Save the Date (29 page)

“I know a good nursing home.” Julian tossed his Starbucks cup in the trash.

“I’m almost through with my shopping.” Lucy couldn’t contain her exasperation. She didn’t know what had possessed her to allow Julian and Clare to tag along. Lucy still had to buy a few things for the Fourth of July trip to the Sinclairs’ home on the Isle of Palms, a small beach community not too far from Charleston. She had one present already for Alex, but she still needed another before they left tomorrow.

“My earrings are so sparkly.” Clare held up her new purchase. “They look at least five carats. Martha Beaumont is going to think these things are real and just flip. Lucy, dear, is this what you kids call bling?”

Julian stared longingly toward J. Crew. “It’s called poor taste.”

“Let’s have a bite of lunch, shall we?” Clare looked toward the food court. “I’ve always wanted to try a Happy Meal. It’s on my bucket list. Item number twelve.”

Ten minutes later Lucy sat in a chair next to Julian and watched Clare’s cheeks sink in as she drank her shake from the straw. Her lips squeaked with the effort.

“That’s the sound of your arteries clogging.” Julian squeezed out some dressing on his salad and threw up a wave at their posse of bodyguards at the table beside them.

“Shall we pick up our lesson on the history of Carolina politics?” Clare swirled her fry in a small mountain of ketchup.

“My brain is overloaded from last night,” Lucy said.

“You’re doing really well, hon.” Julian patted her hand. “Today’s paper showed Alex finally beating Robertson by a hair.”

She had been so excited for Alex. They had celebrated over breakfast in a local café, but instead of being thrilled with the tide change, he wanted more. He wouldn’t be satisfied until it was a large margin of victory. And somewhere along the way, Lucy had begun to want the win just as much as Alex. While he got frustrated with all the pomp and circumstance, he genuinely enjoyed the time he spent with his voters one-on-one. And though he still denied it, last week Alex had spent an entire morning listening to a trio of out-of-work shrimp boat workers, only to mail them each anonymous cashier’s checks a few days later. It was the action he enjoyed over the policy. He had more in common with Will than he could see.

Lucy rested her chin in her hand and sighed like Clare.

As the election drew closer, Alex just worked harder. He was losing sleep, forgetting to eat, and growing more distracted by the day.

He had holed himself in his office for the last three days, and aside from the quick breakfast this morning, they had barely spoken. She wondered if this concentration on a new campaign strategy was simply an excuse to get out of memorial preparations for his brother. The family had decided to wait until after the Fourth to honor the life of Will Sinclair. While Alex might have given her a glimpse of his hurting heart a week ago, he had shut the door on it ever since. She worried about him. Prayed for him.

Lucy tuned back in just as Clare was gaining steam about the all-important topic of hemlines. “It can’t be too short, but you’ve got good legs—much like I did—so no sense in hiding them. You can’t go wrong with a sweater set, but . . .”

The fashion droning just kept going, so when Lucy’s phone’s rang in her purse, she couldn’t answer it fast enough.

A deep voice greeted her, sending a tingle down her spine. “What are you doing?”

“Listening to Clare’s dissertation on how much leg I should show.”

“Finally a topic I know something about.” She could hear the classic rock in the background and she knew Alex was in his car. “Can you tear yourself away?”

“Only if you have something less painful in mind. Like Chinese water torture.”

“Go pick up Marinell and her mom.” He read off an address, and she hurriedly scribbled it on a napkin. “I’ll be waiting.”

The Disney Channel played on the TV as Lucy walked into Carlos’s room. Marinell and Mrs. Hernandez sat in hard blue chairs against a window and watched him sleep. He had been placed on a kidney donor list, and the doctors were still awaiting test results to see if Marinell or her mom were a match.

Lucy spoke in hushed tones. “Alex called and would like us to meet him. I think he’s found you a place to stay.”

Marinell repeated the message in Spanish, and Mrs. Hernandez cast an anxious look at her son.

“We won’t be gone long,” Lucy said. “He’s just a few streets away.”

After some prompting from her daughter, Mrs. Hernandez nodded. She gathered her faded leather purse, then leaned down and kissed Carlos’s pale cheek.

It was a short car ride to Warren Street, and Lucy pulled the Honda into an uneven driveway next to Alex’s Mercedes. The home looked like it was from the last part of the nineteenth century, and its clapboard siding had hung on through every decade.

The door opened and Alex stepped onto the porch. “It’s not much to look at,” he said. “But it’s the best I could do on such short notice.”

The floorboards groaned as the women stepped past Alex into the open living room.

“I can have someone here within the hour to clean it, and it probably needs a few pictures on the wall.” Alex shoved his hands in the pockets of his gray slacks. “But it’s within walking distance of Carlos, and it’s yours if you’re interested.”

“How much?” Marinell asked as family spokesperson.

“Free.”

Marinell didn’t know what to make of that. “But why?”

“Because I want to.” Alex turned those chocolate eyes on his fiancée. “And because it makes Lucy smile.”

It did more than that. It made her heart twirl until she could hardly catch her breath. Alex could buy and sell the whole street, but did he have any idea what a priceless gift he had just offered this family?

As Marinell and her mom conferred, Lucy crossed the worn floor and stood before Alex. A million words pranced on her tongue, but none seemed to do the moment justice. Simple honesty was all she could manage. “You make my head spin, Alex Sinclair.”

He brushed a stray tendril from her face, then rested his hand on the side of her neck. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

But wasn’t it? She couldn’t afford to fall in love with this man. When the election was over, he would walk away. And she would be alone. Again.

“What you’ve done . . . it’s incredible.”

Her insides melted as he looked at her. “I couldn’t stand to see you upset.”

“That’s not the only reason you did this.” She pointed her finger and tapped his oxford shirt. “You have a big heart in that brawny chest of yours.”

He laughed and linked his fingers through hers. “Don’t tell any of my old teammates. I have a vicious image to protect.”

“My lips are sealed.”

He bent his head and placed a kiss on her smiling mouth. “So they are.”

In the corner of the room, Esther Hernandez fired off something in Spanish, then nodded her head. A decision had been made.

Lucy moved to Alex’s side as the woman walked toward them. Mrs. Hernandez stared up at the chiseled quarterback who towered over her at least a foot, then threw her arms around his waist and squeezed with all she had.

Marinell grinned as she joined them. “My mother says she’ll take it.”

Chapter Thirty-two

C
ould this SUV be any more of a cliché?”

Alex drove his black Escalade past a gas station offering discount cigarettes and neon water noodles. “It’s a perfectly
nice
vehicle.”

“All you need is to roll down the windows and blast some Snoop Dog.”

His smile just made it worse. “Somebody is cranky.”

The leather seats did cradle Lucy's back nicely, but she would just be keeping that to herself. “I didn’t notice the rims, but I’m sure they’re silver and obnoxious.”

“We have the whole weekend for you to check out my rims.”

Lucy gave a half-hearted glare and took a bite of one of Julian’s homemade cookies. At the back of the Escalade, Julian and Clare sat watching a movie on her new iPad.

“I still don’t see why we had to bring her.”

Alex stopped at a red light. “Because she was going to be alone for the Fourth and you would’ve felt bad.”

“It wouldn’t have lasted long.” Clare was growing on her like mold, yet Lucy had been looking forward to a weekend without her. Clare was anxious for Lucy to welcome her into her life as more than a mentor, but she just wasn’t there yet.

Beside her Alex downed a package of peanuts and took a swig of Gatorade. He tapped the steering wheel to “Born in the U.S.A.” and sang off-key with the Boss. From his navy Polo T-shirt to his leather flip-flops, he was the picture of summer relaxation. And it was a lie.

The tension rolled off him so strongly, it was giving
her
a splitting headache. With the excuse of meetings and conference calls, their ten a.m. departure time had turned into three p.m. Then five.

Alex’s messenger bag sat at Lucy’s feet, and she bent down to find a magazine. “
The Wall Street Journal
. You know there are big words in that, right?”

He cranked up the air and slid her a look. “You pick fights when you get nervous.”

“No, I don’t.” This was a man trained to read signals. It was completely obnoxious.

He leaned into her space and nudged her. “Are you seriously that anxious about this trip?”

“Maybe. But why would that make today different from any other day?” Her every moment in this fake relationship had made her queasy and anxious. It was a wonder she hadn’t taken up smoking and street drugs.

His voice was pure Barry White. “Do I make you nervous?”

“Only when you talk yardages and goalies.”

He closed his eyes in pain. “Forgive her, Lord. She knows not what she says.”

Lucy smiled and ran her fingers along the leather of her armrest. It was like sitting in a recliner and just another reminder that girls like her didn’t belong in his million-dollar world.

He threaded his fingers through hers and settled their hands on the console. It would be moments like this she would remember most when their engagement ended. The feel of his strong hand, the unexpected touch to her face at just the right time. The silent way he communicated his support, even his care. And he did care about her. She just didn’t know how deep it ran.

“So you were telling me why you’re nervous.”

Because you’re too near. Because I think about you all the time. Because I don’t want to get my heart broken into so many pieces it can’t ever be glued back together
.

She decided to change the subject. “Alex . . .” Her finger itched to trace that arrogant smile on his face. “Who’s Kat?”

Amber sparks flashed in his eyes and the easygoing grin disappeared. “No one.”

“She calls.” She thought of that night in the ER. And all those messages when she’d had his phone. “A lot.”

The cornered look was gone, and the Playboy sauntered back to the ten-yard line. “Are you jealous?” He picked up her hand and skimmed his thumb over her palm, which had healed quite nicely.

“Are you kidding?” What were they talking about? It was hard to maintain a conversation while trying to keep from purring out loud. “I, um, hope she makes you deliriously happy.”

“That’s your job.”

“It’s just the day CNN broke the story—”

“I have a whole arsenal of people who work for me.” Now his fingers were making figure-eights along her wrist. “She’s just one of them. Nobody to be concerned with.”

“Hey, Alex?”

His brow slowly raised. “Yes, Luce?”

She leaned over the wood-grained console. “Cheat on me, and I'll rip your arms off and feed them to Squid and Lou for dinner.”

His laughter filled the front seat. “Duly noted.”

“Nice little place you have here,” Julian said from the backseat.

Little
was laughable. A large iron gate greeted them, and Alex reached out his window and punched in a number. Swaying palms and tropical greenery lined the driveway that led to the mint-green three story. Behind three large columns it seemed to be all windows and doors, set off by black shutters that hung like welcome-to-the-beach signs.

Alex grabbed their bags, and Lucy walked behind him, gaping at the porches that jutted out from all three levels and the ocean backyard. He had told her it was a simple place, but as she walked across the marble floor, she doubted anything this family did was on a small scale. Though monstrously large, it was cabana chic. Seashell–colored walls. Paddled fans that hung from tall ceilings. Creamy slip-covered couches in the living room accented with faded floral pillows.