The Marriage Agenda

by Sarah Ballance

  “Give me a minute to change. I’ll drive.”

  So much for air. She watched him go, thinking she should call Toby and tell him to invent something for Knox to do that afternoon, but then she would have to explain why she didn’t want to be with Knox, which really wouldn’t bode well for her position as campaign wife. Of course, if she gave it the right spin… What politician didn’t love a good spin? Knox should be schmoozing someone other than her—anyone other than her. Kissing babies. Something, anything other than heading for the hills.

  She palmed her cell phone, but that was as far as she got. Knox reappeared in three minutes flat, now wearing jeans and a nearly threadbare T-shirt that was the same color as the baseball hat he’d donned.

  Oh, God.

  She tried to swallow the lump in her throat and failed. He was the man she’d met that night at the bar. The one who had taken her hand and slow danced through the fast songs. The one who’d made love to her all night to the sound of a scratchy radio. The one—

  “Chloe?”

  She found her voice. “Are you sure you have time? We’ll be gone the rest of the day.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were pulling onto the highway. Despite their unnerving proximity, she was beginning to relax. Knox didn’t try to engage her in conversation, rather he passed the time singing along with the radio, tapping his fingers and shooting crooked grins her way at a pace far too frequent for her already unsteady heart.

  She watched him from behind her sunglasses and wondered just who the real Knox was. The polished politician or the guy who had bypassed the car’s air conditioning in favor of a windows-down, windblown cruise in a backward ball cap. The man who was devastating in a suit, but who dropped jaws in dressed-down mode. No more than he wore those jeans, they should have been stiff, but no. The well-worn denim fell against him like sin, fitting him just as naturally as that handmade Italian silk tie he’d tossed on the granite countertop.

  “How’s your grandma been?” he asked. As if he knew her. As if he had a right to ask, after his father had somehow been instrumental in throwing her off her land.

  “Fine,” she managed.

  “If you’re worried about the retirement community, I’ve looked it up. It’s a good one.”

  “I’ve been there before,” Chloe said, her words a bit harsher than she’d intended. She’d found the facility to be clean, well-staffed, and beautiful—very much a home-like environment with friendly residents to boot. But it wasn’t the farm.

  It wasn’t home.

  Knox didn’t push the issue, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he realized the well-publicized Pactron bid had taken her grandmother’s land. She suspected not—Knox seemed far too transparent to hide such knowledge—but she couldn’t discount the fact that he was Rex’s son. Dishonesty tainted the gene pool.

  “Will your grandmother be able to come to our reception?”

  Chloe snorted, then covered it—albeit poorly—with a coughing fit. Her grandmother would sooner strut naked down Main Street than step foot in a Hamilton function—especially after Chloe had shared her suspicions about Rex—but she didn’t tell Knox that. If she did, she’d have to tell him why, at which point his generosity with his files would turn to ice. She opted for the noncommittal. “I’m not sure she’s up for the drive.”

  The truth was, when her grandmother found out about the marriage, she’d probably borrow a cane and chase Knox from the building. Chloe would have to figure out a way to keep them apart, at least until she figured out how to break the news gently—and preferably from a great distance. He could walk her in the building, but there was no way she’d let him past the front desk.

  A little over an hour later, the feeble granny theory was blown to hell.

  Chloe stared slack jawed at the receptionist. “What do you mean she’s not here? Where is she?”

  “At a bocce ball tournament. She’s one of our star players.

  “Bocce ball?”

  Knox didn’t hide his bemusement. “It’s a game where you throw balls across the lawn—”

  “I know what it is,” Chloe snapped, though she hadn’t a clue. Her grandmother was throwing balls across a lawn?

  The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with a Maybelline problem, focused most of her attention on Knox. She didn’t stoop to batting her eyelashes, but she wasn’t far from it. “Was she expecting you?”

  Chloe ignored the question, which wasn’t directed at her to begin with. “When will she be back?”

  “They’re scheduled to return tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow? Where are they?”

  “Pennsylvania. They made regionals,” the woman said brightly. “Can I give her a message for you?”

  Her grandmother was at a bocce ball tournament in Pennsylvania? Chloe hadn’t been so dumbstruck since Knox had proposed, and before that…well, she couldn’t remember. She shook her head. “No, no message. Thank you.”

  She turned, only vaguely aware of Knox threading his fingers through hers as they walked back outside.

  Halfway across the parking lot, he spoke. “I take it you didn’t know she played bocce ball?”

  “She does crossword puzzles.”

  “Is there some sort of law against doing both?”

  “This isn’t funny.”

  He stopped and tugged her around to face him. “Actually, it’s somewhat hilarious. You had this poor woman pegged for a crossword existence, and she’s off playing in the bocce regionals.”

  Chloe wanted to lay into him and tell him just how not hilarious the whole mess was, but it didn’t happen. Instead, her breath caught and she was struck for the umpteenth time by how unfairly attractive he was. Would looking at him ever fail to wreck her? The frustration that had been building since he interrupted her escape softened. “I guess it might be a little bit funny,” she admitted.

  Knox squeezed her hand and grinned devilishly. “Want to go find her?”

  To Pennsylvania? With him? “Actually, I have a better idea.”

  Ten minutes later, they navigated the long driveway to her grandmother’s old farmhouse, the car finding every rut. Other than the overgrown grass, it looked as it always had.

  When Knox stopped the car, she got out and waded through the knee-high lawn to the wide, wraparound porch. Her sneakers were silent on the old boards, but she nevertheless heard phantom echoes of the slap of bare feet and the very real rumble of a distant summer storm. She reached out and gingerly brushed the petals of a rose that had bypassed the trellis and bowed gracefully into the open space, permeating the air with its fragrance.

  She looked up as Knox joined her. “When I was nine,” she said, “I was running out here when a thorn caught me on the cheek. After that, she checked every day to make sure none of the branches made it past the railing so it wouldn’t happen again.”

  “If that had happened to me, I probably would have been grounded—first for running, then for any damage I caused the bush.”

  “Tell me you’re joking.”

  He shrugged. “Only a little.”

  She inhaled the sweet scent of the rose, her thoughts heavy. Maybe growing up Hamilton wasn’t all the tabloids made it out to be. She’d always thought of it as a privileged existence, but perhaps reality was more sterile than enviable.

  Outside the tunnel of climbing roses, the wind picked up, bringing with it the promise of rain. The old porch swing creaked in the breeze and overhead a sheet of the aluminum roofing groaned. For nearly eight years, that had been the song of her life.

  Her heart hurt.

  Knox walked over to the swing and, after a moment of inspection, sat. With his long legs stretched in front of him and his arm across the back of the bench, he looked as if he belonged there.

  “My grandfather used to sit like that,” she said. “And my grandma would fuss around him, sweeping beneath his feet and icing the tea and tending to her plants. He would eventually get her to slow down a
nd join him, but the next night, he’d have to convince her all over again. I think that’s the only time she ever sat still.”

  “Yet you’re surprised by bocce ball?”

  She turned her attention to a nearby climbing rosebush, carefully tucking the vines to their side of the railing, just as her grandmother would have done. Then she realized that in time the house and the bush would be gone and her small gesture would be erased. Her vision wavered with unshed tears.

  “Chloe?”

  She blinked back the moisture in her eyes before she looked at him. She didn’t trust herself to speak, but she didn’t have to say a word.

  “Join me?”

  Refusing would have been a lot easier than saying yes, but the man inviting her to sit wasn’t the one the world saw.

  He was the one she loved.

  It didn’t matter how pointless her feelings were…they were as honest as they came, and this was a moment she’d never get back. She released her hold on the stem and eased next to him on the old swing. Countless times she’d watched her grandparents sit there and wondered if she would ever find the kind of love they had.

  She had. He’d just never love her back.

  Another gust of wind blew, and with it came a smattering of fat drops. They made a racket against the metal roof. “I love that sound,” she murmured.

  “How many times have you sat out here watching the rain?” he asked. He eased his fingers through hers and stroked her hand with his thumb.

  “Countless.” She melded against him, finding contentment before registering she’d be far better off on the opposite side of the porch.

  He stared pensively at the thickening clouds. “I just realized I’ve never sat to watch the rain. Not once.”

  His admission surprised her. “And to think I used to believe you had the perfect life. You’ve probably never had a splinter in your foot, either.”

  His thumb ceased its motion. “Is a splinter in your foot supposed to be a good thing?”

  She looked up at him. “It would be if you knew what you were missing.”

  He watched the intensifying weather for a moment before he spoke. “You know, there’s something else I’ve never done.”

  “I can only imagine.” She rolled her eyes, but despite her flippancy, her heart sped, not at his words, but at their soft, wistful quality. “What might that be?”

  “I’ve never kissed anyone in the rain.”

  Chloe swallowed. “Maybe you’ve never found the right person.”

  His gaze fell to her lips. “Maybe I have.”

  “We are two hours from home and it’s officially pouring. Don’t even think about it.”

  He stood, pulling her up with him. “Is that a refusal?”

  “It’s common sense.”

  “Common sense is not actually wanting a splinter in your foot.” He maneuvered her near the railing, where a few errant drops found their way through the greenery and splattered the floor boards. “How’s this?”

  She didn’t answer, which was apparently answer enough. He tugged her closer. For an endless moment, he did nothing but look. Then he threaded his fingers through her hair and leaned down, kissing her so softly she wondered if she had imagined the pressure, but there was no denying the effects. Her pulse raced, her heart stumbled, and her hands shook. Chill bumps pebbled her bare arms. Just the rain. But it wasn’t, and she knew it.

  “Live up to your expectations?” she murmured.

  The water weighted the rose branches and filled the blooms. “I know the home-and-garden gig was a bit of a blow to you,” he said softly, ignoring her question, “but it’s not so far from who you are. Is it?”

  Chloe stared at him, surprised by his conclusion. How had she never seen it? She didn’t answer him.

  She couldn’t.

  He brushed back her hair and smiled. “Ready to go home?”

  She looked around at the house. The porch. The storm.

  The man she loved.

  Words escaped her, emotion choking her. She nodded.

  He took her hand and led her to the steps. The rain fell heavily, and they’d left the windows down. It would be a wet ride home.

  “Ready to make a run for it?”

  She nodded again, and despite her bittersweet emotions, she couldn’t help but laugh when they jumped and the lukewarm water sluiced over her. They ran to the car, holding hands like kids, and were within a few feet of its shelter when Knox stopped and drew her around. Before she’d managed the first word of protest, his mouth was on hers. Rain sheeted, soaking them both, but in the circle of his arms, Chloe didn’t care. He cradled her head with one hand and the small of her back with the other, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss. Breathless moments passed. When they broke free, neither one moved. Then he kissed her again, slowly and gently, despite the torrent, and his smile was genuine.

  Even with the wet hair and clothes plastered to his skin, he couldn’t have looked any better. The reason didn’t hit her at first, but then that crooked grin traced his lips and she knew. For the first time since he’d left her months earlier, Knox Hamilton had taken a step far more important than inviting her into his world.

  He’d fit into hers.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Knox was soaked. Chloe was soaked. The damned leather upholstery was soaked. But despite the slight discomfort, Knox’s couldn’t remember when he’d felt so good. She’d asked him about the kiss—the first one—and he’d avoid answering her because he wasn’t finished yet. As for the second one…

  “I kind of like kissing in the rain,” he said. Slight understatement…or more likely a vast one. Yeah, that was it. Vast understatement.

  She kicked up the heater a notch and gave him a pointed look—one he wouldn’t buy as angry, no matter what she said. Then her expression softened. “You were right, you know. About the home-and-garden thing.”

  “I’m glad.” Without thinking, he reached over and took her hand. Dammit, why did he keep doing that? Between touching her and thinking about making love to her—

  Making love? Where had that come from? He’d never thought those words before in his life. Not even before their breakup, when he’d spent most of his waking moments thinking about when he’d see her next, had those words dared breach his thoughts. Sex, sex, sex. The mantra didn’t help.

  Chloe felt like more.

  “What do you know about the Pactron deal?”

  Knox blinked. “Pactron?”

  “They’re the company buying my grandma’s farm.”

  He shifted in the heated seat, wondering how the hell he’d managed to get hard wearing cold, wet jeans. A glimpse of Chloe’s wet T-shirt solved that mystery.

  He cleared his throat. “I remember. Pactron Energy. I don’t know all the details offhand. I do know they received approval despite vehement objection from pretty much everyone.”

  “Including Rex.”

  “Especially Rex. But once they passed the environmental studies, there wasn’t much else they could do to fight it.”

  “Why was the zoning approved?”

  “If I recall correctly, the parcel they initially purchased had an old commercial or industrial zoning that grandfathered them in.”

  She nodded. “There was a small fertilizer-distribution facility there years ago—mostly for the local farmers.”

  “Makes sense. If that was the case, I’m guessing Pactron didn’t technically need a zoning approval, though they did need the permit—and more property. Rex figured they’d hit a wall with the environmental studies, but the site passed. Last I heard, they were making nice by buying up green space to create a buffer.”

  “Yeah, they’re making nice all right. They very nicely bullied my grandmother off her land.”

  He gave her a sideways glance. He’d known people were losing property, but it had just gotten personal…not just for her, but for him. He hated to think of her grandmother’s house being torn down.

  “Is Rex on friendly terms wi
th Pactron?”

  Her question surprised him. “I can’t imagine he would be. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious,” she replied.

  Chloe was a reporter. Random curiosity wasn’t a thing they did. “You can’t undo the approval, and Rex sure as hell won’t be able to ask nicely for them to go away—nor will I, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  Her eyes snapped with irritation. “Give me a break, Knox. I’m not expecting you to undo the Pactron deal.”

  “I’m sorry. People don’t normally ask questions without expecting answers.”

  “I’m not people.”

  He braced himself, expecting her to remind him she was his wife, subject to all of the privileges thereof.

  But she didn’t.

  Several miles passed in silence.

  When she finally spoke, she did so softly. “I won’t pretend to know what it’s like being you, but I can tell you what it’s like being me. I…cared about you when I hadn’t a clue who you were. You can deny what we had all you want, but I know you know that to be true. I can’t say the name doesn’t mean anything now—we both know why I agreed to a loveless marriage, and the reason has Hamilton written all over it—but that’s the extent of why I’m here. The rest of the world can think what they want, but I’ve never asked you for your influence, and frankly I don’t want it. I’m my own person, and wearing your ring doesn’t change that.”

  He should have been relieved by her words, but for some damnable reason, they stung. He spent a long time in silence trying to figure out why.

  They were nearly home when she spoke. “You told me you wouldn’t have married anyone else, that you wouldn’t fake the relationship.”

  “That’s true,” he said.

  “Then you can understand it’s the same for me. Anyone else could have offered a similar deal, but it wouldn’t have mattered. I wouldn’t have considered it for a moment. Money, surnames, and influence mean nothing to me.”

  The house came into view. He hit the button to raise the garage door, then steered easily into the space. Still, he said nothing.