by Lizzie Shane
He did understand. This incredible man. So unlike Trevor he was practically a different species.
How could she have ever thought they were similar? But from his face, the careful, distant look on it, he obviously thought she was brushing him off, telling him she needed time to build trust when nothing could be further from the truth.
“I know you’re nothing like him,” she tried to explain. “I know I can trust you. You’re so kind. I really admire you, Aiden. You’re such a good guy. So nice.”
His expression shifted with a tiny flinch—the change so minute she felt it more than saw it as something closed off behind his eyes.
*
Nice.
God, he hated that word.
Chloe used to tell him that. Used to scream it at him toward the end. Why do you have to be so damn understanding all the time, huh? So fucking perfect. So fucking nice.
It had become an epithet in their house. The more he tried to be there for her, to be what she needed, the more she railed at him.
Stop being so fucking nice! Don’t you want to scream? I’m horrible to you! Scream at me! Scream at fate. Scream at the unfairness of it. Scream, damn it!
He knew what she’d wanted. Knew she needed him to get angry. Needed someone else to be the villain, but he hadn’t been able to scream. He hadn’t been able to think past the horror that the last thing she could hear from him would be his anger, so he’d never gotten angry and she’d hated him for it. Hated how fucking nice he was.
He hated that word.
He knew Samira didn’t mean it that way. If she’d ever heard those fights with Chloe, she’d done a good job of pretending she hadn’t. She wasn’t trying to accuse him of anything with her comment on his niceness, but still he flinched and his heart dropped like a stone in his chest.
It turned out nice was just as ugly a word in this context.
The friend zone.
That was the only reason a woman told a man how nice he was after he kissed her. After she told him they needed to talk and lead the way to his office—the most asexual room in the house.
He’d never been friend-zoned before, but he’d seen enough romantic comedies to know the symptoms. He was nice. She trusted him. She was still gun shy after her last relationship. He was a good guy.
Subtext: Thanks, but no thanks, buddy.
“Aiden?” There was something so vulnerable in her voice, something so hopeful in her expression that he almost convinced himself he’d misread the situation—but then he saw her wringing hands.
She was nervous about rejecting her boss. Hopeful he would take it well.
He slapped a bright, reassuring smile on his face. “I understand. You’re right. We’re better as friends.”
Her jaw fell open. “I…”
He waited, half-hoping she would contradict him, but no more words followed, so he filled the space, trying to put her at ease. “You don’t need to worry. My ego can sustain the blow.” He grinned to show he was only teasing, but she didn’t return his smile, still frowning at him as though he was a puzzle she couldn’t work out.
He’d gotten his hopes up when she’d first said his name upstairs. But no. This was for the best. She’d made the right choice.
It would be too complicated between them. They’d have to keep it from Maddie and Stella—which felt wrong somehow. And getting involved with his nanny—what a Washington cliché.
Disappointment rose like bile in the back of his throat, but this was cleaner. Simpler. They would be friends. He liked her. He genuinely did. So what if she was also the first person in years to make his heart race? This was for the best. He needed her in his life more than he needed her in his bed.
And maybe if he kept telling himself that, the sense of letdown would dissipate. He forced another smile. “You made the right call.”
“Right,” she murmured. “Thank you.” Her face flushed a deep rose. “I should…” She retreated past him and up the stairs without finishing the sentence, whatever she should do lost in the air between them, air already saturated with things he wished he’d said.
*
Crud. She was officially a failure at propositions.
There she was, trying to tell him that she trusted him, that she was ready to leap with him, and he thought she was brushing him off. When he’d first said that word—friends—it had caught her off-guard, but then her brain had begun to whirl, all her fears spinning through her brain.
What would happen to Maddie and Stella if things went badly? What would happen to her? Jackie was right. This was a terrible idea. They hadn’t gone too far yet, but as soon as they did, there would be no turning back and did she really think this was going to end in a happily-ever-after? Her life never worked out that way.
And worse, what if he’d interrupted her to mention the friends thing in an attempt to let her down easy? Too kind to come right out and reject her, he’d saved her dignity by “misinterpreting” her and telling her it was her call to put their relationship on a Just Friends footing. Like some sweet attempt to save her dignity. Such an Aiden thing to do.
Her throat ached as she closed the door to her room and leaned back against it.
At least she hadn’t said anything she couldn’t take back. No blurting out inconvenient feelings.
No confessions of awkward crushes. She was very fond of him and she respected and admired him and enjoyed his company, but they were just friends and that was how they were going to stay.
She wasn’t brave enough for more.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Aiden was in a crappy mood before he even arrived at his grandfather’s lodge for the annual tradition of stomping through the woods and shooting at things.
His father was back in the country for the first time in months, but it was hard for him to work up any enthusiasm for the reunion since the day was bound to focus on welcoming Tug to the family—which he somehow doubted would allow any time for meaningful father-son talks.
Charlotte usually came with them on the shoot since she was the best shot in the family, but this year she’d declined so the menfolk could have a chance to get acquainted. And she’d actually used the word menfolk, which had creeped Aiden out no end.
He was running late, having swung by the estate to drop Stella and Maddie off with his mother and Charlotte for the day. His father, Scott and Tug had carpooled out to the lodge from the estate—and Aiden couldn’t make himself regret missing connections with them at the house. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to extended time with Tug.
He’d met the man one more time since the engagement party, when Charlotte had invited him over for dinner with the happy couple. The night had been eye-opening, and not in a good way. Tug talked about himself all night, Charlotte hung on his every word, and Aiden could hardly get a word in edgewise.
He told himself his future brother-in-law was probably just nervous. Intimidated by the Raines family name. Going overboard to try to impress. But something about that didn’t ring true. Tug had the sort of obvious, puffed-up confidence of a man who had never considered the thought that he might not be superior to everyone he met.
Aiden was hoping it was an act, a political face he put on, and once he relaxed he’d settle into the family like a missing puzzle piece. But he wasn’t counting on it as he parked his car in one of the small spaces in front of the lodge.
The rustic lodge wasn’t large and had none of the grandeur of his grandfather’s other estates—but that didn’t mean it hadn’t hosted just as many political heavy hitters over the years. The emphasis out here had always been on seclusion, privacy sometimes worth more than diamonds in DC.
He’d always liked it here. The quiet. Something about the stillness of the early morning among the trees soothed the restless agitation that felt like it had been building in his chest all week.
Since he’d been friend-zoned.
Not that he was upset about that. It was the right call. They both knew that. Even if his dick didn�
�t. Getting involved with Samira would complicate things too much. Her rejection had nothing to do with his crappy week. It just happened to coincide with his rising frustration at work.
He’d once taken incredible satisfaction in the victories, they’d sustained him through months of grunt work and minor frustrations, but now the frustrations didn’t seem so minor and the victories weren’t as sweet. Was he just burnt out? Or was there really something else he could be doing? He hated feeling helpless—and more and more he found himself feeling that way. At work. At home with Samira.
The door to the hunting lodge opened and Tug’s voice floated out, shattering his sense of peace. Aiden trudged toward the door as Scott slipped out. “Abandoning us already?” he asked.
“I should be so lucky.” Scott jerked his head toward the pair of men inspecting a row of rifles. “I volunteered to liaise with our guides. Have fun in there.”
With that he walked off and Aiden stepped through the front door of his grandfather’s retreat to find Tug already holding court.
“When Charlotte said you had a hunting lodge, I have to admit I didn’t expect it to be so small. You should have seen my family’s lodge in Vermont. Massive. We got rid of it because none of us ever had the spare time to use it—you know how it is when you’re indispensable at work—but that was a lodge.”
“Dalton wanted the lodge to be small,” his father explained, facing Tug from the opposite side of the freestanding fireplace that took up the center of the small cabin’s single main room. “Said that way the hunting groups stayed intimate and more real work could get done.”
“He always said hunting was like golf,” Aiden added, setting down his bag and joining the conversation. “He called it the best way to get from idea to handshake and that’s more easily done when the lawyers don’t invite themselves along.” Yes, the lodge was on the smaller side, but his grandfather had hunted here with presidents and prime ministers, as evidenced by the photos tastefully arranged on the south wall. “Hi, Dad. Tug.”
“Aiden.” His father came over and clapped him on the shoulder while Tug nodded his greeting. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too.”
His father’s short-trimmed hair had once been blond, but had faded to an ashy gray-blond and thinned over the years. Aiden had gotten his darker coloring from their mother, while Scott, Candy and Charlotte had all taken after his father in their fairness. His father was still a lean man, vital and compelling in an indefinable way that made people want to trust him. A lifelong diplomat with the State department, Thomas Raines had never held political office or sought the kind of positions that garnered national attention—much to Regina’s dismay—but had spent his years in the nonpartisan side of politics, wielding an influence that sometimes seemed all the greater because of its subtlety.
Did he feel like he was doing enough? Was that the direction Aiden should go, rather than running for office? Aiden wasn’t sure he knew how to ask. He’d never felt that he knew his father particularly well. He’d been seven when the family stopped traveling with his father to his international postings and there had been times in his childhood when he’d gone for nearly a year without setting eyes on the man.
Dalton had been his advisor. Thomas was the cheerful, friendly man who appeared for holidays and dispensed pride without reservation—while Dalton’s pride had always needed to be earned, and had tasted the sweeter for it.
He opened his mouth to ask his father’s advice, trying to recall if he’d ever done that before, but Tug interrupted to continue the conversation on lodge size. “If you can get a handshake with a couple guys, just think how much more you could get done in a lodge the size of mine. We don’t mess around when we go hunting up in Vermont. I bagged the biggest turkey you’ve ever seen last time I went on a turkey shoot. Huge. Took two men to lift it. Bigger than anything we’ll see today, I bet. But if we see a big one, you know I’ve got it. I’m an incredible shot.”
Aiden’s father met his gaze with a wry glint in his eye, gripped his shoulder once more and turned to assure his future son-in-law that he was sure he was an excellent shot.
Somehow Aiden doubted he was going to get a chance to talk about anything but Tug today.
*
“Did you feel like you were able to make a difference as a Congressman?”
Scott stopped in the act of climbing into the car and gave Aiden a sardonic look. “Did I make a difference or is it possible to make a difference? Because those are two different questions.”
Tug and their father had already departed, headed back to the estate to continue the familial bonding while Scott had volunteered to stay behind with Aiden and close up the lodge before joining rest of the family.
They hadn’t shot anything—which would please Stella and Maddie, who had a strong disapproval for hunting thanks to the friendly talking animals in Disney movies—but Thomas had declared the day a success as it gave him a chance to get to know his son-in-law. Aiden, unfortunately, couldn’t share his enthusiasm for the man who had blamed the guides when he’d spooked the birds and blamed his rifle when he’d missed his shot.
Scott seemed equally unimpressed, if his snarky remarks all morning had been any indication. Now he settled into the passenger seat with the kind of loose-limbed, lubricated sprawl that made Aiden glad his brother wasn’t driving—or shooting.
“Both, I guess.” Aiden fastened his seatbelt and fired up the Audi.
“I didn’t,” Scott said flatly. “But some people do. Though the shitty part of it is, whether you make a difference or not has nothing to do with whether you get reelected. It’s all about manipulating perception and being seen in the right way. I could have been saving the world, but once I got caught doing coke, there was no way back from that.”
Aiden mulled that over for a moment as they bumped along the gravel road leading away from the lodge. “Would you do it again?”
Scott snorted. “Why don’t we stop pretending we’re talking about me? Are you thinking about running for office, little brother?”
Aiden shot his brother a look. “I haven’t said anything to anyone.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell Mom. You should save that kind of news for Mother’s Day. You’ll make her year.”
“I still haven’t decided,” he hedged.
“Still doing the internal exploratory committee?” Scott cocked his head to the side, studying Aiden. “What’s the hold up? Our name. Your face. Your history. You’ll win in a heartbeat.”
It wasn’t the winning he was worried about—though it sounded arrogant to say it. “I guess I see the partisan politics and wonder if I would really be able to do any good or if it would just be another kind of frustration and helplessness. I’m not strictly Republican—”
Scott released a sharp bark of laughter. “Oh, please run as a Democrat. I want to see Mom’s face when you do.”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying I wouldn’t always look at things from the party position first and what I felt was the good of the constituency second—and I’m not sure how popular, and therefore how effective, that would make me in the political arena. Things seem to be getting worse lately on that front, not better.”
“Things always get worse before they get better,” Scott declared in his usual blasé way. “It’s the pendulum.”
Aiden frowned. “What pendulum?”
Scott’s eyebrows lifted. “Dad never talked to you about the pendulum? It’s one of his favorite speeches on political progress. I think he trots it out whenever the administration says something stupid that contradicts months of careful diplomatic negotiations.”
Aiden slanted a glance at his brother as he pulled onto a paved access road, realizing for the first time the full breadth of how different their childhoods had been. He’d always known that Scott had taken the most pressure to live up to the family legacy, but he’d somehow never really thought about the fact that his brother had also grown up in the same house as
their father—even if that house was often an embassy halfway around the world.
“I’ve never heard that speech,” he admitted.
“It’s actually a good one,” Scott said. “I’m not going to do it as well as Dad, but the gist of it is that the pendulum swings toward progress and then retreats, because people fear change and cling to the familiar, but even as we swing back and forth we’re making very slow progress toward being better. It takes us too long, but we abolish slavery. We let women vote. We stop child labor and protect civil rights. The pendulum keeps on swinging, but sometimes the bad swings show us what needs to be changed, and slowly the baseline moves and we get better.” Scott shrugged. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard that one. But maybe he thought you didn’t need it. You’re already an idealist.”
“Too much of an idealist for politics?”
Scott studied him for a long moment. “Maybe just the right amount.” He grinned. “I’d vote for you.”
Aiden snorted. “Thanks. World’s best brother.” But even though his tone was sarcastic, he meant it. He and Scott weren’t close in the typical sense, but he trusted his brother’s advice and he’d been in Congress. He knew better than anyone what could and couldn’t be achieved there.
Maybe it was time to run.
Now if only there was some way he could fix everything else in his life—like the fact that his sister seemed determined to marry a man who gave narcissism new meaning.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Samira was upstairs in her room when she heard the garage door hum and nerves tightened in her stomach—as they always seemed to do now when she knew she was about to see Aiden.
They’d been in the friend zone for a little over a week and though they both chatted and pretended everything was normal, tension lived in the air between them.
It was impossible to pretend nothing had changed.
She glanced at the clock as she heard the door hum below her again, closing this time. It was after nine. The girls would be cranky and exhausted, if they weren’t asleep already. Aiden had left with them this morning at the crack of dawn so he could drop the girls off with his mother and sister before joining the male members of the Raines family at the lodge.
