I can’t believe I just did that. I almost feel like someone else completely took over my brain and my body, except she did exactly what I wanted to do.

“I know,” I say, keeping my voice low. “I couldn’t help myself.”

He kisses me again, slowly, like he’s thinking, and puts one hand on my cheek, brushing my hair back. Even though I think I might have bruises from what we just did, this gesture is so gentle and tender that I close my eyes, tilting my head into his hand.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he says. “It doesn’t have to be secret, in the dark. Let me help you.”

He’s right. I know he’s right. My dumb schemes aren’t going to work, and the only other person I could think of to help was my ex-husband. And I think he’d be willing to help me get out, but it would be...

Well, weird is kind of an understatement. I take a deep breath.

“I don’t want to be your problem,” I say, taking his wrist in my hand. I kiss the inside of his palm, and I can see his eyes tracking me, even in the dark.

“You’re not a problem,” he says, and he sounds like he’s amused. “You think that was problematic?”

I grin, despite myself.

“You think it wasn’t?”

He twists our hands together and puts his forehead against mine.

“If I didn’t want to help you I wouldn’t offer,” he says. “I’m dead serious, Ruby. Come with me. We could go right now, just leave from this convention center.”

I swallow hard. I’m tempted. I’m tempted as hell to just walk away from all this, to leave this dumb building and never look back, but he doesn’t even have a car here. We’d literally be walking, we’d have nowhere to walk to, and I don’t even have a change of clothes with me.

Not to mention we’ve been sleeping together for a grand total of four days. It’s probably been the best four days of my life, but even so, I’m a little gun-shy at the moment, a little skeptical of men who think they can fix my life or even help.

It hasn’t exactly worked out great in the past.

“Not right now,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say, because I want to trust and believe him but I don’t know if that’s smart.

“I knew you’d say that,” he murmurs.

“I thought you wanted your job back,” I point out.

Gabriel runs his fingers through mine, quiet for a moment.

“There are a lot of jobs,” he says.

“Not a lot of Secret Service jobs,” I say. I don’t know why I’m arguing with him about this, but I can’t help it.

“I’ll figure it out,” he says, shrugging. He’s got a hand on my hip and he’s stroking my side absentmindedly with his thumb, in this way that he does when he’s not really paying attention to what he’s doing.

“We have to go,” I say, even though it’s the last thing I want.

Leave, I think. Leave now, just walk away, don’t look back. It could work out.

“You're gonna have to put on one hell of a damsel-in-distress act,” he says, teasing me. “Which is what you deserve for pulling this, by the way.”

“I was just so scared that I couldn’t help but run away and cry hysterically, and you had to calm me down before I’d come back,” I say, blinking up at him innocently.

Gabriel chuckles.

“Absolutely, positively terrified of that guy,” I say, trying not to smile.

He kisses me one more time. I smooth my my hair, pull my skirt back down, and make some attempts at adjusting my ruined underwear and pantyhose, praying that the runs don’t show below my skirt.

Then Gabriel opens the door, holds it for me, and smacks my ass as I walk through.

* * *

Ray, my father’s head of security, pats my shoulder awkwardly. I pretend to hiccup, doing my level best to force some tears out of my eyes. It’s not going great.

“You’re okay,” he says, over and over again. “We got you, and ain’t nothing going to happen, all right?”

I sniffle — or I try — and nod. We ran into Ray first, standing backstage. My father is still glad-handing his fans, posing for pictures and kissing babies and all that, and I have no idea where my mother is. Probably lecturing one of my siblings about something.

“Thanks, Ray,” I say, keeping my voice a whisper so it doesn’t betray me. “It’s just so scary.”

He pats me again, standing arm’s length away. It’s the least comforting shoulder pat I think I’ve ever felt, but at least he’s trying. Ray’s always at least meant well. Gabriel stands next to us, looking professional and serious, his hands in his pockets.

A minute later, my mother bustles through a curtain and makes a beeline straight for me. She’s smiling, but I know better than to think she means it.

“Where were you?” She exclaims. She’s overacting, but so am I.

I take a deep breath and bite my lower lip, hoping I look pathetic instead of annoyed.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just — I couldn't — when that man asked, and then they went and arrested him, and — I can’t believe he was here.”

I’m hoping my nonsensical, broken English helps sell it.

“Sweetie,” my mom says, giving me an awkward hug. “They’ve got him. You’re fine.”

“I just had to go where he couldn’t find me,” I whisper. It’s more nonsense, but I’ve got a part to play.

“They’ve got him locked away now,” she says, petting my hair. “He can’t come get you any more.”

In that moment, I feel awful. She’s my mom, and I’m lying to her and sneaking behind her back, going against everything she’s ever taught me. I’m disrespecting her in her own home, the woman who gave birth to me and nursed me and stayed up with me when I was sick.

She hugs me for another moment, then pulls back, holding me by the shoulders.

I’m sorry, I think. God, I’m sorry.

“But you can’t just disappear like that,” she goes on, a hard edge in her soft voice. “Especially not with—”

Her glance flicks to Gabriel, then back to me, and now there’s something steely and suspicious in her gaze. She clears her throat.

“The bad guy is locked away, but we can’t have any questions about you. Not right now,” she says.

I stare, my breath caught in my throat.

Did she really just say that? Seriously?

Every nice thought I just had about my mom flies out of my head. I feel suddenly like I’m suffocating, trapped in a tiny, invisible cage, so small I can’t even move my arms or scream for help.

Tears prick at the backs of my eyeballs, hot and angry and indignant at my helplessness, and I do the only thing I can.

I start crying, my whole body nearly vibrating with sheer rage.

“Shhh, shhh,” my mother says, hugging me again. Automatically, I embrace her back, letting the tears roll down my cheeks.

Over her shoulder, Ray looks away uncomfortably, but Gabriel looks back at me, steadily, and cracks one knuckle.

I sniffle.

“You’re all right,” my mother says, as comfortingly as she can muster. “Come on, let’s go find your father and get out of here, go back home.”

I just nod into her shoulder, swallowing. After a moment she pulls back, takes me by the arm, and starts leading me away.

As I pass Gabriel, he catches my eye, the muscles in his jaw working. He doesn’t have to say anything for me to know what he’s thinking, that he heard what she said, that he’s furious and indignant too.

And it makes me feel better. My life may be pretty fucked, but I’ve got one person on my side.

* * *

My father’s not happy, but I’ve seen him angrier, and my mother doesn’t mention that Gabriel and I both disappeared for a while. Or, at least she doesn’t mention it in front of me.

Maybe she’s actually protecting me for once, shielding me from my father’s certain wrath. Or maybe she’s waiting for more proof. Or, hell, maybe she’s just waiting until I’m gone so they can discuss it in detail.

I don’t risk going to Gabriel’s that night. I’m tempted, crazy tempted, because even more than I want him I want to be with him.

But I don’t. Instead, I get myself off quietly, under the covers, and eventually I fall asleep, dreaming of tigers pacing in gilded cages.

* * *

Two days later, I’m sitting in my father’s waiting room, in front of Mason, watching him fidget. He keeps glancing from me to the picture of Lilah on his desk, like looking at her will somehow erase the Fallen Woman image I’m burning into his retinas.

I feel like I’m torturing the poor kid, but I don’t even have to do anything. My presence in the same room as him clearly makes him uncomfortable. It’s not my fault.

I uncross and re-cross my legs, because my foot is starting to fall asleep, and adjust my skirt down over my knees. I swear Mason leans closer into his computer monitor and turns faintly pink, and I have to resist the urge to adjust my bra too, just to see how he’d react.

Finally, the door to my father’s office opens, breaking the incredibly awkward silence, and he gestures me in. Behind me, Mason looks relieved, even as he glances at a picture of Lilah again, like she’s somehow supporting him through this difficult time.

“You needed to see me?” my father says, checking his watch.

I gather my wits, straighten my shoulders, and get right down to business.

“I think I should have a job,” I say. “And Rosalie’s is hiring wait staff.”

My father stops mid-sit, hovering over his chair, and just looks at me for a moment.

Then he falls heavily onto the leather, eyes narrowed, like he doesn’t think he just heard me right.

“Only part-time, of course,” I go on. I’ve rehearsed my reasoning a dozen times over the past two days, and it’s coming out flawlessly. “But I need to be useful somehow, and learning to serve others with a smile on my face would be excellent practice for another marriage.”

He frowns.

“Besides, you know that Rosalie’s is owned by Godly people,” I go on. “You wouldn’t need to worry about that, and I’d like to have something to do. A way to meet new people. Learning homemaking is fine, but if I’m going to be helpful to my future husband, I need to know a little more about the ways of world.”

He watches me, tapping a pen on his desk, his forehead knitting together.

He’s thinking about it. He’s really actually thinking about it, and I can hardly believe it.

None of what I said is true, obviously. I couldn’t care less about serving others with a smile on my face, but I do care that a big portion of a waitress’s income is cash tips.

I’ve got zero doubt that, should I actually be allowed to get a job, my paychecks would be monitored somehow. But cash can be squirreled away, hidden in underwear drawers and beneath mattresses.

Last night, I spent a little while pretending to ‘update the backend’ of my mother’s homemaking blog, and I looked at apartment rental prices in the towns nearby. If I could find a roommate, I’d be looking at about $400 a month.

It’s $400 a month more than I make now, but it’s not impossible.

“I don’t know,” he says slowly. “You know the man we detained last weekend wasn’t your stalker, so he’s still out there.”

“Has he sent any letters recently?” I ask, as innocently as I can. I know he hasn’t, not since the letter about the county fair, because Gabriel would tell me.

“No,” my father says. He taps the pen a few more times. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. In light of the events of last weekend, I’ve decided that you need an extra security detail.”

My stomach drops. I swear my blood runs cold for a split second, and I feel a little dizzy before I return my face to its normal, sweet expression.

“Why?” I ask, trying for a puzzled smile. “If that wasn’t him, then...”

He gives me a long, long stare, like he’s trying to decide exactly what to say.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate that a single man is your sole minder,” he finally says. “Frankly, Ruby, I have some concerns regarding you and Gabriel. It’s inappropriate for him to be so familiar with you, so I’ll be adding a second guard, just to see that there’s no impropriety.”

I think I might puke. Right here, on this rug, in front of my father the Senator, I am going to puke.

I swallow. I don’t puke, even though I’m sure my face is giving me away.

“Father,” I say, like I’m shocked. “There hasn’t been... with Gabriel... he would never...”

I trail off, like I’m too shocked to say look at me with lust in his heart or bend me over his kitchen counter while I moan his name. He’s done both, after all.

“Right now, neither you nor I can afford the appearance of impropriety,” he says. “This race is much closer than I would prefer, and your reputation isn’t exactly pristine.”

You have no fucking idea, I think.

I feel like I could shoot flames from my eyes.

“We’ll discuss your employment prospects when we return from Charleston,” he says, standing again.

It’s not a ‘no,’ I think, and force another smile.

“Thank you, Father,” I say.

He nods once, dismissing me, and I leave through the heavy wooden door to the hallway, then go straight to the bathroom, the only place I can really be alone during the day.

I sit on the toilet lid, fully clothed, cover my face with my hands, and take a couple of deep breaths.

He knows, I think, over and over again. He knows, he knows, he knows.

Maybe he doesn’t know for sure or he doesn’t know the specifics or he just thinks that I might be interested in Gabriel, but he knows there’s something.

We should stop. Just for a little while, throw them off the trail, and maybe they’ll stop watching so closely and I can have a job and then get an apartment and leave finally and we can...

I don’t know what. I don’t know what the next step is, beyond get out of here, and I feel like I can barely think two steps into the future right now. I take another deep breath and try to calm myself down and not start panicking.

Step one, cool it with Gabriel for now. Just for a few nights. It’ll be okay.

Step two, get this job at Rosalie’s or skim from your mother’s blog or something. Just figure it out.

That’s all. Baby steps. It’ll be okay.

I sneak out that night any way, and I practically launch myself at Gabriel. We don’t even make it to the couch.

Afterward, I tell him everything. We agree that I shouldn’t come back for a couple of days, that it’s worth missing out on this to figure things out.

“My offer’s still open,” he says, lying across me, his head in my lap as I stroke his hair.

“Which one?” I ask, sated and sleepy and teasing. “You make me a lot of offers.”

“To leave with you. Now. Tonight.”

It’s tempting. Holy God is it tempting, but there’s something holding me back, because I’m sick of being tossed from person to person and told what to do. I’m sick of other people having control of my life, and even though it’s Gabriel, and even though he’s different from everyone else I’ve ever known, I need to fix this myself.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” I say quietly. “It’s just that...”

He smiles, eyes closed.

“Don’t worry, I get it,” he says. “This is why I like you.”

Right then, I think my heart might explode.