Pretty Broken Bastard

by Jeana E. Mann

  His dismissive tone stabbed me in the gut. My heart squeezed for Carter. No wonder he’d been so silent. This explained the stares, the whispers, and the general dismissal of his presence. He was the Senator’s son. I’d never voted for the man, turned off by rumors of dirty politics and dishonest tactics.

  “It matters to me,” she said. “You and I have an agreement. I play the happy homemaker, and you keep your sordid sex life away from our family. I want you to get rid of him. Now.”

  Senator Mayfield smiled at his reflection, pleased with what he saw. Arrogant ass. From my hiding place, I got a good view of his face. I bit my lower lip to hold back a gasp. How did I miss the resemblance? Father and son shared the same amber eyes, sun-streaked brown hair, and sharp features. Aside from Carter’s greater height, the genetic connection between the two men was unmistakable.

  “You make it sound like you’re the poor wounded wife, when we both know you’ve been screwing the golf pro at the country club for months now.” He tweaked the knot in his tie once more. “Don’t worry about Carter. He’s been paid well to keep his mouth shut.”

  I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. I stumbled through a back door. The remnants of my dinner rose to the back of my throat as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. The bride was Carter’s sister, and the senator was his father. After a quick stop at the powder room to regain my composure, I hastened back to the reception. I thought about all the covert glances and snide whispers and his proud stare. He needed me.

  I found Carter standing alone on the terrace, staring pensively over the gardens. Torches danced over the profusion of blooms and blossoms. A full moon cast blue light into the shadows and sharpened his features. I slipped my hand into his, no longer caring about the petty boundaries of our relationship.

  “Why didn’t you tell me the senator was your dad?” I asked after a lengthy silence.

  His chest lifted and fell with a deep breath. He continued to gaze out over the garden. “Because I signed an NDA when I received my trust fund. I can’t publicly acknowledge who my father is.”

  I tightened my grip on his fingers. “Is that why no one has spoken to us?”

  “Yes.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. My admiration for him increased tenfold. He looked so proud, yet I knew he was hurting inside.

  “So everyone knows?”

  He shrugged. “If they don’t know, I’m sure they suspect. I mean, look at us. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

  Anger on his behalf swelled inside me. “You know what? Fuck those people. You don’t need any of them. We don’t have to stay. You don’t have to put up with this shit.”

  “I agree.” A male voice replied from behind us. We turned in unison to find the senator standing outside the doors, a champagne flute in one hand and a cigar in the other. “You should go.”

  The two men glared at each other. Carter lifted his chin. He tried to lose my hand, but I held fast. I refused to abandon him when he needed a friend. After a second, his grip tightened. When he spoke, his voice was tight and raw. “I’m not here for you. I came to support Reagan.”

  “Daddy, what’s going on?” The bride floated onto the terrace. The lace layers of her designer gown ruffled in the light breeze. She was a vision of loveliness, if somewhat tipsy.

  “I was just telling Carter that it’s getting late, and he should probably be leaving.” By his tone, the senator was used to giving orders and having them obeyed.

  “Nonsense.” She lifted her skirts and shouldered between father and son.

  “I suppose you think this is funny, inviting him here,” the senator said, a muscle ticking in his cheek.

  “No. I’m thrilled to have him here, and you should be too.” Rebellion glittered in her eyes. On tiptoe, she placed a kiss on Carter’s cheek. He stood like stone, solid and unmoving. “Thank you for coming. It means a lot to me.” As she descended, her gaze fell on me. She extended a gloved hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Reagan, and you must be Josephine Hollander.”

  “Just Jo,” I said.

  “And this is my father, Senator Mayfield,” she said. Her use of my instead of our grated over my nerves. Then again, I supposed that she’d been groomed to avoid all reference to her relationship with Carter. They had tried to erase him from their lives. Having experienced the love of a wonderful father, my heart ached for him.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jo,” he said, but he didn’t offer his hand to shake, and neither did I. My dislike for him grew greater by the minute. What kind of man shunned his son, made him feel unwanted and unloved? I’d never hated anyone more than Harold, but Senator Mayfield was quickly becoming the top contender for the honor.

  “I wish I could say the same,” I replied, not caring if I was rude. Carter’s eyebrows shot up, amusement bowing his mouth.

  The four of us stood in awkward silence. Carter’s eyes glowed with suppressed animosity. He was like a lion who’d been caged too long, his tail jerking with the need to pounce.

  “Could you ladies excuse us for a minute?” the senator said, his eyes locking with Carter’s.

  “Are you going to be nice?” Reagan lifted her chin and bounced her gaze between them.

  “I’m always nice,” Carter and his father said in unison.

  “I could use a drink,” I said. A cold beer sounded heavenly, although I had a suspicion it would take more than alcohol to erase this night from my memory.

  “You’re welcome to stay, Jo.” Carter lifted my hand and pressed his lips to the back. The anger and heat in his eyes made gooseflesh ripple along my arms.

  “Has she signed an NDA?” the senator asked.

  “She doesn’t need one,” Carter said. “Unlike you, I trust the people around me.”

  “That’s why you’re an idiot.” The senator puffed on his cigar, sending frothy white clouds of smoke into a halo around his head.

  “On second thought, Jo, why don’t you check out the bar? I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.” Carter’s gaze remained locked with this father’s, animosity thickening the air.

  “I should get back to my guests,” Reagan said. She bit her lower lip and shifted from side to side. “Walk with me, Jo?”

  “Sure.” My fingers slipped through Carter’s as we parted. I hated to leave him alone with this hateful man. “Would you like me to get something for you?”

  “No, I’m fine.” Our eyes met, and I saw that he was reassuring me about more than drinks.

  “It’s better to let them fight it out alone,” Reagan said as we walked away. She cast a worried glance over her shoulder. “I hope they don’t get out of hand.”

  “Does this happen often?”

  “Every time they see each other. Daddy likes to push Carter’s buttons. It’s always been that way.” She paused near a pair of French doors and placed a hand on my arm to halt my steps. “Do you mind if we stop for a minute? This dress weighs a million pounds, and I’m burning up.” She opened the doors and stepped into the refreshing breeze. “I can’t wait to get out of this thing.”

  “It’s very beautiful.” Exquisite cut glass beads twinkled in the lights. A gown like that probably cost more money than I made in a year.

  “Thanks. It seems like a waste to spend so much money on something you only wear once. I’ll probably donate it to charity or something.” Her gloved hand smoothed over the bodice before her bright eyes turned to mine. “You don’t have to worry about Carter. He can take care of himself.”

  I strained for sounds of their voices, but the rustle of wind through the trees and the orchestra in the ballroom muffled any sounds. Reagan continued to scrutinize my face. I turned my attention to the view.

  “Have you known Carter very long?” she asked. I couldn’t tell if she was making small talk or fishing for information.

  “Not very. His best friend is dating my sister.”

  “But you guys are seeing each other? Like, dating?”

  I bit my low
er lip. I had no idea how to explain our relationship. Over the past few days, the intensity of our connection had escalated to something more than friendship, but neither of us had put a name to it. “We’re friends. Good friends.”

  “I see.” Kicking off her shoes, she sank into a chair with a groan. “That feels amazing.” Her eyes closed, and her head tipped back. “He doesn’t date, you know. I told him he had to bring someone, that he couldn’t come alone, just to force him out of his comfort zone. At this rate, he’s going to be single forever, and he deserves to be with someone nice and kind who loves him.”

  “Yes, he does.” I appreciated her concern for a brother she couldn’t claim. “It must be hard for him to watch your family—his family—and not be able to participate in it.”

  “I know, right?” She sat up abruptly, eyes flashing. “It’s total bullshit. This is the twenty-first century. People have illegitimate kids all the time. Daddy could handle this if he wanted to. If I had my way, it wouldn’t be a secret.” Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned back again. “I threatened to tell everyone, but Daddy is a powerful man. He can be very persuasive when he wants. Better watch out. Next thing you know, he’ll have you signing an NDA too.”

  I blinked at her admission. “He made you sign a non-disclosure agreement? His daughter?”

  “Sure. All the kids had to sign one when they reached eighteen. Our family has too many secrets. There’s nothing Daddy values more than his career and reputation.” The edges of her words slurred the tiniest bit, although her actions remained crisp. I couldn’t blame her for getting drunk at her own wedding. In fact, it sounded like a fantastic idea. “When Daddy insisted I marry this guy, I said no way. I mean, he’s nice and everything, but he’s a little bit intimidating, don’t you think?” She waved a hand. “Anyway, he—Daddy—gave me a nice, fat dowry and the down payment on a house in the country, so I agreed. After all, if you can’t be happy, you might as well be rich.”

  My mouth dropped open. From watching Dad’s reality shows, I knew the wealthy lived a different type of existence from my middle-class lifestyle, but I had no idea arranged marriages existed in the present day and age. Apparently, the NDA didn’t extend to the terms of her marriage.

  “I can see by your expression that I’ve shocked you.” Her giggle rang across the patio. “It’s what we do—blackmail each other. Think of it as a chess game. You move. I counter.”

  “Would you like me to get you something from the bar?” I asked, eager to escape, glancing toward the open doors, and freedom.

  “You know, Carter’s a good person. He’s not like us. I’m so jealous of him. I mean, he gets to live a normal life without all of this.” She swept a hand to encompass the sea of colorful guests, the gleaming silver table service, the dozens of wait staff eager to fulfill her every wish. “I hope you appreciate him.”

  “He is. I do.” I stumbled backward into a hard chest. I gazed up into the groom’s dark, handsome face. He caught me by the elbows and held on until I steadied my footing.

  “There you are,” he said to Reagan. “Why are you hiding back here?”

  “My feet hurt,” she said with a small smile and a sigh of resignation. “Have you met Jo Hollander? Jo, this is my husband, Davis Jardine. Jo is Carter’s date.”

  “Very nice to meet you,” he said. I nodded. Something about him made me nervous, something I couldn’t quite put a finger on. I could understand Reagan’s hesitance to marry such a commanding person. In a stern voice, he commanded, “Jesus, Reagan, you’re drunk as a skunk. Put your shoes on. We need to mingle. This will be over in a few hours, and you can get as shitfaced as you want then. In fact, I’ll join you.” He gave me a tight, apologetic nod. “Excuse us, Ms. Hollander. We must get back to the other guests.”

  “No problem,” I replied. “And congratulations.”

  Davis gave Reagan’s arm a short jerk. She scowled and yanked her arm away from him. “Straighten up,” he growled.

  “You’re not the boss of me.” With a tip of her chin, she collected her wits and strolled through the double doors. “Good evening, Jo. Take care of Carter for me.”

  “I will,” I said, and followed them into the vast ballroom. They melted into the crowd amid hugs and exclamations. Reagan smiled and flitted from one person to the next while her husband kept a watchful eye on her. I made a mental note to ask Carter about their story later.

  Snippets of conversation caught my ears as I wandered through the reception, talk of yachts and private jets and vacations in places I’d only seen on television. Each passing second reminded me that I didn’t fit in here and never would. While these people brokered deals worth millions of dollars and debated the merits of caviar over pâté, I’d be slinging coffee and struggling to pay the bills. Their problems seemed trivial and ridiculous, and I had to wonder if any of them had ever faced true adversity.

  Unable to stomach another second of curious glances and thinly veiled whispers, I veered toward the open bar. While I waited for the bartender to mix my drink, a slender girl in a blue-and-silver gown fell into line behind me, her silky hair in an elegant updo. She moved to my side on a subtle cloud of gardenia perfume, the silk and organza hem of her dress swirling gracefully around her feet.

  “It’s a lovely wedding, isn’t it?” she asked.

  I glanced over my shoulder before realizing she was talking to me. “Um, yes. It’s beautiful.”

  “I’m engaged and planning our wedding. Nothing as extravagant as this, but I’ve gotten some wonderful ideas.” Although we’d never met, something about her seemed familiar. I tried not to stare while taking in her profile. Maybe she was a celebrity of some sort, or a politician’s wife.

  “Congratulations,” I said.

  We both reached for a cocktail napkin at the same time, our fingers brushing.

  She laughed and withdrew her hand. “Oh, excuse me. I’m so sorry. Harold always says I have bad timing.”

  Recognition dawned like the scratch of nails on a chalkboard. I tilted my head and looked up into her face. This was the girl—the floozy—my replacement. No wonder he’d chosen her over me. She was tall and lovely and cultured, everything I wasn’t.

  “Are you a friend of the bride or the groom?” she asked.

  “Neither.” The tip of my tongue stuck to the roof of my dry mouth. I swallowed, licked my lips, and tried again. “I mean, my date is a friend of the bride.” The bartender handed my drink to me. Someone jostled me from behind. Liquor splashed over the rim of the glass and dribbled down the front of my dress. “Crap.” I glanced around, searching for a place to set my glass and a napkin to dab the spill.

  “Oh no. That’s going to leave a terrible stain. Do you have any club soda and a clean towel?” she asked the bartender. Once he’d passed the items to her, she began dabbing at the dark patches on the fabric, forcing me to stay in her presence a few moments longer. “This will take it right out. Such a shame too. Your dress is beautiful. Where did you get it?”

  “I’m not sure where it came from. It was a gift from my date,” I said between gritted teeth. Not only did she know how to remove stains; she was nice, too. I wanted to hate her, but it was impossible.

  “He sounds like a wonderful guy. My Harold couldn’t even begin to pick out a dress half this nice. He has no sense of fashion.”

  “I hope he doesn’t break your heart,” I murmured, suddenly feeling sympathy for her.

  “Pardon me?” She smiled at me, her face hopeful and earnest and filled with positivity.

  “Nothing.” I returned her smile. It wasn’t her fault that Harold was a douche. “Thank you for the help.”

  “No problem.” She dabbed a few more times at the bodice of my gown then shrugged. “Once it dries, it should be good as new—well, almost. Be sure to get it to the cleaner’s first thing tomorrow.”

  “I will.” I set the champagne flute on the tray of a passing waiter and scanned the room for Carter’s tousled hair and broad shoulders. What was ta
king so long? Panic nudged my composure. I didn’t want to risk running into Harold. I needed to leave and soon.

  “There’s my fiancé.” She waved to someone behind me, and my stomach dropped to the floor. The sea of strangers pressed in from all sides. From three tables away, a familiar pair of eyes met mine, eyes I never thought to see again, and definitely not at a stranger’s wedding.

  Chapter 24

  Jo

  Harold’s mouth dropped open. I blinked in shock. The air vacated the room, leaving me in a vacuum. To my credit, I managed to maintain my composure better than he did. Although a dozen yards separated us, his shock reverberated across the distance. After a prolonged period of awkward staring, he sprang into action, excusing himself from his conversation and striding toward me.

  I glanced around the ballroom, searching for the nearest exit or an alcove to disappear into. People hemmed me in on all sides. I maneuvered between a congressman and his wife, muttering apologies, but it was too late. Harold stepped in front of me, displeasure creasing his forehead.

  “Jo? I thought that was you. What are you doing here?” At the sound of his voice, an unpleasant emptiness filled my stomach. This was the way it had always felt to be with him, like I’d done something wrong, like I fell short in every manner.

  “I was invited,” I replied, unable to eliminate the defensiveness in my tone.

  “She’s my date,” Carter said from somewhere close behind me. I exhaled the breath I’d been holding. The warmth of his palm rested on the small of my back, strong and reassuring. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Carter Eckhouse.”

  “Harold Rodgers.” Although he extended a hand to Carter, his gaze roved over me, still disbelieving. “I hardly recognized you. You look so different.”

  “Really? You look exactly the same.” I fought to keep my tone steady, even though my knees trembled. Next to Carter’s powerful frame, Harold seemed frail and feminine. “I didn’t realize you knew the Mayfields.”