Save the Date (30 page)

“Come in! Come in!” Donna Sinclair bustled in to greet them. The smidge of flour on her cheek made Lucy feel somewhat better. “Marcus, bring the lemonade,” she called behind her. “I just made some fresh.” She wrapped her son in a hug any defensive tackle would be proud of, then turned her sights on Lucy. “I’m so glad you decided to join us. It will give us a chance to get to know one another better . . . and talk wedding plans.”

“Right.” Lucy struggled to find her voice. “Wedding plans.”

“Alex said you set a date.”

“He did, did he?” She shot Alex a surprised glance. “I didn’t know we were sharing that yet.” Alex just smiled.

“October fifteenth will be here before we know it. It’s been such a hard year for the family, so it’s nice to have something fun to focus on.” Donna pulled Lucy in for a quick hug of her own.

“Let’s not overwhelm her, Mom. We both want something small and simple, so there’s not much planning to discuss.”

Clare sashayed inside, with Julian right behind her, juggling her collection of Louis Vuitton luggage. Despite the fact that this was a weekend trip, Clare had packed enough to clothe half of Charleston.

“Did someone say small wedding?” Clare
tsked
and waved her finger. “Not on my watch.”

Lucy tried to think of a safer topic to discuss. Like nuclear weapons. “You have a beautiful home, Mr. and Mrs.—”

“I was thinking St. Luke’s Chapel or—”

“No.” Clare interrupted Donna. “It has to be big. Maybe outside at the Middleton Plantation. Susan Jiminez’s granddaughter held her wedding there this spring and it was lovely under the mossy trees and—”

“Ladies!” Alex’s voice boomed as he rested his hand at Lucy’s hip. “No wedding talk tonight. Every time Lucy sticks a
Brides
magazine in my face, I get that much closer to dragging her to Vegas.”

Bridal magazines? Oh, two could play at this game. “Sweetie, you’re the one who asked me to see if Michael Bolton was available for our reception.”

His grip tightened as his dangerous smile deepened. “I think you meant Bono.”

“No, it was Mr. Bolton.” She slid her arm around his waist and gave it a little pinch. “I remember because your first choice had been Donnie and Marie Osmond, but I put my foot down on that one.” She winked at the ladies and laughed. “He does love that wholesome retro music.”

Alex’s counterattack was foiled as his sister came stomping through the room toward the stairs. “It’s so unfair!” She spun around and focused those fiery eyes on her mother. “Dad took my phone away. He has no right!”

Donna excused herself and walked to her erupting daughter. “He pays the bill, so he has every right. We are going to spend this weekend together as a family and actually talk to one another. If I get another text from you while you’re sitting right next to me, I will take care of that phone permanently.”

“But how am I supposed to talk to Kyle?” Finley had the teenage whine down to an art.

“You’re not,” her father said as he joined them. “And no computer either.”

Finley’s mouth dropped in outrage. “Nobody else’s parents treat them like this. You guys are
so
out of it.”

Donna slanted her husband a look. “You are pretty old.”

He nodded solemnly. “If only we could be cooler. Maybe if I bought some of those skinny jeans . . .”

Donna patted her husband’s chest. “You can just borrow mine.”

Finley huffed, rolled those Sinclair heartbreaker eyes, and stormed up the stairs.

Marcus and Donna passed a look that could only be shared among those brave souls raising teenagers. Or wolves. “Welcome to our happy home,” Donna said on a sigh. “I used to be a cheery, confident mother.”

“Then Finley turned seventeen.” Marcus held out a tray of lemonade, serving Clare first.

“You would’ve tossed Will and me from the second story window if we had acted like that.” Alex took a glass and handed it to Lucy.

“She’s going through a hard time,” Marcus said. “So we’re trying to give her a little space.”

“She’s taken the news about Will really hard,” Donna said. “We want to make this Fourth of July as special for her as possible.”

Marcus nodded. “Then when we get home we’ll move to plan B.”

“What’s plan B?” Julian asked.

Donna gave a small laugh. “At the moment I’m considering a taser.”

Her husband smiled. “Or a convent.”

Alex played host and got everyone settled into rooms. Lucy’s was across from his on the second floor, and while she unloaded her suitcase on the bed, he dropped his own down beside it.

“I prefer the right side of the bed,” he said.

With a laugh, she shoved him out the door. But he ended up coming right back in, where they’d sat in her room for an hour and just talked.

It had been awhile since they’d had time with no distractions, and he wanted Lucy to relax. If she didn’t, they’d never pull this off. It was clear his parents were suspicious of the fast-moving relationship, and it pained him to think of what a broken engagement would do to them. And he had no idea what was in Finley’s head. Right now the teenager was unhappy with everything. Hadn’t it been only yesterday she was playing hopscotch in the driveway with her lopsided pigtails and Kool-Aid mustache? Now she was just a raging commercial for Midol.

His phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket.

Kat.

He stared at her name on the display a moment before finally powering it off. Not tonight. He wanted to find Lucy and spend some time with her. On the drive to the beach, he’d discovered she was a walking cinema historian. They had gotten into a heated debate over Hitchcock’s greatest flick, with Lucy arguing that her choice was the best simply because it starred Cary Grant.

After making a few necessary calls to his campaign manager, Alex went in search of his fiancée.

Following the blast of music and giggles, he found her in the media room. Leaning a hip against the doorframe, he took in the scene before him. On the giant screen were animated rock stars wailing for a screaming audience. Finley and Clare stood side by side with their guitars strapped on. His sister danced in place as Steven Tyler belted out an old hit. Clare fumbled with her instrument while Lucy and Julian sat behind her and coached the older woman’s every move.

Just looking at Lucy made him smile. She had changed into yoga pants and a Wonder Woman T-shirt. He’d dated a lot of models, spent time with some of the world’s most exotic beauties. But when he saw Lucy like this, in her comfort zone, he was in the presence of one of the most gorgeous women God had ever put together. Her blonde curls flew in a wild ruckus as she showed Clare the art of head banging. He wondered if Lucy even realized she’d let her grandmother into her heart. The girl couldn’t do hostile and angry—it just wasn’t in her. He liked that about her. Even his sister had fallen under Lucy’s spell and had temporarily put aside her valiant fight against the world and all its cruel parental forces.

“Game over, my little estrogen muffins,” Julian said. “It’s daddy’s turn to rock.”

Clare clutched her guitar. “I called two turns.”

Julian rolled his eyes. “You can’t do that.”

“It’s on my bucket list.”

He wasn’t the least bit intimidated by the former first lady. “So is kissing Pierce Brosnan, but that’s not going to happen either.”

“It’s already pushing midnight.” Lucy got between them. “Clare, you can play again tomorrow.”

“I’m elderly.” She was haughty as a queen. “Who knows if I’ll wake up tomorrow?”

“I’m willing to tempt fate.” Julian made a grab for the guitar.

Lucy’s head tilted as she laughed. And her eyes landed on Alex.

“Oh.” He knew she would blush just like that. “How long have you been standing there?”

He moved into the room. “Long enough to see Clare’s attempt at the splits.”

Clare pointed at the girls. “They told me every rocker did it.”

He gathered Lucy to him, giving in to the urge to place a smacking kiss on her cheek. “They lied.”

“I’m played out,” Lucy said. “I’m going to bed.”

Clare only spared her a quick glance. “Rematch tomorrow?”

He walked with Lucy up the stairs to the bedrooms. The past few days had all but sucked the life out of Alex. He had dreaded this trip. Dreaded being shut in the house with his family, people he loved dearly but didn’t know how to please anymore. Everywhere he turned, he saw Will. His favorite game of horseshoes in the closet. His favorite kind of cereal in the pantry. Photos on the mantel.

He reached for Lucy’s hand. It was soft, it was strong, and it was her. She lifted those big blue eyes to his as she stopped at her door.

“Thanks for coming with me.” He was a master of cheap conversation, and this was the best he could come up with? “I mean, I’m . . .” It was the fatigue. His eighteen-hour days. The absence of his brother. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Her smile was hesitant. “It hasn’t been horrible. Yet.”

“Tomorrow is day two of Finley without her phone. It’s probably going to make doomsday look like Disneyland.”

“Alex”—she brushed the hair from his forehead.—“it’s okay to miss your brother.”

Lightning aimed straight for his chest. He let his hand slide out of hers as he took a step back. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve barely spoken to your family.”

“So I’m distracted. I can’t just take off for a few days and kick back.”

“I’m pretty sure you can.”

He couldn’t catch a break with this girl. All the other women he’d dated had made him feel like he was the human form of perfection. He could use a little sympathy and adoration about now, but that wasn’t going to happen with Judge Judy in the superhero T-shirt.

“I just meant that the campaign doesn’t stop for a holiday. Our time is ticking, and there’s still a lot of ground to cover.” They were just now pulling ahead.

“You could hang out with your sister for a while.”

“And interrupt her witching hour?”

“She watches you when you’re not looking. When you talk, she hangs on to every syllable.”

“At least someone does,” he mumbled.

“Finley needs her big brother. And your parents—they just want to spend some time with their son.”

He reached into his pocket for his phone. He’d just take a peek at his messages.

Lucy’s tug on his hand stopped him. “Can you just be here?” The liquid fire in those eyes had his breath going shallow. “This is about more than getting a checkmark for attendance. They want to spend time with
you
.”

The guilt whispered taunts in his head. Even if he won the election, he still wouldn’t be half the man Will had been. Alex had been bulking up his portfolio while Will had been saving children. He just wanted something to show his parents—the world—something besides his face on
People
.

“Goodnight, Lucy.” He was tired of thinking, and his body ached for rest.

She shook her head and gave that know-it-all smile. “You’re afraid.”

Did she know he could bench press her with one hand? “Yeah, okay. See you in the morning.”

“Those people love you.”

“They also have high expectations I can’t meet.”

“Such as?”

“Forget it.” He raked his fingers through his hair. This conversation was over.

“The world doesn’t revolve around you.” Her voice sliced with a razor’s edge. “Why don’t you man up and be the son and brother they need?”

Not one supermodel had ever griped him out. Not one.

“You’re lucky to have a family to spend holidays with, and instead of being grateful, all you can think about is yourself and your stupid election and how inconvenienced you are.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Guess where your voters are, Mr. Arrogant? They’re at home. Spending time with their families. And guess who they’re
not
thinking about?” She looked at him like he had just committed the cheapest of fouls. “You.”

She was so out of line. She was supposed to be on his side, the little traitor.

“You told me once you always brought your A-game.” Her hair bounced with every bob of her head. “Well, you know what, hotshot? All I’m seeing is one sorry performance.”

“You don’t understand.” He leaned into her doorway, his hand a fist on the wall. “I can’t do this right now.”

“Sure you can. You pretend you love me.” Her smile chilled him. “What’s one more thing to fake?”

The door slammed in his face.

He turned, only to find Julian, wide-eyed, standing at the end of the hall, an entire game system in his arms.

“Women,” he said. “Can’t live with them. Can’t let them hog your guitar.”

Chapter Thirty-three

F
ollowing the scent of bacon, Alex opened his bedroom door, the tips of his hair still wet from a shower. He bent down to slip on his shoe when Lucy’s doorknob turned, and there she stood. He’d seen New York Warriors dissolve into tears from less intimidating looks than the one she was shooting his way.

He pulled himself upright, using his full height to tower over her. She had her hair pulled into a stub of a ponytail, and yellow tendrils framed that mad face.

“Happy birthday,” she mumbled.

She was going to have to do a lot better than that. “I realize you’re still mad at me, but I have a family downstairs who thinks we’re engaged, and you giving me the stink eye all day doesn’t exactly say I’m the air you breathe.”