by Rye Hart
Before I could stop and think, I stood up. “I think I need to use the bathroom as well actually.”
I slipped away, heading off in the direction I'd seen Vanessa go. And when I rounded a corner, there she was, standing outside of the restrooms, waiting her turn. As I approached, my footsteps slowing while my heartbeat accelerated, the door opened and a woman stepped out, letting Vanessa in. I quickly slipped in behind her and followed her into the bathroom.
“Carter, what are you – ”
She didn't finish her sentence – almost like she expected me to cut her off with a kiss or something more. When I didn't, she just stopped talking and stared at me, her expression drifting from annoyed to outright hostile.
I stared back at her, not quite knowing how to say what I wanted to say. Not sure how to express everything that was churning in both my head and my heart.
“It wasn't a coincidence you being here, was it?” she asked, finally breaking the awkward silence between us.
“No, not really.”
“Amy?” A smile spread across her face and she shook her head.
She knew, I didn't even have to answer her question.
“She just wants you to be happy, Vanessa,” I said. “As do I. But now I'm questioning everything I thought I knew walking in the door tonight. After seeing you two together, maybe Dylan does make you happy. I don't know when I've ever seen you smile that much. And I know that he can – ”
“Dylan?” Vanessa asked. “Seriously, Carter? You're jealous of Dylan?”
“Aren't you two on a date?”
“No,” she laughed. “Not at all. He genuinely is only interested in me in terms of my political future. In fact, I found out something very interesting about Dylan tonight, something very few people know.”
I raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer.
“He's gay, Carter,” she said and laughed. “As in, he's got a serious boyfriend he plans to propose to within the next year. Wait, is that why you punched him the other night?” realization suddenly dawning on her face.
“God, I feel like an absolute asshole,” I said, burying my face in my hands.
Vanessa surprised me by coming up to me and pulling my hands away from my face. She leaned her forehead against mine and looked into my eyes.
“Carter, I'm still upset at how you handled yourself the other night,” she said. Her voice was soft, and her breath was warm against my skin. “Don't think I'm letting you off that easily. I'm still very pissed. And rightly so.”
She kissed me gently on the lips, and I took her face in my hands. I kissed her longer and harder this time, savoring the feeling of her lips against mine.
“I promise, Vanessa, I will make it up to you,” I said.
“Oh, I know you will,” she said with a wink. “But for now, we need to get back out there. Your date is probably wondering where you're at.”
“Pfft. I had a talk with Sofia earlier, she's only interested in me to get to you,” I said. “And not in the sexual way. She thinks you're a rising star and wants to hitch her wagon to yours.”
“Mmm look at us,” Vanessa said with a laugh. “The political power couple, huh?”
As soon as she said the words, however, she stopped. “I mean, not like couple-couple – ”
“Shhh, stop while you're ahead,” I said, kissing her one last time before we went back out to the table.
Without even realizing it, we were holding hands. Dylan eyed our intertwined hands and looked at us with a raised eyebrow. Vanessa pulled away as soon as she realized what was happening.
“So, the rumors are true,” Dylan said with a grin.
“What rumors?” Vanessa said, her face turning beet red.
“Sit down,” Dylan said. “And don't freak out so much. This isn't nearly as big a deal as you seem to think it is.”
I was starting to like him more already.
CHAPTER ELEVEN - VANESSA
“Daddy, I'm just stopping by for a second. I needed to pick up a file from your office before the meeting with – ”
I walked into his office and there, on his desk was a young Asian woman bent over and bare assed. My father was standing behind her, pants around his ankles. When he turned and looked at me, his face turned bright red and his eyes grew so wide, I feared they'd pop out of his skull.
I dropped my phone and it clattered to the floor as I fumbled with it in my hurry to close the door behind me. I turned and practically ran down the hallway, my stomach churning and the taste of vomit in my throat after seeing what I'd just witnessed. My father, a man who stood firmly for family values and railed against anybody and everybody for a lack of them, was banging his mistress. In his office. On his desk.
I heard the office door behind me open and close, and my father's voice called out to me.
“Vanessa, wait, it's not what you think. ”
Holding my hands up, I turned to him and said, “Oh, it's not? Because geeze, dad, it sure looked like you were banging someone who is clearly not your wife on your desk.”
“Okay, maybe it is what you think,” he said, scratching his face. His pants were still mostly unzipped, his tighty whiteys poking out of the zipper. I was absolutely disgusted, and would need some eye bleach to get that image out of my head. But more than that, I felt betrayed. For so long, I'd thought my father had a strict moral compass. He spoke so fiercely and passionately about values and the importance of loyalty and fidelity.
And to find out it was all a lie? It felt like I'd been punched in the gut.
“I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you,” I seethed. “You, of all people. After all the shit you've given Carter about his supposed immorality over the years – ”
“That's different,” my dad countered. “I mean, I'm discrete with my flings and don't shove them in everybody's face at least.”
“Oh, right. Just because you're discrete means it doesn't count, right?” I hissed. “At least Carter is honest about who he is. Does Andrea know about this?”
“No, she doesn't,” my dad said, sounding defeated. “And please don't tell her. It would kill her, Vanessa.”
“Yeah, well maybe you should have thought about that before you started fucking some tramp in your family's home,” I said. “And you want to know the worst part of this whole shitstorm, Dad? It's that I actually believed in you. I honestly thought you were the real deal when it came to practicing what you preach.”
I turned to leave before my dad could see me crying. I had a meeting with Dylan about my Congressional campaign ,something that before I'd walked in on him banging his mistress, I couldn't wait to announce to my father. But now, seeing what a hypocrite he was, I couldn't even bare to look at him, much less share my good news.
I stormed out of the mansion just as Andrea came home from doing some shopping. She looked at me with a concerned expression on her face.
“Are you okay, dear? Is it Carter again?” she asked. “What has he done now?”
“It's not Carter,” I said, wiping my eyes. “Believe it or not, your son is actually trying to get his shit together. He's taken a lot of positive steps, Andrea. You should be proud of him.”
Andrea looked pleased to hear that. Carter had gone to rehab – his own choice – and I couldn't have been prouder of him. I felt sorry for Andrea. But also felt torn between telling her the truth or letting my father get away with his lies. She was, after all, like a mother to me. She'd always been kind.
But I didn't have to say a word because my father's mistress came prancing out of his office, almost running toward the front door, barely even dressed, with my father behind her. His pants were still undone, and when he saw Andrea, his eyes grew large, his expression tinged with panic.
He tried the infamous line again, “It's not what it looks like,” but Andrea wasn't stupid.
At times, I thought maybe they were married on paper only, that there was no love between them, but the look on her face told me I was wrong. I walked away, leaving
my father to clean up his own mess. I could hear them fighting as I walked to my car, and in the back of my mind I thought – she's going to go to the press. His career was over.
All this time, I was focused on anything but myself. I didn't allow myself to live my life the way I wanted because of him. Out of fear about the impact my decisions would have on him and his career. I didn't want to make him look bad. But he'd just done a damn fine job of that on his own.
Even though I was mad, I found myself laughing to myself as I drove away.
I was free. I was finally free to be me.
ooo000ooo
I stared at the headline, but couldn't bring myself to read the article. My father lost the election. Not only did he lose his chance at the Senate – and a future presidential run – but he no longer held his Congressional seat either.
No, he hadn't lost because of the affairs; that was just the tip of the iceberg. Once Andrea went to the press after learning he'd been cheating on her, it wasn't long before my dad's mistress, Kelly, had been paid for plenty of interviews as well.
And it turned out that while she was currently eighteen years old, apparently their relationship started well before she was legal. After that, even more women came out of the woodwork. Some of them were probably fakes, but some had compelling stories that made me believe what they said to be true.
My dad was in a world of hurt, and he deserved everything that had happened to him.
“It's a shame,” Dylan said as he handed me a cup of coffee. We were waiting at a nearby coffee shop for Carter to be released from rehab. “I really believed in him too.”
“A lot of people did,” I said, closing up the newspaper and putting it back on the table. “Do you think this will hurt my chances?”
“Not if I have my way it won't. The sins of the father shall not hurt the daughter,” he said. “Because you've been your father's biggest critic, I actually think this could work in your favor. You've been doing more interviews, speaking about how even you were fooled by the lies. I think you'll be just fine. The people feel for you, Vanessa, they don't hate you.”
“It's impossible to hate her,” a voice piped up from behind me. I smiled before I even had a chance to turn around and see his face. “She's fucking amazing.”
“Carter,” I said, standing up to hug him. “Watch your mouth.”
He kissed me, and I didn't even flinch. Yes, we were in public and some tabloids were talking about our relationship. But with Dylan's guidance and coaching, we answered those questions up front and honestly. Dylan had really helped us and put us at ease about being together.
And let's face it, our romance paled in comparison to my dad's ridiculous sexcapades. Ours was a boring non-story by comparison and the media chose to focus on him instead.
“How was it?” I asked, noting his shorter, cleaner haircut.
“It's rehab, what do you expect?” he said. “I'm not going to be fixed overnight, obviously.”
“No one ever is,” I said.
Even though his past drug abuse could cause health problems in the future, one of my many stances was on more supportive care for addicts and alcoholics. It was something I could now speak about based on my own personal experience, a message that resonated with a lot of people.
“I'm proud of you, Carter.” I said. “I really am.”
“We both are,” Dylan added. “You went through a rough patch there and you've come out the other side. Congratulations.”
We sat down at the table, hand-in-hand.
“Enough about me,” Carter said. “I want to hear all about you. I saw you announce your intent to run. It was a damn good speech.”
“Yes, yes it was,” Dylan said. “Vanessa is the future of this country, Carter. And if you love her, you need to stay clean and stay out of trouble. Think you can do that?”
“I think I can handle that,” he said, kissing my hand.
For the first time, after so many excuses and promises, I knew he meant it. It might not always be easy and our life might not be perfect, but at least we were honest with each other, and we were together.
And at the end of the day – win or lose – that was all that mattered to me.
Best Seller: Rock Hard Baby Daddy
A Billionaire Cowboy Romance
CHAPTER ONE - BELLA
I’ve seen the world through a camera lens from as early as I could remember.
I couldn’t help but be drawn toward the beauty around me. For whatever reason, I felt the need to document it in a timeless photograph that could speak to others, and maybe even spark a moment of serenity in their hearts.
Yes, it all sounds very artsy-fartsy, even hippie-ish . But I couldn’t help myself. I was who I was.
My mother saw it in me before I did. Even with pressure from well-meaning teachers, attempting to dissuade me from what they saw as a simple hobby, Mom always told me to screw what they thought and go after what was in my heart.
“Bella, you have a fire in you,” she’d told me at a young age. “You don’t realize it now, but you will change the lives of others with your talents. Promise me and, more importantly, promise yourself that you’ll always go after your dreams, no matter how hard the journey.”
Yep, she was pretty much the best mom on earth.
And now the best mom in heaven.
She’d done a damn good job raising me all on her own, and I hoped and prayed that someday when I had my own children, I could be half the mom she was.
May her precious heart rest in peace.
Fast forward to present day, and I’m nowhere near where I’d imagined I’d be at my age. On paper one would think I was nuts for even complaining about my situation.
Engaged to a good, beautiful wealthy man.
A big princess wedding only months away.
And an even bigger rock on my left hand.
I’m not one to lack appreciation for the lavish life I was living, but I felt my confidence dwindling day by day in my fiancé Gavin’s presence. Gavin’s constant berating and trivialization of my interests had all but destroyed the passion I had left for my art.
He would never admit to it, but he essentially saw me as his trophy wife. In his eyes, my job was to sit quietly and look pretty. He didn’t mind me having a side hobby or two, but he didn’t like the idea of me pursing my dream of becoming a widely influential artist. He knew how much it would take, and that simply didn’t align well with his plan for life.
He did everything he could to diminish the flames that sparked inside of me. Now, as I look at myself in the mirror, I can barely recognize the girl I once knew. It was the thought of losing that last bit of fire that scared the fuck out of me.
“This place is a dump, Bella.” Gavin had curled his lip at my friend’s place for the second time that evening. The first time was when we drove up and parked outside, and now I’d hoped he’d keep his voice low enough that the other artists present wouldn’t hear. There were writers, painters, and other photographers within earshot.
A friend of mine from my photography class owned the coffee shop, so I hoped he wouldn’t throw his countless insults this direction, but that was a proving to be a major fail at this point. The truth was the coffee shop was one of the best and busiest shops in the city, and the patrons had all built such a camaraderie that they were like a small family. It would take a complete asshole not to appreciate the charm it had to offer. Today Gavin was that asshole.
Kayla finally showed, and I breathed a sigh of relief as she crossed the room. My best friend would be just the lift I needed.
“This is awesome! I’m sure you’ve already sold a ton of copies of the journal, right?” she asked enthusiastically.
“She’s signed five and two of those were for the same woman. She has only sold one print.” Gavin smirked.
Why am I with this dickhead anyway? I asked myself.
“She bought the books for her daughters,” I said, in attempt to sway the direction of the conversation ba
ck to something positive.
I smiled remembering the older woman who had seemed way out of her element. She had come across town to buy copies of my photography collection for her daughters, who were avid readers. Both had enjoyed my collections in the past and owned a few prints, so she’d wanted to surprise them.
My book was a passion project. I wanted to do something different and had one of my earlier collections made into a journal that told stories from my childhood with my mother. I had thought about it since her death and finally made the dream into a reality. It meant a lot to me that others would now get to see it.
“I still think giving away too many of your images in one sale is a bad idea. Even if it is one collection.” Gavin had failed to see many of my ideas as practical, and he measured success solely on money.
“I think the journals were a really cool way to showcase those older pieces. It’s a gorgeous book, and it’s not like it’s your entire collection,” Kayla said, rolling her eyes at Gavin. She was always the positive influence in my life. I thanked my lucky stars for her, because her positivity was all I had left to hold on to after my mom’s passing. Kayla, much like my mom, had the ability to see things in me that I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, see in myself.
“Frankly, it wouldn’t matter what you were trying to showcase here. It’d be lost on the tacky setting. I’d ask the owners to turn the lights up, but no telling what kind of crap the bad lighting is hiding in this place,” Gavin said.
About that time, I turned to see the owner and my friend turning to duck out in the other direction. From the looks on their faces and their body language, they’d heard every cheap shot Gavin had taken.
“How long is this thing going to last,” he sneered as I stood there with my cheeks flaming red and tears in my eyes.
Those tears were a mixture of embarrassment and the hurtful comments he’d made, and I’d finally had all I could take.
“You can leave now!” I gritted my teeth so hard that it hurt, but I knew if I didn’t keep a tight jaw I’d make a scene.
