Save the Date by Jenny B Jones Page A

some people why they love me,” Alex said dryly. “Can I leave you alone for fifteen minutes?”
    She tried to ignore the way his hand lightly rested at the small of her back. “Of course. I’ll just stand here and try to make up some good things to tell them about you.”
    “Guess I better give you more than fifteen minutes.” His eyes lingered on hers. “It’s gonna take you a while to list my many fine qualities.”
    “Like humility?”
    His eyes lit with one of those looks that made a woman think of backseats, hurried hands, and foggy windows.
    “Behave while I’m gone.” Leaning toward her, he slowly pressed his lips to her cheek.
    She squirmed from his touch. “I’ll count the seconds you’re away.”
    The low rumble of his laughter followed him as he went to join a group of men across the lobby.
    Lucy reached into her purse and fished out her phone. She had to talk to Matt. By tomorrow morning, pictures of her with Alex would be all over the Internet.
    The phone rang twice. “Hi, you’ve reached Matt Campbell. Leave a message . . .” Stifling her frustration, she tried two more times. No response.
    “That’s some man you have on your arm tonight.”
    Lucy turned to find a woman beside her. She knew they had been introduced earlier, and Lucy struggled to remember her name. “Yes, he’s . . . something else.”
    “I was really intrigued by Alex’s health care ideas in the Gazette’s interview last week.” Large diamonds swung from her ears. She looked to be about Donna Sinclair’s age. “What do you think of Robertson’s counterattack?”
    Lucy checked her front teeth for lipstick with her tongue. “Um . . .” It sure was warm in this place. And so many people. So sparkly. “I must’ve missed that, um, attack. I’ve been so occupied with my own work lately.”
    Heavily lined lids went wide. “But everyone’s talking about it.”
    “Right.” How much longer until the ballet? Or a good fire alarm. “ That counterattack. Well, clearly he’s no match for Alex’s ideas on health care.” Whatever those were. Lucy had been too busy keeping her girls off the streets to keep up with any politics.
    “He has some very edgy ideas about insurance,” another woman said as she joined them. “As a doctor with my own clinic, I’m very interested in how that’s going to play out.” She turned to Lucy. “What do you think?”
    “Well . . .” Was it rude to fake unconsciousness and fall to the floor? “I am really proud of his ideas on health care for children.” Yes. That sounded perfectly safe.
    The doctor lifted a hand to her short bob. “He hasn’t outlined any measures for children.”
    “Oh.” Lucy swallowed. “Then I guess I can’t talk about those right now. But children”—she nodded lamely—“he likes them. Them and their health care.” Shoot me now. Someone just put me out of my misery .
    “Nice to chat with you,” the doctor said. She and the other woman walked away. Whispering.
    Lucy pinched the bridge of her nose and took five deep breaths. If she was going to be Alex’s fiancée, she had some homework to do. She did know he didn’t represent anything she was spiritually or ethically against. Except looking like total man-dessert in that suit. Why couldn’t he be homely? Or at least average? She was not going to fall under his spell like every woman in America. And probably a few misguided men.
    “Lucy Wiltshire.” The governor’s wife waved from her post next to a framed oil painting. “Join us.”
    Great. The woman was standing in a sea of social piranhas. Beside her stood their leader—Clare Deveraux.
    First Lady Trenton patted Lucy’s shoulder. “Ladies, I’d like to introduce you to Alex Sinclair’s friend. This is—”
    “I hear someone bought you a present,” Clare said, watching Lucy a little too intensely. “Your home is saved after all.”
    This was public knowledge already? Could the man even blow his nose without the whole town