In Bed With the Opposition (7 page)

Maybe she’d been right not to let things go further with Ethan.

With a sense of giddy exhilaration, Grace slipped into the kitchen hoping to steal some olives and found the senator there, laughing. “Tell your mother that one of her
sopaipillas
isn’t going to kill me.”

“It’s too much sugar, and flour, and fat,” Mama protested, looking at Grace for support. “It’s not like dark chocolate.”

Grace held up her hands. “I’m not getting involved.”

“Gracie Girl,” the senator said, folding her into an embrace. “Look at you, all dressed up. Didn’t Blain mention we’re going to make you hand-paint campaign signs tonight in the garage like the old days?”

“Very funny, sir.” Grace helped herself to some olives, but kept a wary eye on the senator. He’d
better
be joking about the campaign signs. With him, you never knew.

Soon after, Blain’s brothers arrived, some with wives and kids. A few cousins even found their way to the table. And watching the Halloways laugh and eat together made Grace’s heart burn with more than a little jealousy. It wasn’t that they didn’t treat her well. Even though Mama was just the housekeeper, she and Grace were always welcome. But this was a borrowed family—not her own.

At least, not yet.

When talk around the table turned to the senator’s reelection campaign, Senator Halloway groused, “Blain’s plan to have me campaign on the Eastern Shore is a waste of time. They won’t vote for me out there.”

There were general murmurs over turkey and mashed potatoes that this was probably true, and the criticism caught Blain flat-footed. Putting his wineglass down he said, “You represent the whole state, Grandpa. Not just the people who vote for you. It can’t hurt to hear what they have to say.”

Grace quickly added, “It’s true. Especially since folks on the Eastern Shore are big on the environment. With the upcoming bill we’re working on, you may win some people over.”

Like Pocahontas throwing her body over John Smith to save him from execution, Grace had sided with Blain and he looked over the cranberry sauce at her with gratitude.

In truth, dinner couldn’t have gone better.

Later, Mama took out the ornaments so that all the little Halloways could help with the tree.

“Do we have to decorate for Christmas already?” Blain complained. “It’s still only Thanksgiving!”

“Yes, we have to decorate!” Grace was scornful of complaints that Christmas came earlier every year. As far as she was concerned, one could never be prepared too far in advance. “Now help out or we’ll strangle you with the garland.”

After the little ones went to bed, Blain hovered over Grace by the fireplace with a handful of mistletoe. “Your mother wants me to put this up.” He tacked it to the mantelpiece over her head. “I believe tradition now dictates that I kiss you.”

Before Grace could do a thing about it, Blain leaned forward to press a soft kiss on her lips. Now,
this
was where people were supposed to kiss. In
private
. In sweet, wholesome, intimate settings…

Odd. The intimacy felt…not so intimate.

Whereas kissing Ethan had been tumultuous and exhilarating, kissing Blain was merely pleasant and comforting—like sipping chamomile tea.

And really, there was nothing wrong with tea, was there? It was a very sensible drink, and Grace was a very sensible girl. She quite liked tea. Everybody liked tea!

Blain tasted like wine, though, and she could tell he’d had plenty. “Are you staying tonight?”

Grace looked up at him from under her lashes. “Are you asking me to?”

“I’m just saying that if you were to spend the night…”

She let him trail off as the fire crackled in the hearth, and the silence got awkward. But if Blain was inviting her to bed, she needed him to say it. “Do you want me to spend the night with you?”

“Grace,” Blain chuckled. “I’m too drunk for this.”

Her stomach knotted. “It’s not a hard question.”

“Do I want you? Sure, but, we kind of work together. You are who you are and I am who I am, and there are lines I’m afraid to cross…”

Grace thought back to the night she and Ethan sat in his car in the empty diner parking lot, and found herself repeating his sentiments. “Maybe sometimes it’s important to cross those lines and break the rules.”

Blain did a double take. “Never thought I’d hear
you
say a thing like that.”

Frankly, Grace never thought she’d say something like that, either. But she’d finally come to a crossroads; it was time to put everything on the line. “Blain, if two people care about each other…”

“Of course I
care
about you, Grace. You’re like a sister to me. That’s always been the problem.”

Grace blinked. “A
sister
?”

“A smart, beautiful,
hot
sister,” he slurred.

Oh, gross! Grace recoiled. “What are you saying?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Blain admitted, and the goofy way the colored lights from the Christmas tree blinked on and off in his eyes only made him look more inebriated. “Forbidden fruit, and all that. I try to stay away from you but I can’t.”

Grace wasn’t related to Blain in any way, but he was making it sound disgusting. “A
sister
?” she repeated, incredulous.

“I’m not explaining myself very well. I’m being an ass.”

“You’re telling me that all this time, you’ve thought of me as a
sister
?” Grace asked a third time, her temper rising along with the decibels of her voice.

“It’s always been weird with us, Grace. You know that. You were a virgin that first time and you’ve always been so innocent. You’re not the kind of girl I can—”

He cut himself off, as if realizing that whatever he was about to say would sever something between them. He thought she was
innocent
? She’d always thought that he knew her better than anyone, so how was it that he never realized how hard she had to work to keep her impulses in check? He’d always been protective of her, and she’d always been grateful. But now she found it galling. Patronizing. Condescending.

Maybe Pocahontas had seemed like a little sister to John Smith, too. And now that she thought about it, Pocahontas’s love story didn’t end very happily, either.

Blain took her hand. “Grace, don’t be mad.”

She wasn’t mad. At least, not at him. Only at herself. It was true that he didn’t have the courage to be with her unless he was drunk, but she had to wear a costume to pursue him. Wonder Woman. Pocahontas. How many costumes had she worn over the years? Being with her was something he was ashamed of and she only ever felt like she could be a sensual woman if she came to him in disguise.

So, which was worse?

“Grace, let’s start over.”

“You’re right. It
is
time to start over. Because you have no idea who I am and I’m starting to think I don’t have a clue, either.”

With that, she gathered her things and went home.

Chapter Seven

In spite of Grace’s zealotry for holidays, she just couldn’t get into the Christmas spirit this year. After the Thanksgiving debacle with Blain, she’d dutifully decorated her apartment in twinkling lights and put up a miniature tree, but then she’d promptly caught a cold and now all she wanted to do was sleep.

Mama brought over chicken tortilla soup. Molly stopped by and made her choke down Theraflu. Even Thurgood made himself useful by curling up in the blankets with her like a mini space heater.

The first time she and Blain had broken up back in high school, she’d cried her eyes out for a month. The second time was even worse. By the third or fourth time, she’d learned to cope. This time she wasn’t crying at all. While sucking on a cough drop, she wondered why that was.

Shouldn’t she be more upset? Maybe she
couldn’t
cry because the virus had sapped all her fluids. Or maybe she was simply too annoyed. Blain had implied she’d always been too inhibited for him. Well, if that was true, Blain should’ve known exactly why. When she let herself get out of control, bad things happened. Bad things, like blackmail…

Blowing her nose for about the thousandth time, Grace wished she could be back at work, because that was the only thing that made sense in her life anymore. That’s what she should be concentrating on anyway. She didn’t have a law degree because she’d lost her head over a man; she’d be damned if she let her disaster of a love life derail her career again.

With a pile of books on one side of the bed and a wastebasket of tissues on the other, Grace tried to make sense of the new changes to the environmental bill. Even though the words swam before her eyes, she managed to make a few notes in the margins before the phone rang.

The minute she heard the voice on the other end, a swarm of butterflies fluttered madly in her belly. She hadn’t thought that she’d hear from him again; now she realized how glad she was to have been wrong.

“You sound groggy,” Ethan said.

Stay calm
, she told herself.
Stay cool
. “I have the death flu,” Grace sniffled into the phone. “So…what’s up?”

“I miss you.”

Grace’s heart squeezed and, quite suddenly, with a delirium she could only blame on the cough medicine, she asked, “What are your thoughts on Pocahontas?”

He paused as if trying to decide if she were sane. “Unfortunate victim of Stockholm Syndrome? According to her tribe, she was kidnapped by colonists and forced to shill for Big Tobacco.”

Grace was dubious. “That’s not the Disney version.”

She could almost hear him smirk. “Are you gonna believe a mouse or me?”

Grace laughed, sneezed, then pushed the mute button on the phone so she could blow her nose. When she returned, Ethan was all serious. “Grace, listen. I held out as long as I could, and if you don’t feel the same way, I won’t call you again, but I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

She’d been thinking about him, too. So much so that everything with Blain had felt wrong. Ethan was in her mind even when she was kissing someone else, but how could she find room in her life for a political grifter? “I just don’t want to get involved with something that can’t go anywhere.”

“People get involved in long-distance relationships all the time.”

“I know, but…my dad was never around. The separation was hard on everyone. When you can’t be there in person—”

“But I
am
here in person. I’m here to take you out for waffles.” He laughed and if she didn’t know better, she’d swear he sounded nervous. “This isn’t going to help my stalker reputation, but I just got finished taping a show in Atlanta and instead of flying back to my apartment in Los Angeles, I thought I’d catch a flight to Baltimore to see you. Are you healthy enough to meet me at the diner?”

Flattered and mildly horrified, she wondered if she were having some kind of strange dream. “You can’t just get on a plane and fly in to see me…”

“Why not?”

Grace flailed. “Because it’s—it’s kind of nuts!”

“If you were advising a losing candidate and all conventional methods weren’t working, what would you suggest?”

“I’m not a campaign manager—”

“Pretend,” Ethan insisted.

“I’d tell him to try something unconventional.”

“Exactly. Flying in to take you to breakfast is my bold new campaign strategy. How’s it polling?”

Grace counted up the voters in her room. “Well, in a representative sample, one out of two voters approve.”

Ethan took umbrage. “Only one out of two? Who is the holdout?”

“Thurgood. You’re losing the orange tabby cat demographic.”

“I’m marking him down as undecided,” Ethan said optimistically. “So will you meet me?”

He’d hopped on a plane for her. She could hardly refuse.

Of course, it was only after she’d agreed that she remembered how sick she was. She smelled like eucalyptus, her nose was red, and even her hair had finally gone limp. Hopefully, the hot steam of the shower would help her breathe and put some color in her cheeks.

Once she was cleaned up, she put a white hooded sweater on under a black hooded sweater, realizing only too late that it looked like a habit. Oh, well. Hopefully it would make her look beautiful in ill health, like Sister Mary Benedict in
The Bells of Saint Mary’s
.

…

When Grace got to the diner, Ethan rose to greet her, but she waved him away and not just because being near him did strange things to her. “Don’t come close. I’m a walking contagion,” she said, affecting her best Ingrid Bergman accent.

Ethan grimaced. “Why are you dressed like a nun?”

“Imagine that I have tuberculosis,” Grace replied.

He looked dubious. “I think you’re feverish. I would’ve brought food to your bedside but I couldn’t think of a non-stalkerish way of inviting myself to your apartment.”

Grace realized that waffles were already on the table, and hers were covered with whipped cream and strawberries. “Why do you keep ordering for me?”

He flashed his dimpled grin. “Because I know what you like.”

It made her catch her breath, and as sick as she was, it wasn’t good to be oxygen-deprived. “I think you have control issues.”

Ethan chuckled. “Says the girl who won’t even trust her laundry to a dry cleaner.”

True. Grace didn’t trust anybody to do almost anything for her, much less order her waffles. But those waffles looked really good, and she quickly dug in.

“So what are your plans for the holidays?” Ethan asked.

“Same as every year. Senator Halloway throws a big celebration…” Grace trailed off, not wanting to talk about her boss or Blain or anything other than the man sitting in front of her. “What about you?”

“Christmas in Kansas. My parents will have a full house. I’m the youngest of eight kids, so I’ve got a bunch of nieces and nephews. I’m getting them all game systems. What do you suggest? Wii, Xbox, or PlayStation?”

“You’re asking me?” Grace asked, unable to remember the last time she played a game. “You’re one of those uncles who buys the kids everything they aren’t supposed to have, aren’t you?”

“Nothing wrong with finger paints and drums! Besides, what’s Christmas for if not going overboard?”

“Exactly!” Grace was delighted to find someone who shared her enthusiasm. “I love holidays. Especially Christmas. It’s my favorite time of the year, and not just because we’re gearing up for a congressional recess.”

“That’s great. You’ve gotta foster your inner kid, or you end up a stuffy old guy like my dad with a boring desk job and eight kids to feed.”

“You’re lucky to have a dad like that,” Grace said before she could stop herself. “It could be worse. My dad couldn’t ever hold down a job even before he left us. He had to indulge every instinct and, I dunno, follow his bliss…”

“Haven’t forgiven him yet?” Ethan guessed.

Grace shrugged.

“Do you at least still talk to him? Is he on your Christmas card list?”

“He’s dead.” When Grace told people—which was almost never—she liked to say it quickly, without emotion. Sometimes that made it less awkward. Not this time.

“Jesus, Grace.”

“It’s fine. We weren’t close. I mean, I wished we would’ve been. He got in touch with me when I was in college, but then he got into a terrible car accident…”

“When?”

“Just before I got accepted to law school.”

“I’m sorry,” Ethan said, and it was clear he meant it. “How the hell did I not know that?”

“Because I didn’t tell you.” Grace sipped gratefully at the hot chocolate Ethan had ordered for her with the waffles. “I don’t dwell on it. I just miss him this time of year and wish we had a big family, but it’s just Mama and me.”

In spite of her germs, Ethan took her hand and held it so warmly that it made her forget her chills. “Big families can be overrated. It’s always a madhouse. I was the youngest, so I was always pulling some escapade to get attention—like the time I set a trap for Santa in the chimney. My mother was washing soot out of my hair for hours.”

Grace could imagine it. “It sounds wonderful to me. Watching the Halloways has always been like pressing my nose against a bakery window full of treats I can look at, but can’t have.”

“You can have anything you want, Grace,” Ethan said, suddenly very serious. “You’re that kind of person. If you want it, if you work for it, you can have it.”

That really hadn’t been Grace’s experience in life, but it made her feel good to hear him say it. In fact, it felt good to be sitting here with him, talking. It wasn’t easy for her to open up to Ethan, to tell him things about her upbringing that embarrassed her, but she wanted to try. He was so open, so confident, that it made her feel like maybe she could be the same way…

When the waitress swung by to check on them, Ethan said, “Grace, you mentioned pressing your nose against bakery windows which leads me to believe you really want the Napoleon cake again.”

Grace balked. “No, I can’t taste it. My nose is stuffy. The waffles are perfect.”

“Then bring an order of tuna salad to go,” Ethan said to the waitress, explaining to Grace, “It’s for Thurgood. I always fight for every vote.”

“What exactly are you campaigning for?”

He looked her right in the eye. “You.”

Grace’s fingers trembled only slightly, but it was enough to make her drop her fork. She wasn’t used to being pursued. She was usually the one trailing after Blain with her heart on her sleeve.

She started to say something, but Ethan cut her off. “Grace, if you’re gonna shoot me down again, can it wait until after we eat?”

She wavered. “I’m not going to shoot you down.”

His boyish grin was super sexy. “You’re not?”

She wet her lips, thinking it through. She’d told Blain that she was starting to think she didn’t have the first clue of whom she really was inside. Maybe a relationship with Ethan—even if it couldn’t go anywhere—would help her find out. “I just need to take things slow.”

“I can do slow,” Ethan said, fixing those green eyes on her in a way that made her shiver. Then he traced her jaw with his thumb. “We can put all the hot and steamy stuff on hold. I can control myself if you can.”

“You’re not irresistible,” Grace said, though she was pretty sure that was a complete lie. “But how is this going to work? You can’t keep flying into Baltimore to see me.”

“Why not?”

Because it was against
Rule #58
, the one against immoderation. But Grace wasn’t ready to introduce him to
all
her neuroses just yet. “It’s bad for the environment. Think about all that jet fuel.”

“It’s the best idea I’ve got until I find a more permanent solution,” he said.

And in spite of her doubts, Grace really wanted him to find a more permanent solution.

…

Ethan loved a challenge. A mountain to climb, a river to forge, a serpent to slay. All that. And he was at his best when facing difficult odds. When it came to challenges though, politics had nothing on Grace Santiago. He hadn’t liked it when she’d accused him of being the kind of guy who didn’t stick around. He couldn’t take that lying down.

Well, maybe he could. Had, in fact. He’d caught Grace’s cold and it laid him out flat for a week. Which meant it was almost the middle of December and he
still
hadn’t found a campaign he was willing to work on. It was this fact combined with his compromised immune system that led him to agree to meet with the unusual candidate.

That, and morbid curiosity. Because everyone in the blogosphere had taken to calling Professor Kim “Dr. Dark Ages.”

An Asian man of small stature whose silver hair matched the rims of his spectacles welcomed Ethan into his office. A brief glance around told Ethan everything he needed to know. Too many books. A beat-up office chair. A desk piled high with research. Ethan had seen it all before and felt compelled to issue a warning to his prospective client. “Typically, academics don’t do well in elections.”

Professor Kim didn’t seem afraid. “I’m more worried about what will happen if I don’t run.”

He had a quiet earnestness that drew Ethan in. “Why’s that?”

“Because the threat of a nationwide pandemic isn’t being addressed by Congress. People underestimate the kind of damage a simple flu could do to our economy and our way of life.”

Fighting the urge to pop a cough drop into his mouth, Ethan said, “You can’t run a campaign on the signature issue of people getting the sniffles…”

The professor slid back on his office chair. “See? You’re a smart man, Mr. Castle, but even you dismiss it. A pandemic flu of epic proportions is coming and it’s no joke.”

“That’s a pretty grim slogan,” Ethan said.

“With preparation, it doesn’t have to be grim. That’s the message.”

Ethan sat back in his chair, then forward, then back again. He couldn’t get comfortable. “I have nothing but respect for you and your work, but I have to tell you…”

“I can’t win the primary,” Professor Kim finished for him.

“Right. You’d be running against an incumbent with decades of name recognition. Kip Halloway is well-loved by the party.”

“I don’t expect to win, Mr. Castle. In fact, I don’t
want
to win.”