Save the Date (7 page)

Yet he wasn’t interested. Not even a glimmer. Where was the old Alex? The last year had been tough. He’d lost his brother, his game, and possibly this race for Congress. The Playboy was tired. And wrung out like a sweaty gym towel. There had to be more than this, and he was determined to find out what it was. The women in his life the last few years had been after only one thing—fame. Alex was ready to get back to real. People he could count on not to run to
OK!
magazine for just the right price. But he had a new goal, and that didn’t include a wife or children for a long time. He had things to accomplish first. He owed it to his brother’s life to do that.

“You’re going to have to let your voters in,” Lauren said. “They need to see more of that.” She pointed to the magazine. “That’s our best counterattack for the smear campaign that’s begun—whether it’s reality or not. We need you to convey good American values. Family. Stability.”

David nodded. “And we need you on board.”

“Let’s get one thing straight.” Alex shoved the magazine away. “You two work for me. I pay you for guidance and suggestions—not demands. Are we clear?”

Alex caught the look Lauren passed her fellow advisor. He hadn’t dominated the field by missing signals.

“Alex”—David cleared his throat and took one step back—“we secured the primary because your competition was weak, but this is a whole new ball game. The campaign is done unless we see some drastic action. If you want this as bad as you say you do, you have to fight for it. It’s time to show a new dimension.”

“The only thing that’s going to save you is one heck of a Hail Mary.” Lauren gathered her briefcase and stood. “So find us one.”

“ . . . word today that eye witnesses have come forward. They claim to have information about NBC reporter Ben Hayes and CNN’s own Will Sinclair, brother of former Warriors quarterback Alex Sinclair
.”

Lucy dropped the pen in her lap as the TV caught her attention. Details of the breaking news filled her living room.

“
One Durnama native told investigators he saw only one man pulled out alive from the school before being taken in an unmarked van. This is the same school Will Sinclair helped establish, bombed in a terror attack when insurgents stormed the village. And so the search now continues in what might be a hostage situation. Back to you, Anderson
.”

That poor Sinclair family. No matter how much they had left Lucy high and dry, she would never wish this kind of pain on them. Closing her eyes, Lucy said a prayer for the missing reporters. For the families who had lost children. And even for Alex Sinclair.

And for herself.

Because as her eyes opened and returned to the list on her laptop, she crossed off her last potential donor. At this point, Saving Grace had mere months left of funding.

Running a hand over her face, Lucy could feel the puffiness in her eyes. She had avoided the mirror all day, but she knew what she’d see there. Bloated eyeballs that made her look as if she had spent the entire evening chugging pints and searching for a lampshade to pull over her head. Her night had been far less glamorous. She had tossed and turned in her bed, until finally she had gotten up before the sun to spend a few hours facedown on her carpet, praying.

Where she had fallen asleep. And had the carpet imprints to prove it.

In front of her, a Bible sat open on the coffee table, the ribbon marker lying across a page of Romans.

We know that all things work together for the good of those who love God: those who are called according to His purpose.

Well, there were definitely
things
going on, but she sure couldn’t see any good in them.

The knock on her door momentarily pulled her out of her misery. Checking the clock on the microwave, she managed a smile. Matt had arrived. Punctual as ever.

If there was any bright spot in her week, it was this man. He had been auditing hotels on the West Coast, but he had called her every day since the gala. And tonight they were finally going to have that talk. She knew he was waiting on a decision from her about picking up where they’d left off. Still, something in her held back. No doubt it was fear of being hurt again. But so far there were no signs she had anything to worry about with the new and improved Matt.

Reaching her fingers into her hair, she tousled the curls, hoping to give the limp locks a boost.
I really think I’m ready for this, God. Finally, a home of my own
.

Lucy opened the door. And smiled.

“Flower delivery.”

And there he was, standing in her doorway, a bouquet of roses so big, she couldn’t see his face. But she had his every feature memorized anyway. At one time had planned on seeing it for the rest of her life. And now that he was there on her front stoop, she was nervous as a sixteen-year-old on her first date.

“They’re beautiful,” Lucy said.

Matt held them out to her, then kissed her cheek. “So are you.”

She quickly put the flowers in a vase in the kitchen and then joined him in the living room.

“You look tired.” His face was etched with concern as he sat down on her couch.

Lucy sat next to him, twisting her hands in her lap. “Monday I have to tell my girls that we’re moving at the end of September.” The numbers just weren’t there. And no amount of begging for donations had increased the bottom line nearly enough.

“Aw, Luce.” Matt folded his hand over hers. “Don’t give up yet.”

“I have to be realistic.” Though she had been praying for a miracle, a winning lottery ticket hadn’t miraculously shown up in her mailbox. “I’ve been trying to contact my landlord all week. He doesn’t even have the guts to return my calls. So today I’ve been working on alternative places for us to move—maybe even temporary housing for each girl.” Being moved again was not what the girls needed. They needed stability, security.

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” His positivity grated on Lucy’s tired nerves, but she pushed her irritation away as Matt’s fingers caressed the top of her hand. “Have you given any more thought to . . . us?”

Of course she had. And if she didn’t quit thinking about it and her menagerie of other problems, she was going to be completely gray by spring. “I just don’t know, Matt.” She couldn’t let herself get too caught up again. Though she couldn’t deny the smallest flicker of hope. “You want to know my honest take on this?”

“I want us to always be honest.”

A little honesty would’ve gone a long way two years ago, so the breakup wouldn’t have hit her like a runaway train out of nowhere. “My guess is that the job in Dallas wasn’t all that you thought it would be. You’re a guy who likes routine—likes the familiar. So when the job didn’t satisfy you and something came available in Charleston, you moved back. And since you apparently don’t have someone in your life, you thought you’d see if you could reconnect with me.” She sat back and crossed her arms. She had to make sure he knew she wasn’t just going to fall into his arms with gratitude.

“That’s a fair shot.” A half-smile appeared on his face, a look so achingly familiar, she wished his scowl would return. “But you’re wrong.” His voice was a rough whisper as he leaned closer. “I made partner within six months of being at that firm. I had a house in Highland Park. Expense account. But I just went through the motions every day. Because you weren’t there. And I knew you couldn’t relocate. Lucy, it was nothing without you.”

Her heart was a polar ice cap. And it was melting.

His eyes searched hers. “I left it all for you. I’m here because of you. My whole life . . . is you.”

Forever
.

I’ve waited forever for those words
.

Matt’s fingers slid up her jaw and cupped her face. “I love you, Lucy.” She sighed as his lips hovered over hers. “And I want you to be my wife.”

Chapter Seven

W
hen Alex Sinclair wanted something, he let nothing stand in his way. And today was no exception.

Standing in the small foyer, Alex could hear music blasting down the hall. “I’m here to see Lucy Wiltshire,” he said to the resident assistant, taking in the spa-like colors of Saving Grace.

“Uh-huh,” came her breathy reply.

He patiently stood and waited for the awestruck female to reclaim her power of speech. He was, after all, a citizen of this town. When would people stop treating him like some Tinseltown star and begin acting like he was one of their own?

“Do you have an appointment?” she finally asked.

“Yes.” It wasn’t a total lie. Lucy had suggested Alex visit the home.

“Okay.” The young woman dropped her car keys, then bobbed down to the pick them up. “Okay, um, we’re headed out to the library, so, um . . .” More staring.

“Follow Etta James?”

The R.A. nodded, then stumbled over her feet before walking out the door.

After a burnt run to her apartment, Alex was glad to finally track Lucy down. Because last night he had slept a solid six hours for the first time in a year. Finally something in his life felt right. All he needed was her cooperation.

As Etta’s smooth contralto got closer, Lucy’s own voice got louder. Rounding a corner, he found her in a large dining room, belting out “At Last” and dusting a china cabinet.

He stood still for a moment, enjoying the scene. She swept her rag across the front of the cabinet with a flourish, swaying to the music. She was nowhere near on beat and singing at the top of her voice somewhere in the key of awful.

From the curls that were captured in a lime-green paisley scarf to the blouse that looked like it came from her mother’s high-school senior portrait, Lucy was the antithesis of traditional glamour. She was unrefined. A fully loaded weapon, ready to shoot through decorum and convention.

And she was his Hail Mary.

Tilting his head at her attempt at a high note, he observed that Lucy didn’t have the willowy figure of many of his recent dates. She didn’t have a face that would sell the latest Parisian perfume. Nor did she possess that confident air that ladies in his world wore like a necessary undergarment. But if he peeled back her hostility and the years of her bratty youth, Lucy Wiltshire was still a traffic stopper.

The certainty finally clicked into place as Alex locked his sights on his target.

And let the ball fly.

“What a beautiful rendition.”

Lucy spun on her black patent flats. And screamed like a banshee.

He found the sound system and turned the music off. “You clearly missed your calling.”

She clutched her heart, her eyes wide, then mutinous. “What in the
world
do you think you’re doing?”

“You look good with dust on your nose.” Like an angry pixie.

A fury stared back at him. “I repeat, what are you doing here?”

“You invited me, remember?”

“Yes, as in a scheduled visit. Not when everyone is gone. Who let you in?”

“A young woman. Nice girl, though not much of a conversationalist.” Alex smiled. “Maybe she was just trying to soak up as much of your concert as she could before she left.”

“I have a phone, you know. You could’ve called—instead of sneaking up on me like some sort of creep.” She twisted the dust rag in her hands. “A musically critical creep.”

“Actually I went to your apartment, but Mr. Jenkins said you’d be here. Pleasant guy.” Alex dropped his voice a notch. “Though the wife’s a little bit of a nag.”

She had a giant dust bunny occupying a prominent place on her blouse, but he decided to be a gentleman and not tell her.

“If you were as good at politics as you are at stalking, I think you could make it all the way to the White House.”

The words sliced, but he’d belt out some blues himself before he’d reveal that to her. “Funny you should mention politics—and thank you for the vote of support, by the way. I like a girl with vision.”

“And I like a guy who knows when to leave when he’s not wanted.”

“You really should lock your doors.” He shook his head as he counted the chairs at the table. It could seat half of Congress. “Anyone could walk in here.”

“True.” She didn’t let her gaze waver. “There are pervs all over this town.”

“Speaking of that, according to the papers and gossip rags, you and I are dating.” His lips stretched into an easy smile. “I’m a little hurt you don’t make me dinner more often, but other than that, you’ve been an exemplary girlfriend.”

If she were a tiger, she’d be snarling and baring her claws. “Look, unless you have news about Sinclair’s donation, we really don’t have anything to say to one another.”

“Oh, but I think we do.” He advanced another step. “I have a proposition for you.” He continued as she opened her mouth. “Hear me out before you decide to get offended.”

“Talk quick. I have a lunch date.”

“Cancel it.”

“Go away.”

“I said cancel it.”

Lucy blinked. “Why?”

That look in her eyes. That uncertainty. Alex found he liked her unbalanced. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I realize after that
People
story half the female population is mad at you right now, but I’m not interested.” She pursed her lips as if in thought. “I do have a fourth cousin in Savannah who’d probably be up for a date.” She turned back to her cabinet. “She’s eighty-five.”