work.”
His father leaned over. “You’re going to wake up one day and realize all you have is work.”
“Marcus, not tonight,” his wife admonished. “Alex, I’m setting a place for you for family dinner Sunday. You know you can’t turn down my mashed potatoes and gravy.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Alex’s face softened as he looked at the elegant woman. “I’m in campaign meetings all day. Except for lunch with Lucy.” Alex moved their joined hands to his thigh. “My schedule’s jam-packed, but she talked me into it.” He sent her a look that could melt the caramel off a Twix.
Donna Sinclair leaned across her husband and thwacked her son’s knee. “If you want my vote, Congressman, you better show up at my dinner table. Don’t make me throw around my influence.”
Marcus nodded. “Her garden club can be vicious.”
“You have to eat,” Donna said. “I’ll bet your competition spends time with his family.” Donna looked at Lucy. “We’d love to have you join us.” Lucy was caught off guard by the kind eyes looking back at her. “Maybe you could get Alex to spare some time for the family?”
Marcus glowered at his son. “Your mother cries in her sleep.”
Donna leaned over again, her expression serious. “You’re my son,” she said quietly. “And I miss you. This is a time for our family to draw together, not drift apart.”
Though Alex’s face was its usual picture of devil-may-care, Lucy could almost touch the grief swirling around him. “We’ll discuss this later,” he said.
“Your sister needs to see you too.” Marcus lowered his voice. “And we have to make some decisions about your brother’s apartment in Atlanta. Some of his assets.”
“No.” Alex snapped open his playbill. “Handle it without me. I’m sure whatever you choose to do will be fine.”
The lights dimmed three times before plunging the auditorium into complete darkness.
Lucy felt Alex’s breath on her cheek. “Keep your hands to yourself tonight,” he said. “I don’t want my parents to think you’re one of those girls.”
She turned to meet his hooded stare. “And by those , you mean every other girl you’ve ever dated?”
“Don’t tell me you read those trash magazines too?”
“You say trashy. I say enlightening.”
“Remind me to get you a new subscription to something more mind-enriching.” Alex shifted in the seat, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Like Sports Illustrated .”
Chapter Eleven
B y the time intermission came, Lucy had decided ballet would be better if more full-sized women were allowed to participate. An entire stage full of perfectly shaped dancers was more than any woman should have to look at. Especially while sitting next to a man who had models on speed dial.
The theater came alive with the sounds of swishing dresses and rustling jackets as the house lights came up.
“Alex, I want to talk to you about the Fourth of July.” His mother blinked twice as she adjusted to the lights. “It’s important that we have a big celebration as usual—for Finley’s sake. Your sister needs things to be as normal and festive as possible.”
“I’m traveling on that day,” he said. “I’ll get back with you.”
“But it’s your birthday—”
“Lucy wants something to drink.” With a look she couldn’t decipher, Alex reached for Lucy’s hand and gave her a nudge. “We’ll be back.”
As he led her through the lobby, she wanted to stop him. To ask him about his brother. About the hurt his mother wore beneath her smile. About Alex’s own pain. She settled for a safer topic instead. “Aren’t you going to let your family in on our little game?”
“Of course not. Just don’t get too cozy with them and things will be fine.”
“I’ll try to put away my dreams of a country club lunch with your mother.”
“You’d probably bore her with your Trekkie talk.”
He got her a bottled water and himself a seltzer. “I’m going to go remind
His father leaned over. “You’re going to wake up one day and realize all you have is work.”
“Marcus, not tonight,” his wife admonished. “Alex, I’m setting a place for you for family dinner Sunday. You know you can’t turn down my mashed potatoes and gravy.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Alex’s face softened as he looked at the elegant woman. “I’m in campaign meetings all day. Except for lunch with Lucy.” Alex moved their joined hands to his thigh. “My schedule’s jam-packed, but she talked me into it.” He sent her a look that could melt the caramel off a Twix.
Donna Sinclair leaned across her husband and thwacked her son’s knee. “If you want my vote, Congressman, you better show up at my dinner table. Don’t make me throw around my influence.”
Marcus nodded. “Her garden club can be vicious.”
“You have to eat,” Donna said. “I’ll bet your competition spends time with his family.” Donna looked at Lucy. “We’d love to have you join us.” Lucy was caught off guard by the kind eyes looking back at her. “Maybe you could get Alex to spare some time for the family?”
Marcus glowered at his son. “Your mother cries in her sleep.”
Donna leaned over again, her expression serious. “You’re my son,” she said quietly. “And I miss you. This is a time for our family to draw together, not drift apart.”
Though Alex’s face was its usual picture of devil-may-care, Lucy could almost touch the grief swirling around him. “We’ll discuss this later,” he said.
“Your sister needs to see you too.” Marcus lowered his voice. “And we have to make some decisions about your brother’s apartment in Atlanta. Some of his assets.”
“No.” Alex snapped open his playbill. “Handle it without me. I’m sure whatever you choose to do will be fine.”
The lights dimmed three times before plunging the auditorium into complete darkness.
Lucy felt Alex’s breath on her cheek. “Keep your hands to yourself tonight,” he said. “I don’t want my parents to think you’re one of those girls.”
She turned to meet his hooded stare. “And by those , you mean every other girl you’ve ever dated?”
“Don’t tell me you read those trash magazines too?”
“You say trashy. I say enlightening.”
“Remind me to get you a new subscription to something more mind-enriching.” Alex shifted in the seat, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Like Sports Illustrated .”
Chapter Eleven
B y the time intermission came, Lucy had decided ballet would be better if more full-sized women were allowed to participate. An entire stage full of perfectly shaped dancers was more than any woman should have to look at. Especially while sitting next to a man who had models on speed dial.
The theater came alive with the sounds of swishing dresses and rustling jackets as the house lights came up.
“Alex, I want to talk to you about the Fourth of July.” His mother blinked twice as she adjusted to the lights. “It’s important that we have a big celebration as usual—for Finley’s sake. Your sister needs things to be as normal and festive as possible.”
“I’m traveling on that day,” he said. “I’ll get back with you.”
“But it’s your birthday—”
“Lucy wants something to drink.” With a look she couldn’t decipher, Alex reached for Lucy’s hand and gave her a nudge. “We’ll be back.”
As he led her through the lobby, she wanted to stop him. To ask him about his brother. About the hurt his mother wore beneath her smile. About Alex’s own pain. She settled for a safer topic instead. “Aren’t you going to let your family in on our little game?”
“Of course not. Just don’t get too cozy with them and things will be fine.”
“I’ll try to put away my dreams of a country club lunch with your mother.”
“You’d probably bore her with your Trekkie talk.”
He got her a bottled water and himself a seltzer. “I’m going to go remind
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