention focused on me. I hired a man who looks similar to her father to give her away. The press will never know the difference, and I've informed the photographer not to take their picture together.
He's been compensated to forget those shots. The press will be wanting to purchase those images from him after the wedding, and I didn't want her parents to see what I had done. Amelia questioned me on my decision, but I was able to spin it to make it look like I was covering for her and not me.
She's the most beautiful, caring person I've ever met. She's genuine. At the same time, she's gullible, and that works in my favor more often than not. I'd like to keep it that way, at least until the I dos are said and done.
* * *
The meet and greet was a waste of time. Old men and their wives wanting to talk politics. Wanting to push me in whatever direction is best suited for them to make more money than they have time left to spend. Still, I shook hands and smiled, listening to their political platforms and sharing little of my own. I wanted them to believe I support them, even if I don't. I need their votes and their influence on other votes.
The last leg of the campaign is about to begin. After the honeymoon, it'll be a race to the finish. Then, once I'm reelected, things will settle down and go back to business as usual.
"One last thing before I let you settle in for the night," my father says as we wait for the valet to bring his car around.
"I need to call and check in on Amelia first."
"You'd think you were actually in love with her. You're very convincing, you know that?"
In a way, I am in love with Amelia. She's exactly what a politician’s wife needs to be in my opinion. She's my mother. She sits idly by and lets my father run the show. She doesn't question or contradict him. She's compliant.
So is Amelia.
"Just playing the part," I reply, stepping to the side to shoot her a text.
ME: Headed home shortly. Can't wait to see you tomorrow. Hope you sleep better tonight. Love you.
Her reply is instant, as if she knew I was waiting for my message.
AMELIA: Can't wait. Love you too. Sleep well.
Not likely without her by my side, but that has more to do with my needs and not her physically sleeping next to me.
"Ready for tomorrow?" my father asks as he pulls away from the country club, merging onto the main road without pausing at the stop sign.
"Are we in a hurry?"
"Lang family tradition. Everyone's waiting, and we're running late."
"Who's everyone?" I inquire, my curiosity piqued. I wasn't even aware we had family traditions aside from the holidays.
"Grandpa and your Uncle Tom."
Hmmm. My father and his brother in the same room, on purpose, outside a family gathering. This must be a serious tradition, which also means I'm probably going to enjoy whatever they have planned.
Pulling down the alley next to my father’s office building, I spot Garcia standing outside an open emergency exit. My father parks, and as we approach, Garcia speaks in hushed tones.
"Security system is rerouted. They're waiting for you in the suite. Elevators are down. You'll want to take the stairs."
"You work for me," I state.
"You think you're the only person he works for?" my father laughs. "Time to grow up, Johnathan."
Following my father up, we find my Uncle Tom waiting on the top floor. He only nods as my father walks past him into the guest suite. I've stayed here once before, when the police refused to let me back in my house after Monica disappeared. I never imagined I'd be back here again so soon.
And I certainly never imagined I'd walk in and find my eighty-year-old grandpa getting a lap dance from a half-naked stripper.
"What the hell?" I ask as my father claps me on the back.
"It's your last night as a single man. These women are here to make sure you never forget what you're giving up. Then, every year on this night, they'll be back here to remind you if you want them to be."
The stripper straddles my grandfather, pressing his face between her breasts as they spill out of her tiny bra.
"She's going to give Grandpa a heart attack,” I state.
"Nah. That's Camille. She's his favorite. He saw her just last month before his anniversary, so this is a bonus for him. Over there," he says, pointing to a tall, thin brunette that reminds me a little of my mother when she was younger, "is Ashley. She's mine."
"And the busty blond on the couch," Tom cuts in. "That's Sherri. She's belongs to me."
"You each have your own hooker?" The questions seems unnecessary but still slips from my lips.
"And you," my grandpa calls from across the room, "can choose between Monicanifer and Stacey."
The name alone makes a shiver crawl up my spine. I know who I'll be choosing.
Two women step in front of me, scantily clad in only heels and undergarments. They introduce themselves, Monicanifer being the prettier of the two, but I choose Stacey.
With that choice, she pulls me into the adjacent bedroom and removes everything but her heels. She's willing to do whatever I want, for as long as I want. All night long. And this night, every year, is reserved for us. In this suite. My father's wedding present to me. A tradition passed down from generation to generation.
Our wedding day may be the best day of Amelia's life, but this, right here, will be the best day of mine. The question is... how do I want to take her first?
Twenty-Three
Amelia
A girl dreams of her wedding day her entire life. The dress. Flowers. Her cake.
Most of all, she envisions the kind of man she will marry. A handsome, kind person who makes her happy. The father of her unborn children. The man she plans to grown old and gray with.
On my wedding day, I had everything I envisioned I would. Beautiful flowers. The whit
e dress. A man who loves me waiting at the alter with a smile on his face. It's all the things I left out of my childhood dreams that I was longing for.
My parents. My friends.
The things I took for granted. I hadn't dreamed they would be there because the thought of them not being there never crossed my mind. My father not walking me down the aisle was never an option. It was supposed to happen because why wouldn't it? What would stop him from giving his one and only daughter away on one of the most important days of her life?
Anger and hatred, that's what.
Lack of respect for my choices.
A simple disagreement.
Thinking about it now, as I walk toward my future husband, a stand-in for my father escorting me down the aisle, I'm enraged at him and my mother. The most upsetting part is that all I can do is smile through the pain.
At the end of the day, I have Johnathan, and he's all I need.
And that's who I focus on. He's my future. I'm ready to take the leap with him. For him to be my everything and for me to be his. To crawl into bed next to him every night.
It's not the life I thought I would have, but it's a damn good one.
After the I dos are said and the reception begins to wind down, we make our escape. Well, not really. If we were escaping, no one would know. There's an entire line of people to see us off, blessing our marriage as we leave for our tropical honeymoon. Ten days of relaxation on the beach.
No campaign.
No family drama.
Just the two of us celebrating the beginning of the rest of our life together.
And yet my excitement is forced. The same fake smile that's been plastered on my face all day is firmly in place. And my heart... it's beating at a steady pace. One I would relate to going to the dentist or the gyno. It's slightly elevated from anticipation but not thrilled.
Johnathan doesn't seem to notice. In fact, he seems as distant as I do. Like he's going through the motions at one of his campaign events. Smiling, shaking hands, and kissing babies, all the while wishing it was over.
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