“Are you sure everything is okay?” I ask him again as the chauffeur-driven car comes to a slow stop. He’s been acting strange all week. In fact, he’s been acting weird for weeks now. We’ve spent the last three nights at his place, and I’ve woken two out of the three to find him sitting in a tobacco-colored Chesterfield chair watching me sleep.

Picking up our entwined hands he brings them to his lips. They’re warm and soft when they touch my palm. It tingles. “It is as long as you’re by my side,” he tells me with a quiet reverence that makes me breathe a tad easier. Bringing his free hand around the back of my head he draws me close, placing a light close-mouthed kiss to my red-stained lips.

“You’re going to get my lipstick all over you,” I tease.

He growls and cups my chin. “I think that color would look splendid smearing my cock tonight, don’t you?”

I go instantly wet. “I’m not really sure it’s your shade.”

“It’s my shade, beautiful. Trust me.” I laugh when my eyes drop to the nice big bulge in his sleek gray suit pants.

I want nothing more than to go home, crawl into bed, and make love to him all night long, but we’re already running late from the against-the-wall orgasm he gave me before we left. “Your father’s probably waiting for us.”

“Probably. I love you, Willow Blackwell,” he whispers, lips grazing mine.

“I love you more, Shaw Mercer,” I tell him.

“I doubt that, Goldilocks.”

With one last lingering look that says so much but leaves me with this gnawing feeling at the same time, we exit the car. He wraps an arm around my waist, drawing me close as we start up the sidewalk to the Four Seasons where this all started.

It’s surreal. One of the worst nights of my life turned out to be one of the best. If I’d never met Noah that night, I know I wouldn’t be with Shaw now.

Minutes later we’re striding into the grand ballroom where I had my “date” with Paul Graber. I shudder. I hope Shaw never finds out about that. I’m sure I’d have gotten an earful by now if he knew.

“Shaw!”

His name is yelled the second we step into the oversized space. His father, who is waving us down, is about ten paces away, standing next to a very elegant Adelle on one side, Reid flanking him on the other. In front of them are a couple of well-dressed older gentlemen, one of them who looks to be… “Is that the governor?” I ask Shaw in a whisper.

“None other.” He beams. He’s so incredibly proud of his father his entire being radiates.

Shaw twines our fingers and makes quick work around the throng of people waiting in line to shake Preston Mercer’s hand until he steps to his father’s side. He pats him on the back twice with his free hand. “Hey, sorry we’re late. I got buried in something important.”

He says this with sheer deadpan as he pretends to rub an itch on his nose but glances at me with this transparent smirk tilting his lips. I feel warmth crawl from my chest up my neck and into my cheeks as I fight to bite back a smile. He was buried, all right. Three fingers deep. The same ones he discreetly smells.

Good God almighty, that wicked man.

“You all right, dear? You look flush,” Adelle’s sweet voice sings.

“Oh, yes, fine.” My eyes are filled with reprimand as they land briefly on Shaw, who doesn’t care in the least. That smirk has now turned into a full-fledged grin. Bastard. “It’s just a little…warm in here.” I pluck at the loose neckline of my dress for effect.

“That happens with so many people in an enclosed space,” she easily agrees. I hear Shaw lightly chuckling as his mother pulls me in for a hug, followed by Preston. After my introduction to not only Governor Malcolm Presley but the state’s lieutenant governor as well, I stand dutifully beside Shaw, his arm snaked around me once again, while he makes small talk look easy.

I feel Reid’s eyes on me, burning through the thin skin of my cheek but I refuse to turn. I haven’t acknowledged him once. He’s tried calling me five times over the past week. Ever since the article broke. He’s left five voice mail messages and sent three text messages. All relatively vague, but with the same message, the same urgency: “I need to talk to you about something important.”

Well, I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to listen to anything he has to say. In fact, I’m pretty damn mad at him for telling Shaw about our engagement when it should have been me, no matter the circumstances. Shaw had every right to be upset I hadn’t told him about it, but the time never felt right. Kinda like the whole threesome fact he kept from me, I suppose. But I think until we both knew where we stood with each other, we were each holding secrets in reserve.

I still have one, though. The hardest one yet: Violet.

My sister’s memory is hallowed to me. It’s surprisingly harder to talk about her than my father’s death. For some stupid reason, I want to keep her all to myself.

Maybe it’s because I’m the only one left who actually carries her whole memory. Maybe it’s because I don’t want her judged for how she died and as soon as you mention “drug overdose” there’s a certain stigma attached that most people can’t see through to the person underneath.

It took me over a year to tell Reid about Violet and even then, I didn’t tell him outright. He followed me one day to the cemetery. He thought I was cheating on him because I’d disappear for hours at a time and I wouldn’t tell him where I was going.

My fingers automatically go to my throat. A month after he followed me, he gave me the abstract silver willow he commissioned a friend of his to make. “So your sister is always with you,” he told me, misty-eyed. I broke down. Regardless of what is between us now, I’ve treasured it ever since. I always will. It’s weird, probably imagined, but I feel her in it.

Shaw’s deep laugh blasts me back to attention. I glance up at his profile, so strong and beautiful. I love him so much. This final barrier needs to go. I need to tell him. I want to tell him. And I plan to tonight. I also plan to use that opportunity to talk about Annabelle. To see if he’ll share anything about her with me. I just know I saw the same haunting in her eyes as I did Violet’s. Only I recognize it for what it is now, when back then I didn’t have a clue.

As if my thoughts conjured her, Shaw’s little sister appears right in front of us, along with a rather nerdy-looking young man about her height on her arm.

“Annabelle,” Adelle coos. She air kisses her cheek before hugging her warmly. “You look absolutely breathtaking, sweetie.”

And she is. She’s an undeniably sophisticated stunner tonight in a mint green, floor-length, two-piece ball gown. It’s slightly daring because of her bare midriff, but the high neck and high waistline are overall conservative. Her raven hair is twisted into a simple updo and her makeup is subtle. Utterly perfect.

She looks happy. Those shadows I’m sure I glimpsed a few weeks ago seem noticeably absent. Maybe I was wrong about her after all?

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Shaw quips, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

I hug her quickly. “You look gorgeous,” I whisper. She smiles and blushes at my compliment.

I turn to the governor who called my name, debonair in his charcoal suit. “Did you say your last name was Blackwell?”

Saliva floods my mouth. All the happy feelings that were fizzing pop, one by one. I nod, whispering a yes.

“Any relation to the late CJ Blackwell?”

I was prepared for it, yet still I suck in a sharp breath at those words strung together. Shaw’s muscles stiffen and his hold on me noticeably tightens. Heart pounding in my chest, my eyes glide over Reid. His gaze is stone hard. But it’s not on me and it’s not on the governor. It’s on my boyfriend. And Shaw’s is on him.

“Yes. I’m his daughter,” I answer, my voice wobbly. I lean on Shaw for support.

The corners of his mouth turn down in sympathy. “I thought so. I didn’t know him well, but we were both members of the Rainier Club. He talked about you and your sister often and with pride. I just thought you would want to know he was well respected and is very missed.”

Oh fuck. The only thing that’s worse than him talking about my dead father is him talking about my dead sister. Especially since no one here knows about her besides Reid.

“I didn’t know you had a sister, dear,” Adelle innocently states.

My eyes go to her. I can’t find my voice. Perspiration breaks out on my forehead and my heart kicks violently in my chest until it hurts. I’m acutely, painfully aware that everyone is waiting to see what I’m going to say. “I—”

I don’t. Not anymore. She’s dead and gone, just like my father.

My ears start ringing and the noise drowns everything else out except the faintly spoken words that trickle down from above me on a waft of wounded air. “I didn’t either.”

I am so sorry.

“You look pale,” someone says. It sounds far away. “Are you all right?”

I’m dizzy. Sweating everywhere.

“I—”

My legs are heavy, my knees soft.

“She needs some cold water on her face.”

I think I might faint.

Someone grabs my elbow and guides me forward. I’m aware of Shaw’s arm slipping from me but not much else. I’m cold, numb, and so fucking sorry that Shaw had to find out this way.

My feet move automatically, one in front of the other, each step shaky and uneven. I don’t know who has me or where we’re headed but soon the noise fades away and I’m being pushed down onto a cushioned bench.

I stare at the creamy tiles beneath my heels, my body weighing two tons. My eyes blur until someone squats in front of me with a wad of wet paper towels. They’re pressed to my forehead. They feel cool. They feel good. I grab them and pat my whole face.

After a few beats, the ringing in my ears subsides. My heart slows. The constriction in my lungs abates. I’m so embarrassed I could die.

“Better?”

My eyes raise and connect with ones that are a mirror of her brother’s.

I nod.

Annabelle blows out a long puff of air and visibly relaxes. A dry grin crosses her pretty face. “I thought for a second there you were gonna take a header.”

I huff a short laugh. “Me too.” I run the damp towels down either side of my neck, enjoying the cool sensation.

“I mean that would have been one way to make headlines, I guess.”

My smile is forced. I feel more clear-headed with each passing moment. “I don’t think it takes much where your brother is concerned.”

“The press does love him,” she says with a fair amount of mockery.

So do I.

The door to our left pushes open and a woman with a phone pressed to her ear stands there. She looks frazzled. When she sees us, her eyes scan the rest of the ladies’ room lounge before she turns and walks back out. Just as the door closes I spot Shaw. Our eyes connect briefly before he’s out of sight. He looks concerned. And hurt. Very, very hurt.

Shit.

My head falls against the wall in defeat. I suck.

“You like my brother, huh?”

I roll my head toward Annabelle. Her eyes are big and blue and look otherworldly. “Very much.”

One side of her mouth kicks up. She watches me quietly. She’s choosing her words. It reminds me of Shaw. A lot about her reminds me of Shaw. “He watches you like a hawk.”

“He’s very attentive,” I agree.

“I don’t mean Shaw. I mean my father’s campaign manager.”

Wow. Uhhhh…what the hell am I supposed to say to that? Do I agree? Deny? Play dumb? “Oh, ah…it’s complicated.”

“He loves you.”

Holy balls. Straight to the point, this one. “Well, I don’t—”

“Shaw. Shaw loves you.” She’s changing subjects so fast my neck’s getting a kink. “I mean so does the other guy, but it’s obvious you only have eyes for my big brother.”

I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to say so I keep quiet.

She slips off nude sandals and slides her feet to the cushiony leather beneath us, pulling the fabric of her long skirt over her bent legs. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she lays her cheek on them and stares at me.

Those shadows I thought were gone are back. Maybe they never left and she simply hid them like an expert. Like Violet. Like me. I want to pull her down into my lap and stroke her hair. Tell her she has a whole life ahead of her of her own choosing and not to give in to them. I want to beg her to not end up like Violet, breaking everyone who ever loved her into invisible pieces they’ll never find again.

“Do you love him?” I’m trying to figure out which him she’s referring to when she adds, “My brother. Do you love my brother? If I had to guess I’d say you do but I want to be sure.”

She’s a miniature Shaw. Fierce protection must be a Mercer trait.

“Yes,” I reply. “More than I thought possible.”

“Will you love him no matter what?”

I shake my head at her Spanish Inquisition. It’s sweet. “We all have flaws, Annabelle. When you love someone, you love the whole package. The good and the not so good. You don’t get to choose which pieces you want. You take them all.”

Moving her chin to knees, she stares ahead in our small space. “What if he did the worst thing imaginable but he did it to protect you? Would you still love him then?”

I roll her strange question around for a few seconds. Does she know something I don’t or is she only trying to determine how deep my love for her flesh and blood goes? “I can’t imagine he could do anything that would make me stop loving him,” I tell her truthfully. “But if he did, you can’t just turn love off with the flip of a switch. It doesn’t work that way.”

“I know,” she mumbles before falling quiet. Two more women who are chatting excitedly about meeting the governor enter, barely acknowledging us as they pass by and head through the swinging door into the restroom. I make it a point not to look for Shaw this time.

I think the twenty questions are over when she asks, “Have you ever done anything you regret?”

She can’t see my sardonic grin but it’s there. “Too many to count,” I admit quietly. Take now, for example. I should be out apologizing profusely to the man I love that I kept such a big part of my life from him, yet here I am—hiding in the restroom like a coward instead.

“Do you think some mistakes are unforgivable?” Her question is softly spoken, almost inaudible.

I study her. She’s still staring forward, eyes barely blinking as if she’s in a trance. My gut screams this is no longer about Shaw. “Nothing is unforgivable.”

She lays her cheek on her knees again, eyeing me. “Do you really believe that?” The skepticism in her tone makes me think that’s not what she expected.

“Yes. I really believe that. What kind of world would this be if we didn’t forgive each other for our mistakes?” Blue eyes blink back at me. They hold mysteries and a deep well of darkness she fights falling into. “Do you believe that, Annabelle?”

I haven’t spent a lot of time with Annabelle, but it’s easy to recognize she works overtime trying to convince everyone she’s happy and fine. I know the tactics. In this moment, though, she seems young and fragile and incredibly vulnerable. I think about asking her a few questions of my own, wondering if she’d trust me enough to answer me, but the moment comes and goes in a blink and that cocky attitude she dons like a second skin is back and in my face.

“Do you want to marry him?”

I laugh before I realize she’s serious. “I—” I pause, contemplating how I’m going to field this one. There’s no other answer but yes, yet I certainly don’t want Shaw thinking I’m planning a wedding with his sister behind his back in the ladies’ room of the Four Seasons the same week I told him I loved him. “He would have to ask me first.”

“If he asked you, what would you say?”

This is like having a conversation with Sierra. They would get along splendidly, a modern-day Thelma and Louise.

I inhale deeply and consider my next words carefully. “If he asked, I suppose I would say yes.”

“You suppose or you know?”

I toss the now warm paper crumpled in my hand into the garbage can beside me, chuckling. Shaw failed to mention his sister is a Rottweiler with a bone. I eye her and go for it. “Yes. The answer would be yes.”

Her smile reaches her eyes. She pats my leg. “Good to know.”

“Did I pass?” I ask as she slips on her shoes, one by one.

“With flying colors.”

With her hands pressing on the bench, she stands, turns, and gazes down at me. “My brother is probably five seconds away from storming in here to check on you himself.”

Yes. Then I’ll have some explaining to do. Will he ever believe I meant to tell him about my sister tonight? I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. “I’m sure he is. Can you…”

“Yeah. I’ll tell him you need a minute.”

She holds out her hand and helps me up. “Thanks, Annabelle.”

“Thank you for making my brother crazy. It’s…” she pauses as if swallowing a snarky comment. “I’m glad he has someone.”

My lips turn up gently. “Thank you.” I’m making my way into the restroom when I hear my name called softly behind me. “Yeah?” I turn around.

Annabelle throws her gaze to the ground quickly, then back to me. She presses her full lips together in a nervous gesture. “I’m really sorry about your dad…and whatever happened with your sister to make you look so sad.”

A lump grows in my throat. Pinpricks bite behind my lids. “You remind me of her,” I croak.

A weird look crosses her face. “How?”

I swallow, stalling for time. I don’t want to tell her how I see the same caverns I saw in Violet and I’m worried about her falling into one, so instead I say, “She was musically gifted, like you. She was funny and gregarious and outspoken. Spontaneous and sensitive. Observant. Misunderstood, I think. And smart. Incredibly smart.”

She looks away but not before I see her eyes glass over. Smiling a tight, quick smile, she mumbles something and exits, leaving me standing there, alone.

I walk to the mirror and take stock of the woman looking back. The blood has returned to her face, though she still looks a little sallow. Faint red streaks the whites of her eyes. A lifetime of sorrow pulls down the corners of her mouth. She looks like she could end up sad and alone with twenty-three cats, crocheting tiny hats for tiny newborns if she doesn’t cut the shit.

When I talked to Shaw about my father, it was a relief of sorts. When I let everything out about Reid, I felt the same way. So why I’ve been holding back the most impactful loss of my life, I don’t really know. Change is hard, even if it is needed.

After a few minutes of putting myself back together, I step into the hallway. My heart pounds when I see Shaw pacing, stabbing a hand through the side of his hair. His attention zeros in on me and he freezes. A few people pass between us but he never takes his eyes from me. He’s breathing hard. His lips are pressed in a hard line.

“I’m sor—”

“Not now, Willow.” His gruff demeanor makes me want to bawl. “My father is giving his speech any minute.”

“Oh.”

In three strides, he’s at my side. Gently taking me by the elbow, he walks quickly. With his long legs and my heels, it’s hard to keep up but I’m not going to complain or slow him down. We’re here tonight, two-and-a-half weeks from the election, to support his father’s last fundraiser. With the latest poll results, along with the outpouring of support Preston Mercer has tonight, I’d say there is no way he’s not winning this race.

But all I care about right now is mending fences with Shaw.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him before we spill from the relative quiet of the hallway. Regardless of the fact he just told me he doesn’t want to talk about it, I can’t keep my apology inside. “My sister…it’s, she’s—”

He stops so abruptly I run into the back of him and stumble. His fingers wrap around my biceps, steadying me. Once he’s sure I’m not going to fall flat on my face, he walks me backward until my spine bumps with a coarse wall. He comes flush with me.

Palming my nape, he hooks his thumbs under my chin and holds me prisoner in his power. His blue gaze grips me hard. It’s intense, a little scary. The dark stubble he left on his jawline only serves to add an extra edge of sharpness to him. He’s magnetic. I’m soaking.

“She’s one of those sacred secrets it’s hard to share,” he says in an oddly even voice.

My exhale comes out in a rush. Blinking fast, I nod, not feeling as if I deserve his understanding but glad I have it anyway.

“I’ll wait as long as you need, Goldilocks. Whenever you’re ready, say the word and I’ll drop everything.”

I breathe his name in relief and the mixed emotions I’m grappling with start oozing out of their lockbox. “I was going to tell you about her tonight. I swear. After…” My gaze flits to our right where all the activity abounds.

He clamps his jaw together and moves his head in agreement, though I’m not sure if he believes me or not. But I don’t get an opportunity to ask because in the background we hear someone announce Preston Mercer a second before the crowd goes wild, clapping, cheering, whistling.

“We need to go.” His lips settle on my forehead a brief moment.

“I love you,” I whisper before letting him step back.

His thumb comes under my chin, pressing up until my head tilts all the way back. Resolve burns into me. “I’m not going anywhere, Willow, okay?”

I sag in relief and let him drop a sweet kiss to my mouth before we’re off once again.

When we ease in at the front of the crowd beside Shaw’s siblings, Noah is there, seemingly without a date. He gives us both a questioning once-over before wrapping me in a quick hug. He asks me if I’m okay. I tell him yes.

It’s so loud all I can do is wave to Lincoln and Gemma who are to Shaw’s left. Shaw’s younger brother looks uncomfortable in his snazzy vest and fitted pants and is standing next to a handsomely dressed man several inches taller than him who is paying him all kinds of attention. It appears Gemma is trying to wrangle three unruly children by herself, her husband nowhere in sight. She hands Eli off to Annabelle so she can pick up Cora, who is tugging relentlessly on her skirt. Shaw scoops up Nicholas and sets him over his shoulders allowing him to clearly see his grandpa. He beams and starts bouncing up and down until Shaw tells him to sit still.

It’s utter chaos and I love that I’m part of it.

“Thank you for coming,” a loud voice booms over the melee.

My attention goes to Shaw’s father who is standing on the main stage, which is raised a few feet above us. He’s behind a makeshift podium grinning, waving, letting his supporters go wild. Just to his right is Adelle, hands clasped demurely in front of her. Reserved pride is written on the fine lines of her face as she gazes at her husband, knowing it’s his time to shine but also knowing she’s the invisible backbone behind a great man’s success.

And off to the mayor’s left stands Reid. He’s clapping along with the group, but he’s not looking at the crowd or at his candidate. His hawklike stare is homed in on Shaw. If hate had a color, he’d be wearing it.

As if he feels me, his eyes flick from Shaw to me, and the air in my lungs freezes. The hate quickly dissolves but he has this look about him that’s hard for me to decipher at first.

But then I see it. Clear as day. He wants me back. He’s told me as much. But now it appears he doesn’t care who knows anymore. It’s dangerous, what he’s doing. Not only is it dangerous, it’s not at all welcome or appropriate, given his station with the Mercer family. He’s supposed to protect them from scandal, not create one.

People continue to clap. Reid continues to stare. Sheer determination is mixed with unmistakable proprietorship. A triple dose of barefaced yearning is thrown in for good measure. It’s there, simmering. A noxious combination that’s ready to boil over and scald everyone around him.

It’s coming. Fast. Without warning. And when it does, no one will be sheltered from the damage it will cause.

No one.