She held on to him for a long moment while I stood back, awkwardly watching their affectionate exchange. I tried to remember the last time I hugged my own mother, but nothing came to mind.
Jameson finally released his mother and stepped back. He held out an arm and beckoned me out of the shadows. “Mom, this is Georgie. Georgie, this is my mother, Ruth.”
I extended my hand. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Martin.”
I was shocked when she pulled me into a tight hug. She smelled like lilies of the valley, a scent so familiar to me that my eyes began to water with unshed tears. My mother wore a perfume that smelled similar. “Please, call me Ruth,” she said, once she released me.
“Okay,” I murmured.
She stepped back into the house, gesturing for Jameson and me to follow her inside.
Jameson was immediately greeted by his father, who was only an inch shorter than Jameson. He had thick salt-and-pepper hair that I imagined was once jet-black like his son’s. The two men looked similar; they both had the same slim, pointed nose and bright, icy blue eyes. Jameson’s Cheshire cat grin came from his mother, who looked like the cat ate the canary; she was positively bursting at the seams with happiness. Ruth Martin was fairly tall as well; she stood a good two or three inches above me. She had rich chestnut-brown hair that she wore in a stylish pixie cut. She was slim and didn’t look anywhere close to her late sixties.
“Georgie, this is my dad, Sam.”
I extended my hand but prepared to be enveloped in another hug. Jameson’s father took my hand and held it gently in between his two larger hands.
“It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Georgie,” he said to me.
“Thank you, I’m happy to finally meet you both at last.”
“Let’s not stand around in the foyer. Dinner is hot and ready for us on the table.” Ruth motioned to a room just off the foyer and we all turned and followed her.
Jameson’s family home was cozy and inviting. The foyer was large with a massive staircase protruding into the space with two rooms, the dining room and formal living room, off to either side. The dining room was painted a rich, deep red with white wainscoting breaking up the bold shade. Thick crown molding finished out the space, and two bay windows made the room feel spacious.
We all sat down, with Jameson’s dad at the head of the table and his mother at the opposite end, and we sat across from each other. I couldn’t remember the last family meal I had shared with my own parents. In fact, it had been quite some time since I was last around family of any kind. For the past few years, I was completely alone. Now I had a fiancé and I was sitting in his family home, about to have dinner with his parents. It was entirely too much for me to endure right now, in addition to fighting with Jameson and learning that someone recorded something so intimate and raw between us, then sold it to the highest bidder.
I bolted from the table, unable to hold back the tears, and disappeared behind a door in the dining room. I had no idea where it led. I ended up in the large kitchen, standing in front of a wall completely made up of windows. I stared out at the backyard, watching it continue to rain. I fidgeted nervously with my hands and let tears stream down my face.
“Are you okay?” Ruth’s kind voice came from behind and I felt a warm hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I lost my parents a few years ago, and I haven’t been around family much since then. It got a little overwhelming.”
“I’m sorry about your parents.” She rubbed my back in small circles like any normal mother would do for an upset child. “You and Jameson seem a little distant.”
How could she have possibly picked up on that? We hadn’t even been in the house for very long.
“It wasn’t a good day for either of us.”
“I understand. Sam and I have seen the news.”
I buried my face in my hands. Oh, God! His parents knew! It was absolutely humiliating to stand in front of Jameson’s mother, knowing she had most likely seen her son having sex. And we didn’t just have plain old vanilla missionary-style, which still would be just as embarrassing. No, it was the down and dirty carnal variety; the kind of sex where you don’t care much because all you really cared about was being connected to the person.
“I’m sorry it happened.” I removed my hands from my face and wiped the wetness from my cheeks. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“I’m actually worried about you.” She placed firm hands on my shoulders and turned me to face her. “I know Jameson is my son, but you’re a part of his life now. I worry about how all of this is affecting you.”
“Honestly? I’m scared that one day, Jameson will wake up and realize he doesn’t need me anymore. You have no idea how lonely the past few years have been. He has no idea how lonely I’ve been. Now, I have everything I didn’t know I wanted, and he has this awesome power to take it all away.”
“You have to tell him, Georgie.” Ruth led me over to a small table that sat in a corner of the kitchen. She took my hands in hers and continued, “Did you know that Sam and I met on a Friday night and were married the next day?”
“What?” I was shocked. Was it even possible to know a person was ‘the one’ after only twenty-four hours?
“It’s true. He had just finished Officer Candidate School and was getting ready for his first tour in Vietnam. He told me he didn’t want to die alone. If he was going to die in the jungle, then he wanted someone in the States to mourn him.”
“Oh my God.” I couldn’t believe what Ruth was sharing with me and I was sad that Jameson hadn’t told me this information himself. Then again, there was still so much about each other that was unknown. There was still so much to discover.
“My point is that Sam and I wouldn’t have lasted so long together without communication. Sam was gone for an entire year before I saw him again. We spent twelve months writing letters to each other. Our letters were very boring most of the time, but a few letters were extremely intimate. If anyone else read them, I would have been mortified. I would still be mortified, actually. So, I know a little bit about how you feel right now.”
“Thank you so much for telling me all of this.”
“You’re a part of our family now.”
Sam poked his head in the doorway, breaking the heavy tension in the room. “Dinner is getting cold,” he announced informally, as if Ruth and I hadn’t just finished an intense conversation.
“We will be right there.” Ruth smiled lovingly at her husband and he winked back at her. Their silent communication was what I eventually wanted with Jameson. I wanted to have the quiet, comfortable affection that his parents clearly had.
“I made Jameson’s favorite, braised short ribs, and I highly doubt he’ll wait much longer before devouring them.” Another piece of the Jameson puzzle fell into place. We both stood and she embraced me in a tight hug, then gave me a look; the kind that a mother would give to her daughter.
My dad scowled at me the moment Georgie bolted from the table and cleared the doorway. A moment later, my mother excused herself to check on Georgie. I sat there with my father, in an uncomfortable silence.
“James.” He said it in a reproachful way that I hadn’t heard since I was a teenager.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I know you and Mom are disappointed in me.” I was disappointed in myself, too. I should have known better. We weren’t in a private room; only a screen separated us from the rest of the space. I was sure everyone in that damn studio heard us.
“That’s not what I meant.”
I looked up at my dad and met his eyes. They were the same color as mine and we looked so similar, it was almost like looking in the mirror sometimes.
“What’s your endgame, James? What’s the prize at the end of the race?”
“The presidency.”
My dad shook his head. “That’s not the answer I expected. I can already tell that your campaign has changed because of Georgie. Have you changed?”
I sat back in the uncomfortable dining
chair. Had I changed since Georgie entered my life? My priorities were a little more skewed now because of her. But I still kept her almost entirely separate from my personal life. While I envisioned her in my home in Boston, that vision didn’t come so easily when it came to my D.C. condo or the White House. “No, I haven’t.”
“That’s your problem.” He set his napkin down on the table and looked at me as if he’d just cured cancer.
“I don’t understand.” If I was being honest, I didn’t really want to change.
“I can’t be the one to point it out to you, James. You’re forty years old, on the cusp of being elected the leader of the most powerful nation in the world and yet, you don’t understand the relationship you’re in. You don’t understand what it means to love.”
“Dad, I don’t love her.”
“Maybe that’s your problem, then.” He got up and went to the door that led to the kitchen, opened it slightly, and said something I didn’t quite hear before returning to the table.
“I know short ribs are your favorite, so help yourself while they’re still warm. Georgie and your mom will be in shortly.”
There was still an uncomfortable silence between us as Georgie and I sat in the back of the sedan on our way home. We both had a lot to think about, a lot to consider. This felt like a turning point in our relationship where either we sank or swam. I knew that if she chose to leave, I’d surely sink.
“My parents are coming over for dinner tomorrow night. Actually, the whole staff will be there and dinner will be catered. We have a lot to go over before the debate.”
The debate was only two days away and now we had a black cloud hanging over the campaign. The sex tape. I received updates all day on sites that tried to release it, only to have it taken down because of the injunction we had in place. The images, though, still popped up all over tabloid news sites, and the conservative pundits were having a field day vilifying me. We released a statement, but it didn’t say much beyond it being an invasion of privacy and that neither of us had consented to being recorded. Sierra Simmons released a statement as well, condemning her former employee and that she was pursuing legal action. There were some kind words about Georgie and me, but I didn’t pay much attention to what she said.
“Do you still want me to attend the debate?” Her voice was small, timid…unsure.
“Of course.” I wanted to add that it would look suspicious if she wasn’t there, but refrained. I grabbed her hand and squeezed it to reinforce my half-truth. I needed her there to save face, not for support. And that was the problem my father hinted at during our conversation tonight. I needed her for all the wrong reasons. Jameson Martin, the politician, was tethered to her. He would fail if she cut the line. Jameson Martin, the man? I wasn’t exactly sure what would happen to him if Georgie walked. I quickly let go of her hand, as if it had burned me, and turned back toward the window, watching the city pass by through the streaks of rain.
Georgie and I went our separate ways when we returned home. I headed straight for my office to review some key bills that were coming up for a vote in the Senate. I would have to fly back to D.C. right after the debate to cast my vote. Even though I was running for president, I was still a senator, and still had a job to do. I worked well into the middle of the night and eventually found my way up to the bedroom. I was disappointed, but not surprised, to see my bed was empty. The closet was also empty; Georgie had taken her suitcase with her to the spare bedroom.
This was the second night in a row that Georgie and I had slept apart. I’d only managed two hours of dreamless sleep last night. Tonight, I feared what waited once I closed my eyes.
My eyes finally closed, only to pop right back open to hands shaking me awake. I latched onto the wrists of whomever was shaking me, fearful of what I might be faced with when my eyes finally opened. Once the fogginess of sleep disappeared, Georgie’s face hovered over mine, her face etched with concern. My grip on her relaxed when I realized she wasn’t a ghost.
“Jameson? Jameson, are you awake?” Her voice echoed the concern on her expression.
“What happened?” I looked around, confused. A glance at the clock on the bedside table indicated I’d been asleep for almost four hours. Except, it felt like barely a minute. Then I smelled it, the lingering smell of smoke and gasoline. The metallic taste of blood on my tongue.
“You were screaming. Were you having a nightmare?” Georgie pulled her wrists free from my grip and lightly stroked my cheeks with the backs of her hands. The gesture was comforting and I relaxed into the mattress, tension melting from my body.
I sighed heavily. “Yes. I’m sorry to wake you. Go back to bed.”
Georgie sat back on her heels, inspecting me carefully with her too-big green eyes. “Will you tell me about it?”
“I haven’t had one in weeks.” I couldn’t look her in the eye. I felt unworthy of sympathy after the way I treated her. I greedily took the comfort and solace she willingly offered. But damned if I didn’t need her that very moment.
“What are they about?” Her emerald eyes were wary and tired but so full of concern. Her hand still stroked my cheek and I took it, pulling her down next to me. She stretched out alongside me and I held her hand between our bodies.
“My convoy was ambushed. The first vehicle, a Humvee, hit an IED and blew. That was the signal because as soon as we all stopped, we came under fire. My nightmares are about pulling my men from the Humvee I was in. It was burning. They were burning. Their screams echo in my mind over and over. Smoke fills my lungs until I start choking. Sometimes I wake up coughing. More often than not, I wake up screaming, trying to reach the last man. He was just a kid, barely out of basic training.”
I risked a glance next to me and saw Georgie’s eyes swimming with tears. Her bottom lip was trembling and there was so much sadness written all over her face that I regretted telling her.
“Did he make it?” she asked tentatively.
I looked away because I didn’t have the strength to answer that. I didn’t have the courage to tell her that sometimes, my nightmares replayed the day I went to that man’s home and told his mother that her only son had been killed. That I had been helpless to save him because that would have meant my own death. I selfishly sacrificed him for my own life.
“I’m so sorry, Jameson.” Georgie turned to face me and placed her trembling lips against my cheek. Too soon, the warmth of her lips disappeared. “Thank you for telling me.”
She sat up in bed and swiped her cheeks, removing any trace that a tear or two had managed to escape. Instinctively, I reached out and captured her arm loosely in my grip. She looked down at it and then finally at me.
“Stay with me tonight. Please.”
Georgie’s eyes closed and I saw the battle that waged inside of her. Part of her wanted to stay while the other half wanted to flee. Which side would win?
“I can’t, Jameson. It’s not right.”
“I understand.”
She kept her eyes on me until she disappeared into the hallway. I let out a heavy breath and ran my hands over my face. There would be no more sleep tonight.
I sat up in bed and clicked on the lamp on the bedside table. A stack of folders waited for me; they contained information I needed to review. My laptop was under the folders and I grabbed that instead. I opened it and turned it on. It took a second for the log-in screen to appear and once I was in, I bypassed my email. No doubt, there were dozens of emails I could return. Instead, I navigated to a folder I recently saved, which contained the photographs Sierra Simmons took for the article. She sent copies of all the images to me a few days ago. I meant to share them with Georgie when we finally reunited after that long week apart, but then the shit hit the fan, and all I could think about was putting out another fire.
I clicked through each image, enamored by the couple I saw. I didn’t recognize myself in the photographs at all because he looked like he was in love. He looked so in love with the woman he held, with the w
oman who gazed back at him. Their looks mirrored each other. I wanted to blame our expressions on Photoshop, but that only diminished the emotions I knew Georgie felt. Her expression was genuine. But, was mine? Or was it a mask?
I hated leaving Jameson after listening to him tell me about his nightmare. It was cruel, but I struggled to keep giving him more. I had to harden my heart because I feared the moment Jameson would break it. I returned to the spare bedroom and attempted to sleep, but I was restless. I was haunted by the story he shared and the image of Jameson pulling his men free from their burning vehicle. I could only imagine how he felt and knew that sleep probably eluded us both that night.
When the first rays of dawn peeked through the curtains, I decided to give up. I left my room for the kitchen with the intent of making breakfast. Jameson was already there, sitting at the table, with a cup of coffee and newspapers spread out in front of him. He wore a T-shirt and running shorts. His feet were bare, but I could see his phone, armband, earbuds, and shoes waiting for him. He was getting ready to run.
We didn’t acknowledge each other, but I felt his heated gaze watching me. I found a mug, filled it with coffee, and with a glance back at the handsome, brooding man who tracked my movements with his glacial blue eyes, I headed downstairs. I thought it best that he and I be as far apart as possible before the campaign took over. I flicked on the television but kept the volume low so I could hear him move. Despite the arguments, the uncertainty, and the distance that now existed between us, I still wanted to be a part of his world and his life. I wanted him more than anything else.
I heard the front door open and close a little while later, signaling his departure. I needed an outlet, something to help me clear my head. The only thing that came to mind was Avon. I was certain she and DeWayne would attend tomorrow night’s debate, and I hoped they would both be at the house tonight.
The rest of the day dragged. I remained in my spot on the large, beige sectional for most of it, watching crappy reality shows. Jameson wasn’t gone very long and when he returned, I kept one ear trained on the sounds he made. Footsteps as he moved around above me. The echo of his deep voice throughout the house as he talked on the phone. The front door opening and closing every time someone arrived. Gradually, the voices in the house increased and I could no longer just hear Jameson.
Presidential Bargain (The Presidential Promises Duet Book 1) Page 16
