Disclosure of the Heart (The Heart Series) (23 page)

“Well, the White House doesn’t comment on the personal lives of the president or his staff.”

“Great. Thanks for calling. I really appreciate it. Let’s both get some sleep.”

“Huh.” He was quiet for a second. “That’s it? I thought you’d be overjoyed.”

“I’m just too tired.”

“I guess so,” he said, clearly on to me. “We can talk tomorrow. Good night.”

I ended the call and tossed my phone on the nightstand. There was barely any sleep for me for the rest of the night. At any moment, I was sure Juan Carlos would call with a proposal, and I had no idea what to say.

When I got out of the shower the next morning, I saw the light blinking on my phone. Still in my towel, I dripped water on the tile as I listened to Juan Carlos’s message.

“Morning,
mi reina
. I’m sure you’ve heard by now. Just so you know, I hate the press.”
He then laughed at his own joke and said,
“No need to return the call. I know you’re leaving, and I don’t want to talk to you on the phone anyway. I’ll see you when you get back. Have a safe trip. I love you.”

I’d dodged a bullet. Thank God he wanted to propose in person. I quickly typed him a text.

Screw the press (don’t quote me on that).
You still surprised me. Love you.

Before I hit send, I stared at the last part. Did I mean it? What would he think? I decided those two words really didn’t matter. They could mean a lot of things, including absolutely nothing.

The following morning in London, I arrived at Number Ten Downing Street ahead of President Logan and his entourage. My staff and I tried to shoo away some of the crazy tabloid photographers by promising them an extra photo-op just for them later that day with the First Lady. As I talked to various paparazzi and my counterpart on the British prime minister’s staff, I would occasionally catch a glimpse of a man who had to be Adam, though I wouldn’t look long enough to see. Most of the White House Press Corps hadn’t shown up yet, but Adam must’ve been there early since he’d been on London time for a few extra days.

I wondered how he was doing. The last update I’d heard on his father’s health had been last week, and the prognosis hadn’t been good. How was Adam handling it? Was he lurking around trying to talk to me? I felt a pang as I realized that, in my heart, I hoped he was.

But the pang morphed into a deep gut wrench when the next logical question hit me. Adam was back in London now. Had he seen Felicity? Had he broken it off, or had all my dithering made him decide he wanted to stay with her? I wanted to throw up just thinking about it. I was in the thick of work, though. I couldn’t have an emotional breakdown at Number Ten Downing Street. I may have been crazy, but I wasn’t insane. Straightening my suit jacket, I blocked the thought and asked one of the British staffers a stupid protocol question just to dive back into my job.

Later, as the prime minister and president took questions together at their joint press conference, Adam was in the best location at the front of the press gaggle. I had a great view of him, but he couldn’t see me. Still, I tried not to stare. I looked everywhere I could to avoid him, surely making me appear very distracted.

When it came time for the two leaders to pose for photos, the room erupted with the noise and glare of mass photography. Matt leaned down and whispered in my ear, “You keep scanning the room. What are you looking for?”

“Nothing.”

“You look exhausted.”

I sneered. “So do you.”

“Touché.” He smiled. “Thinking about the wedding?”

I flinched so hard Matt stepped back. He stopped smiling and went from nosy-boss to big-brother mode. “It’s okay. I won’t ask about it again.”

“Thanks.”

I nervously smoothed my hair, which I’d pulled up into a bun. If Matt thought I looked exhausted, I must’ve looked like shit. Plus, I was an emotional mess, crying off and on for the last few days. I let my eyes wander one more time over to Adam, and this time I saw he was eyeing me, though his eyes revealed no intent. He only gave me a blank stare before quickly turning away. It was the kind of look you might give someone you either despised or simply had no opinion of whatsoever because they were so inconsequential to you. And now Adam had felt the need to look at me that way.

My brow furrowed, and I frowned. Maybe I didn’t need the guy to be in love with me, maybe I could live with him being with Felicity or some other bimbo, but I couldn’t stand him hating me. While the light of flash bulbs filled the room and reporters shouted additional questions to the president, I finally accepted Adam actually
had
been my friend all along. You cared what a friend thought of you.

The fact was, Adam had been there for me as I grieved for Lauren. He’d been there when I was seventeen, and he’d even let me cry on his shoulder now. And what had I done? I’d rejected him when he had asked me to come with him to see his dying father. I was a shitty person. I wouldn’t want me as a friend either.

After the car accident, I’d learned to deal with pain—emotional, physical, and that which intertwined the two. For purely emotional pain, I’d stuff it away in tidy boxes, and over time, I’d usually get enough courage to unpack it all, sort through it, and move on. Physical pain was another matter. I endured it immediately, rolling along with the agony. I just knew Adam was rejecting me, and it created a combination of pain there was no packing away.

Waves of hurt slammed into my heart as I made my way through the day. Adam’s words from the weekend haunted me. I’d seen him angry with me once before. This time he was infuriated, but the theme was the same: I was being cruelly selfish simply to avoid potential anguish.

When I finally made it to my hotel room late that afternoon, I shut the door and dove into my bed. I threw a pillow over my head, recounting what he’d said on Sunday, but that scene got mixed with the old one in my mind. It was like he’d re-infected an old wound.

“But we could be friends. And you never know what’s going to happen in the future,” Adam said.

In a total panic, I sputtered, “I can’t do that. I can’t watch our relationship die a slow death. I think we should break up when you leave.” I gulped in air before my finale. “I don’t think we were meant to be. I think this is it.”

“Are you mad? You think that because we’ve got…geography problems, that we should just split up?”

Nodding, I started to cry. “I think it would be easier.”

“That’s complete bollocks. How long have you been thinking about this?”

“A few weeks.” I started bawling, and my feelings tumbled out of me. “I can’t do it, Adam. It’s too much. It will be easier for me if you just leave. If I don’t have to talk to you when things are impossible between us, it will hurt, but not for so long.”

His eyes narrowed at me. I’d never seen him so upset. “I can’t believe I have to say this to you, Nicki, but you’re being fucking selfish as hell. This solution may be easier for you—although I doubt it is—but it would be hell for me. There are two people in this relationship, not just you.”

Reliving that moment made me cry all the tears again. The last time I’d rejected him, I had pushed him into the arms of Kate. Was it going to be Felicity this time? Or would anyone be better than me?

Chapter Thirteen

A L
ITTLE
A
FTER
N
INE
that night, I stood on the porch of what looked to be a stately brick house. After a deep breath, I rang the doorbell, which chimed loudly both inside and out of the house. A moment of silence passed, and then I heard shoes patter toward the door.

When the door opened, a handsome woman in her sixties studied me quizzically. She looked familiar to me. Did I look familiar to her?

“Well, hello there!” She reached out for my hand. “Nicki, this is such a wonderful surprise.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Kincaid. I apologize for the late hour. It’s the soonest I could get away.”

“But of course.” She grinned. “I believe there was a state dinner tonight you probably attended. It’s lovely for you to visit regardless of the time. Do come in.” As I crossed the threshold, she called down the hallway, “Adam, stop with the dishes. Come here!”

I smiled, fighting knots in my stomach that were the most nervous of my life.

She turned back to me. “I want you to know how impressed we are with you. It’s such fun watching you on television.”

“Thank you. That’s nice to hear.”

Down the short hall, Adam appeared, no longer in his suit from the morning but now in jeans with a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder.

His mother turned to him. “Adam, you didn’t tell me Nicki was coming.”

Our eyes met, and he smiled. Staring at me, he replied to her, “I didn’t know if she would.”

“I’m sorry I’m so late.” The trip to Cambridge was so impulsive I really hadn’t planned out what I might say. Repeatedly apologizing for being late seemed liked a safe thing to do.

He took the dishtowel off his shoulder and placed it on a side table. Taking both of my hands in his, he kissed my cheek. “Better late than never. Thanks for coming, sweetheart.”

He’d called me sweetheart again; maybe I was forgiven. “I’m happy to be here.” And I truly was. He released my hands, but I slipped my right one back into his left. This time, I didn’t want to let go.

When I looked over at his mother, I saw she’d been watching every one of our moves. She sputtered, “Oh. Yes. I should tell Dad that Nicki is here. He’s probably still awake watching the telly.”

As she hurried down the hall, Adam turned back to me and grinned. “Thank you for coming.”

“I wanted to.” If only I could’ve thought of something more eloquent to say.

“You look tired.”

I’d known I looked like shit, and now he confirmed it. I grumbled, “It’s been a hard week.”

“You and me both,” he said, squeezing my hand.

Then Adam’s mother called from the hallway, “Adam, your father is awake, and he’d love to talk to you, Nicki.”

Still holding my hand, Adam led me through the tasteful living room and down a dimly lit hall. I noticed there were scads of family photos lining the walls. I slowed down so I could examine each one.