“What?”
“I don’t think anyone at the statehouse understands what goes on there, all of it and how it’s connected and what it means for the future, the way you do.”
He folded his arms across his stomach, which felt suddenly tense. “You’re crazy. There are lots of people who—”
“No. Please listen to me and accept this compliment. You are extremely good at what you do. The best. And lots of people depend on you. Not just Delegate Pendleton, it’s every Democratic staffer and most of the reporters. It’s fucking thankless to toil for a minority party in a statehouse, and maybe you feel like you should have done more, but you’re awesome, Graham Wilcox. And if you think I would have spent a year yearning for the loser you just described, I’ve got to say that’s damn insulting.”
“Cadence, you’re smart and beautiful and ambitious and you’re going to be the one who saves the world someday.” He had no doubt about that. Okay, he had some doubts, but not about her, only about the world.
“With you?”
She tossed the question off, but he could feel the weight under it like a prow of a ship.
“Well, I can’t let you go now.” He linked his fingers with hers. “I showed up at your house thinking, ‘no regrets,’ but about the time you kissed me, it had changed. That was…pretty intense. It—I wouldn’t have taken you to bed if it hadn’t meant a lot to me, and if I didn’t think it did to you too.”
“Good.” She squeezed his hand hard. “Because it did. In fact, I think you used the word love.”
She wasn’t going to let that go, was she? “This isn’t really the place for that discussion, but as soon as you’re not driving, I’ll make you a proper declaration. We could turn around, go back to your place or mine, and I could do it right now.”
“Silly Graham. We haven’t accomplished our mission yet.”
Her self-satisfied smile was back, so he let himself get carried along with it. She told him about a restaurant she liked in Fredericksburg, and he told her about a military history class he’d taken in college, and they ate crap and listened to music, and it was both precisely like the time they’d spent together before and absolutely new. Everything that had been buzzing around them was acknowledged, accepted. Somehow, she was his, and he was hers, at least for the moment.
She exited onto 395. After they cut across the Northern Virginia suburbs, she took a few more turns and they were actually in Georgetown. He knew better than to try and question her plan at this point, so he just leaned back and watched their progress. They flew up the almost empty Wisconsin Avenue.
“It’s right on the border with Burleith, I think. I’m going to turn maybe at the next light, and we’ll start trolling. It’s a yellow brick house with green shutters.”
“Forest green?” He said it like Barbara Streisand in Hello, Dolly!
Cadence gasped. “A man who knows his musicals. How did I not fuck you a year ago?”
“It’s one of life’s great mysteries.”
She took a left, and they slowly crawled down a side street filled with quaint, hyper-expensive houses. They rounded the block and did the same thing. Three streets. Four.
“Maybe it’s on the other side of Wisconsin?”
“A few more, then we’ll try that.”
But they didn’t find it. No yellow brick. No forest green shutters.
“One more block,” she said, stubbornly.
He’d thought this was for fun, but she was over-invested. Why did they need to find the house? What were they going to do when they got there? Hadn’t they proved whatever this was about? “Cadence. This has been probably the best night of my life, but this plan was never going to—”
She slammed on the brakes, and the car shuddered. “Holy shit, there it is.” It was the exact house she’d described, and several rooms were lit.
This being Georgetown, there weren’t any parking spots available, but she drove to the corner and pulled in front of a hydrant. She turned off her car, and they both twisted to watch the secretary’s house through the back window.
“That’s where the labor secretary lives, huh? It’s a bit of a fixer-upper.”
“It’s pre-Civil War, and the kitchen’s all white marble and glass. That’s all I remember.”
“So impractical. What would you do when the top came off the blender and tomato sauce went everywhere?”
“Clean. A lot.” She leaned against the headrest. “Well, here we are. What are we going to do about it?”
Nothing, because there’s nothing to be done. But she’d hate that answer.
He pressed a finger to the tip of her nose. It was still miraculous he could touch her whenever he wanted. “Why did you want to come here? And don’t say to save the world.”
There was only just enough light to make out her expression: pensive and a little bit sad. “I have loved you for a long time,” she finally said.
She hadn’t said that word to him yet, that love word. It might have some sort of performative power, because it filled some crack in his chest with warmth.
She loved him.
“After I made that offer and you said no, I kept trying to get over it,” she said, “because it seemed like you didn’t reciprocate. Which was…fine. Painful, but fine. But I couldn’t get past it because you kept being you. I’d board my heart up again, and then you’d rip the nails out. And we just tonight let each other in. I’m vulnerable here. Maybe I couldn’t be in my bed with you anymore because it’s scary, trusting you, when I told myself for months you didn’t want me.”
“I have always—”
“Sure, but you said no and then you told me how you really felt because of the president’s tweets?”
He should have kept that part to himself. “I’m an ass.”
“With a ridiculously low opinion of himself.”
“I’ll work on that.”
“No. It’s not a test or a flaw. It’s a thing about you that’s bringing the rest into focus. I’m sorry I didn’t know before. Coming here was about running, but with you not from you, and being silly and finding hope.”
“Where is the hope?”
She gestured between them. “It’s here.”
“Ah.” Maybe he didn’t have to believe in the entire world, he could limit himself to believing in her. He pressed his mouth to hers. “Yup, I’m feeling better.” He unbuckled his seat belt, leaned forward so he could wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her properly.
She did seem to want him, and she was bright and optimistic, and it was like a candle in the dark. He’d take it for as long as she’d offer it.
He trailed his lips down her neck. “I promise, I’m going to earn—”
She squeezed his shoulders. “Graham, look, someone is coming out.”
The front door of the labor secretary’s house had opened. First through the door was what had to be a Secret Service agent given the conservative black suit, but behind him was the secretary herself, dressed in workout clothes and holding the leash of a gray standard poodle.
They set off down the street toward Graham and Cadence.
This was dumb. It was crazy. They would probably be arrested if they tried to talk to the secretary; even if they did risk it, she was never going to stop the president. That wasn’t how things worked, not in government and not in Graham’s life. But he’d wanted power and no regrets and to save the world, and Cadence had put him here, had given him this.
He looked down at the woman leaning against him. Cadence was giggling. She’d wanted to give him hope, and, strangely, he had it. Holy crap.
Which was why he gently untangled himself from her, opened the car door, and stepped out into the street. He folded his arms on top of Cadence’s car, wanting to look as non-threatening as possible since he was about to do something pretty gosh darn dumb.
“Madam Secretary,” he called. “Do you believe in love?”
CHAPTER 4
C adence scrambled out of the car. About ten feet down
the sidewalk, the Secret Service agent had moved Secretary O’Leary partially behind him and was reaching for something inside his jacket.
Oh nuts. She’d dramatically underestimated the hazards of this plan. “Nice night for a walk! What a cute dog! I’m Cadence, and this is Graham. And we’re on the weirdest first date in history, but we’re not threatening you, I swear.”
A few tense, but thankfully weaponless, seconds ticked by.
Then the secretary set her hand on the agent’s arm. “It’s okay,” she said to him. “The dog is Scout.” Scout cocked his head in inquiry, while his mistress turned to Graham. “Did you ask if I believe in…love?”
And Graham, bless his heart, said, “Yes.”
Because Cadence knew that for all his fatalism, he did believe in love. She’d seen it in everything he did: taking care of everyone around him, performing his work with so much dedication, it was an excess of caring. He’d meant it when he’d said he loved her, and he would have meant it while watching her move away if this hadn’t happened, because to him, love was selfless, and it was also reckless enough to do this extravagant, crazy, gorgeous thing for her and the world.
Which was why, for however long they had, Cadence was going to take him, even if it made her heart quaver. He’d told her no and then he hadn’t spoken for a year—and that made her doubt around the margins—but there was no excuse not to hold on with both hands when you found love. They’d work the rest out.
First, though, they had to get through the sedition.
The secretary’s kinetic curls were twisted in a tight knot on top of her head. It made her seemed even taller than she was and lent her a professorial air, even this close to midnight.
“Don’t you think that’s a presumptuous question?” she asked Graham. “In DC, strangers only talk to each other about the weather.” She appeared more concerned by the breach of social protocol than anything else.
But Graham wouldn’t be deterred. “I don’t mean are you in love or anything personal. But do you believe in it as, like, an ethic? As a principle?”
“Young man.” Secretary O’Leary was maybe twenty years older than they were, but she seemed amused and exasperated in equal measures. She was only feigning the full McGonagall.
“The thing is,” Cadence broke in. “We just found out we’re in love.”
“Oh, well, congratulations.”
“But you see, nuclear war seems…likely at the moment. So we thought we’d come to talk to someone with the power to stop it.”
The secretary drew back in what appeared to be genuine surprise. “Me?”
“Well, you plus the vice president and most of the cabinet via the Twenty-fifth Amendment.”
That was when the interesting thing happened. The agent, who to his credit had stayed in tense “ready to intervene” stance, relaxed a skosh and shot O’Leary a look. An absolute barbell of a look. Cadence would bet the fancy paper her diploma was printed on that there had been previous discussions about this.
“Uh-huh,” the secretary finally said. “But as long as we have a constitutionally elected president who’s of sound mind and body—” A pause. “—reasonably sound mind, any discussion of the Twenty-fifth Amendment could be considered treason.”
All of that was right, and Cadence had said nearly as much to Graham in the car, but the words were airless, delivered like a resignation when someone was leaving “to spend more time with my family.” The secretary didn’t believe what she was saying, and based on her agent’s curled lip, he didn’t either.
This suddenly seemed less useless.
“I know,” Cadence told her. “I’m a lawyer. I certainly wouldn’t want to disrupt any legal processes or undermine any institutions. Those things are why I’m a Democrat.”
The secretary raised her brows. Right, the secretary was a Republican and besides, this didn’t need to be partisan.
“But you swore an oath to the Constitution, not to him,” Cadence said. “The Founders did worry about a populist extremist taking over. They developed checks and balances for a reason.”
“Then Congress should do something.” The Secretary shifted her weight between her feet and stooped to pet her dog’s head. He gave her one of those looks of worshipful gratitude unique to dogs. At least he approved of her spinelessness.
“But Congress won’t act because they think there’s an advantage in the chaos for them,” Graham said. “You’ve served the federal government for years, Secretary O’Leary. That’s why I asked about love. Patriotism is love. It’s caring about the well-being of your fellow citizens, even if you’ll never meet them, even if you disagree with them. It’s putting the nation above yourself no matter what. I understand not wanting to do anything. I know how seductive that can be. For a year, I talked myself out of taking a risk. I thought I knew best, but really, I was making a decision that wasn’t solely mine to make. Now I’m going to have to spend years winning back the trust of someone I love. You could act now, act for love of country. Try to show people what sacrifice looks like. Some people in your party would be mad, but that’s what would make it courageous.”
The secretary looked back and forth between Cadence and Graham several times. Then she smiled slightly. “You are a very presumptuous young man.” It didn’t sound at all like a bad thing. “I know my duty, and I do love my country. I know this is scary—”
“That the world could end tomorrow?” Graham finished.
“Yes. But maybe what’s worse is that was always true.”
Tomorrow was never promised. Cadence gave Graham a look, and he shrugged. Not pessimistic or dismissive, but accepting. That was enough for now.
Cadence turned back to the secretary. “And in the past, we’ve always relied on other people to do the right thing?”
“Yes. You should trust you don’t know everything. And people, smart and serious people, are working on this,” the secretary said.
But smart people had led the world into disaster so many times. Cadence was a smart person; she had exceedingly little faith in intelligence saving the world. She would have felt better if the secretary had cited greed.
“You can understand why we’re skeptical about that,” she said.
“And you can understand why I’m skeptical about you,” the secretary responded. “But I’ll say…things are happening. There’s—movement. Maybe good news is coming.”
“I appreciate that, but I don’t trust it. I wanted to talk to you and verify that you know and you’re doing something,” Graham said.
Actually, he hadn’t wanted to come here and have this conversation at all, but he had. Okay, so Cadence had made him, but he’d done it. He’d taken the leap.
“Fair enough,” the secretary said, “but for all our sakes, I’m going to forget this conversation happened. Don’t send any other doubters my way.”
“All right, we won’t,” Cadence said. “But you really should tell C-SPAN to stop airing that episode about your house. It’s very identifying. But I love your kitchen.”
They all shared awkward waves, and the secretary, her dog, and her agent kept walking down the block.
When they turned the corner and disappeared, Graham strolled around her car and wrapped Cadence in a hug. “How did that go?”
“Well, I don’t think our long national nightmare is going to be over anytime soon, but I think she knows it’s a nightmare, so that’s something. Did you mean that stuff about screwing up and re-earning my trust?”
“Yes. I want to say how I feel about you and have you believe me, but I get that’s not possible just now.”
“I want it to be.” She tapped the top of her head against his chest. “It’s not that I think you’re lying.”
“But?”
“I just need more data points.”
One night, especially one as over the top in ways good and absurd as this one, couldn’t make up for a year of trying to convince herself not to feel anything. Her insides were like marbles in a jar, and it w
as going to take a while for them to stop rattling about.
“So we’ll make them.”
That was all anyone could ask at the end of the day. There weren’t guarantees, or if there were, they were worthless. A relationship wasn’t real on Friday because you’d promised it on Monday; you had to renew and recommit every day in between.
“Like a social contract that’s constantly being renegotiated?”
He pressed his lips to the back of her neck. “Yes, babe. Something like that. Do you want me to drive home?”
“Yes.”
She tilted her head back and he kissed her, long and wet, and then one more time for good measure, because they hadn’t done it nearly enough. Unfair, it was so unfair of the man to kiss her so sweetly when she couldn’t do anything about it.
The only thing that made it bearable was when he released her with a groan of frustration. She went around to the passenger’s side and watched him reset all her mirrors.
The drive back to Richmond was quieter. They talked about work, about statehouse politics and sports and their families, and it was so normal, she could almost pretend the political hailstorm wasn’t raging in Washington. They hadn’t changed anything or saved anyone, but she wasn’t clutching her fears so tightly.
Finally, they were back on her street. Graham parked, while she scooped all the food he’d bought back into the Wawa bags. They walked to her gate, where they had stood so many times before. It was inky dark and silent except for the far-off hum of traffic.
“Are you coming in?” she asked, the question feeling damn familiar and terrifying for it.
“I probably should go home and finish that speech.”
She felt his answer like a jab to her solar plexus, but then something else occurred to her: after what they’d been through, he was thinking about tomorrow. That was better than brooding about catastrophes they couldn’t stop. But she was confident they could do even better at staving off anxiety together.
“Spoken like a true nerd.”
“Like you weren’t planning to do to the same thing.”
Rogue Desire: A Romance Anthology (The Rogue Series) Page 20
