Blaire

Grant’s parents had a house on the Back Bay area of Boston. A historic townhouse that was recently renovated with an elevator that serviced all six levels, it still maintained the stately charm of a Victorian brownstone. Sensible shoes for the cobblestone sidewalks were a must. The first time I had dinner at Senator and Mrs. Thorne’s house, I wanted to make a good impression and wore three-inch heels with my dress. Grant didn’t think to inform me that I was navigating a bumpy path. He also thought parking for an easier exit was ideal and chose not to park at the three available spaces behind the house, because it meant two extra right turns and needing to get around the block to get back on the main road.

Men.

So, on top of the anxiety of meeting his parents for the first time, I had to worry whether I was going to break a heel or my ankle before introductions were made. Grant, to his benefit, was perceptive enough to hold me up while I teetered over the uneven surface.

He kept mumbling apologies and, from the set of his jaw, he was kicking himself for his lack of foresight when it came to women’s footwear. I must also stress that living in the mountains for so long, I’d lost practice strutting in heels, so it wasn’t entirely his fault. But Grant was a quick study and for successive dinners at his parents’, he reminded me about shoes, which really wasn’t necessary since I’d learned my lesson the first time. He’d also started parking behind the townhouse.

That night I wore loafers, light wool slacks, and a flowy blouse with ruffles at the neckline and sleeves. There was a chill in the September breeze, hinting of the end of summer, so I wrapped a shawl around me.

Grant opened the door and held out his hand to assist me out. “You look beautiful.”

“So you told me earlier,” I grinned.

“Never get tired of telling you, Angel.”

Le Sigh.

I should really bask in this perfect moment. Grant shut the door behind me and gathered me close, giving me a kiss. “No matter what happens tonight, know I’m on your side, okay?”

I nodded.

I wasn’t as nervous as I thought I would be. I think I was feeling relieved that I could finally let go of my secrets and my life could move forward.

* * *

Far from an intimate family gathering, it appeared to be a dinner party of about twenty people. Grant swore under his breath as he tightened his hold around me.

People gasped when they saw Grant. His right eye was still slightly swollen and the bruises had grown noticeably darker. Marcus Thorne’s eyes narrowed when he saw his son and stalked toward the foyer to greet us.

“Now what did you do to my son, Blaire?” the senator teased. The amusement in his tone belied the grim look in his eyes.

He couldn’t know how close to the truth he was. My expression must have mirrored the guilt I was feeling and effectively wiped any trace of humor—contrived or not—from the senator’s face.

“Well, damn, I was just joking, sweetheart,” the senator said. I wished I was a better actress but I wasn’t.

“Blaire saw me soon after it happened,” Grant explained. He left it hanging there because any other excuse would become a lie later.

“Sorry, I overreacted.” I forced a smile.

“At least you got the bastards.” An unusual savagery crossed the senator’s features.

“We’ll talk later, Dad.”

The senator gave a quick nod, slung an arm around his son, and led us further into the house.

Senator Thorne mixed a most yummy cocktail. I sipped a red-orange drink of Drambuie with a hint of Campari and lime. As with all the times I’d had dinner here, the Thornes were hands-on hosts. The senator mixed some of the drinks himself and Mrs. Thorne was all Southern hospitality in the way she minded the kitchen and made her guests feel at home.

A mild buzz relaxed me enough to mingle and let Grant talk business with some of the guests. Valerie avoided me and I was fine with that. I didn’t have time to pretend to be civil with her. A young man I hadn’t seen before handed me a martini.

“The Senator sent this over,” he said, smiling sheepishly. He had a mop of curly red-brown hair, a pale complexion, and a smattering of freckles. He was dressed in slacks and polo, a man of medium height. “Andrew Spencer.”

I placed my empty glass on the side table meant for used glasses and accepted the proffered drink. “Blaire Callahan.”

“I know. The senator mentioned I should check out the woman who’s finally captured his son’s heart.”

I emitted a nervous laugh, and took a healthy sip of the martini. “I think the senator is jumping to conclusions. And why would he send you over?”

The smile faded. “I’m one of his political advisors.”

My lips paused on the rim of the glass. “Ah …” So it began, the grooming and coaching, making sure I didn’t embarrass a potential first family. They were definitely jumping the gun; they had not even heard the best part of me. I couldn’t help it and snickered.

Andrew’s mouth quirked into a wry smile. “Just to make it clear, it wasn’t really the senator’s idea. He couldn’t care less who his son dated.”

I didn’t offer anything, just waited for him to explain further.

“It’s my boss, Gus,” he admitted. Of course, the senator’s main political strategist would take an interest in me. I was surprised he hadn’t sent out PIs to check out if I really graduated from Swift River High School or if I went to the Reynolds Community College or if my parents were Mike and Beth Callahan. He probably didn’t think I’d last as Grant’s girlfriend given my aversion to public engagements and thought Grant was just keeping me as a fuck-buddy. I wasn’t related to a Rockefeller, Koch, or a Kennedy. I didn’t have the right pedigree.

“And so far, am I passing the bar?”

“If you ask me, I think you’re perfect.” He grinned at me.

“Are you softening me up for the kill?” I laughed.

“Baby.” Grant appeared by my side, drawing me close. He was frowning at Andrew, but I wasn’t certain why. “I see you’ve met Mr. Spencer.”

“Andy, please,” the senator’s man offered. “Your father sent me over with a drink for Blaire. Looks like we all need to get acquainted since the campaign meetings are gearing up.”

“I’d appreciate it if you don’t approach Blaire when I’m not around.”

“Grant,” I chided. “Andy here is just being friendly. It’s fine.”

“I’ll decide what’s fine, Blaire,” Grant answered. I bristled at his tone, which was only further exacerbated when Andy’s brows shot up in response to my man’s highhandedness. I didn’t want to cause a scene, but I had a strong urge to stomp on Grant’s shoes and regretted not wearing stilettos.

“All right, folks!” Mrs. Thorne’s voice rang through the room. “Dinner will be served in ten minutes. Please take your seats in the dining room.” She paused. “Also, there are new faces around and it would really please me if you don’t do the couples thing but, rather, mix it up.”

“What’s the matter, sweetheart, you don’t want to sit beside me?” Senator Thorne’s baritone interjected.

Everyone laughed as Amelia shot her husband an exasperated look. She clapped her hands to facilitate the migration of the crowd from the parlor area to the dining room.

Andy, unfazed by Grant’s hostility toward him, offered me his arm. “I guess, we should acquiesce to Mrs. Thorne’s wishes. Blaire?”

Grant’s grip tightened on my waist. I looked up at him, but he was staring Andy down.

“Andy, save a seat for me,” I said before turning to face Grant.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he growled.

“I’d like to ask you the same,” I returned calmly. “What you said to Andy earlier was uncalled for. You’re making me sound like a doormat.”

His expression softened. “Blaire, that’s the last thing I want to make you feel.”

“Well, I didn’t like it,” I retorted. “Look, Andy seems like a nice guy.”

“He was hitting on you.”

“There’s hitting on me and there’s harmless flirting. He’s practically a kid. Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“What if I am, Blaire?” Grant challenged. “You know how hard it is for me to leave Tyler alone with you? I’m jealous of every man who has the privilege of breathing your air.”

“Okay, my man,” I cupped his face between my hands. “This is a good time to chill. We’re going to walk in there like civilized people. You’re going to let me sit beside Andy. I hope to have decent conversation with your father’s political strategist and promise not to embarrass you.”

Grant scowled at me and jerked his face out of my hands. “How could you think you’d ever embarrass me? That’s uncalled for, Blaire.”

“So was your highhandedness earlier.”

“Okay, I get it,” he grumbled. Grant took my hand and led me to the dining room and walked me to where Andy stood to hold the chair out for me. It didn’t escape me that some alpha-male posturing came from Grant’s side, but Andy was surprisingly good-natured about it. After all, he did work for Grant’s father. It was best not to aggravate the son too much.

When I sat down, Andy leaned in close and whispered, “I hope I didn’t cause trouble between you and Mr. Thorne.”

“No, but you were very brave to offer to be my dinner partner.”

“Your boyfriend is scary,” Andy said. “But I think Mrs. Thorne is scarier.”

I burst out laughing. I wasn’t meaning to because, even without looking, I could feel the weight of Grant’s glare behind me.

“Shit,” Andy murmured. “Maybe your boyfriend is scarier.”

“He’s glaring at us, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” my dinner companion sighed dramatically. “Should I be worried about walking to my car later?”

“I’m not sure.” I was surprised that it was an honest reply.