The Candidate's Wife (6 page)

His mood lightened a little. "And be on TV, too?"

She nodded and grinned down at him. "And be on TV."

"Cool." His smile faded again. "But what about him?"

"Who?"

"That guy. Is he going to live with us, too?"

"Adam? Of course he will. I'm going to marry him tomorrow, Danny." She could hardly believe it herself.

Danny's mouth turned down at the corners. "Do I have to call him Dad?"

"Nope. You can call him anything you want."

A wicked gleam crept into Danny's blue eyes. "Anything? Even 'Big Fat Stupid Jerk'?"

Julia laughed and gave him a mock blow on the shoulder. "No, not that, you clown. I mean, you can call him 'Adam', or a nickname or something." Her smile faded. "Danny, I know this is a big change for both of us. It's okay to be scared."

Danny stared up at her with wide eyes. "Are you scared, Mom?"

"Yes, a little." Her admission held more truth than she wanted to admit. Her feelings for Adam grew with each passing moment, feelings her new
fiancé
clearly didn't share. "That's why I need you with me, Danny. We're partners, remember?"

Slowly, he nodded. "Yeah, Mom. Partners."

Julia heard raucous male voices downstairs. "Okay, partner, you pack up those books, and I'll go rescue Adam from your uncles."

"Okay." He pushed himself off the bed. He wasn't reconciled to the new circumstances yet, but he'd come around, or so she hoped. Julia checked her watch. "Fifteen minutes, and then you come downstairs and say goodbye to Gran. She's going to drive up to the city with your uncles."

She hurried down the stairs. For all her teasing, she did worry a little about the meeting between Adam and her brothers. Dylan, Matt, and Sean still remembered Julia's first husband. After Frank's disappearance, Julia's brothers had scared off more than one potential suitor. Not that Julia had minded. Frank's desertion had hurt her badly, and for a decade she'd devoted herself to her son and her studies. Now her brothers weren't going to go easy on her new
fiancé
. Adam would have to convince them he meant to take good care of their baby sister.

Julia's brothers were plain-spoken, rough-mannered men who always meant well but could get somewhat overzealous in her defense. She doubted they would take to the smooth, sophisticated politician she'd married. She couldn't imagine anyone more unlike her brothers. If they were tractor pulls and beer, Adam was opera and fine champagne.

To her amazement, and her slight chagrin, her brothers barely glanced at her as she rushed into the living room. They were too busy laughing at the
punch line
to one of Adam's jokes. Dylan, the eldest, clapped Adam on the back. He turned to Julia. "Good catch, Sis. This one's a keeper."

"Gee, thanks," Julia said, with a hint of sisterly sarcasm. "I'm so glad I have your approval." Julia braced her hands on her hips. "What, no hug?"

Three burly men, their dark hair falling over their eyes, closed in on her. She caught of glimpse of Adam, who watched the spectacle with an amused grin, and then her brothers crowded around and squeezed her until the nearly crushed the breath out of her. She gasped and they finally backed away, grins plastered to their faces.

Dylan gently pushed Julia into a reclining chair. "So, Sis, how come the shotgun wedding?" he asked. Dylan shoved a thumb in Adam's direction, "Did this guy knock you up, or what?"

Adam just laughed. A moment later, after Julia let out a shriek of outrage and flung an embroidered throw pillow at her eldest brother, he was practically rolling on the floor. He seemed to find her family incredibly amusing.

Eventually, Julia just sat back and watched her husband-to-be charm her mother and brothers. He accomplished the task as easily as he recruited undecided voters. She stifled a sigh. Great. Just great. By the end of the afternoon, he'd have them eating out of his hand.

She'd half hoped her family might talk her out of the marriage. No chance of that now.

She would actually have to go through with it.

The next afternoon, Julia stood before a full-length mirror in the bride's room of the city's largest and loveliest Gothic church. She surveyed the results wrought by two seamstresses, a hair stylist, and a make-up artist. They had all done impressive work. No more dowdy graduate student. In fact, she barely recognized the woman in the mirror.

Julia wore a long gown of ivory silk charmeuse. Seed pearls decorated the tight bodice. A wide silk ribbon emphasized her waist, and a chiffon train swirled when she moved. The dress's material hugged her curves in a way that made her feel all but naked, especially after almost a decade of hiding her body in shapeless dresses and power suits. For years, Julia had chosen clothing that said "serious," "thoughtful," and "efficient," the attributes Julia had most wanted to convey in graduate school and on the job.

This dress deserved an entirely different set of adjectives. Desirable. Feminine. Even sexy. Words Julia hadn't applied to herself in at least a decade, if ever. It made her nervous. Nervous, and something else. Strangely excited, she decided. Deliciously alive.

Her ebony hair hung in gleaming waves around her shoulders. Her skin shimmered under a light dusting of powder. Crimson lipstick highlighted her lips. She looked -- and felt -- like a princess out of a fairy tale. She was even marrying royalty of a distinctly American sort, the only son in a long-standing political dynasty. And, like many royal marriages, hers had little to do with love.

Phil stepped into the room. "Ready, Julia? It's almost time."

Julia met his kind eyes in the mirror and gave the old man a tentative nod. She couldn't trust herself to speak. Instead, she lowered her veil over her face, then turned a slow pirouette. Phil smiled his approval. "You look absolutely lovely."

"Thank you." Her voice shook. "Phil -- how many people are waiting out there?"

"Quite a few, my dear. That's the point. We want to show you off to the world."

Julia swallowed hard. "And the press?"

Phil offered his elbow. "In the second row, cameras ready. This is the biggest story of the week. Who is Adam Carmichael's mystery bride?" He gave Julia another gentle smile as she threaded her arm through his. "I know this isn't easy, Julia, but you'll do fine. Just paste on a wide smile and let Adam do all the talking. Except, of course, when it's your turn to say 'I do'."

Julia nodded grimly and let Phil lead her out of the bride's room and toward the Siamese teak doors leading into the sanctuary. The doors swung open as the organist began to play the wedding march from Mendelssohn's "A Midsummer Night's

Dream". Julia saw dark, polished wood, marble statues, and soaring arches. She had only a moment, however, to admire the jewel-bright panels of the stained-glass windows behind the pulpit before Phil gave her arm a light, encouraging squeeze. "That's your cue, my dear. Let's go."

As she started down the aisle on Phil's arm, Julia's head swam with the perfume of a thousand red roses. Hundreds of heads turned in unison at her entrance. A throaty murmur swept through the pews. Other than a few campaign staffers and her family in the front row, Julia recognized none of the faces in the crowd.

Her knees felt weak as water as she made her way toward her groom. Once, halfway to the altar, she stumbled and would have fallen if not for Phil's steadying hand. No one seemed to notice. Julia clutched at her bouquet and reinstated her tremulous smile. Flashbulbs exploded like lightning bolts all around her. Trapped, panicked thoughts whirled through her mind. Too late to turn back now. Too late to change her mind. Now she had no choice. She had to go through with it.

Adam's face loomed before her. He stood very stiff and straight. A smile curved his chiseled mouth and softened the sharp planes of his face. His hair gleamed in bright contrast to his black cutaway tuxedo. He wore a pearl gray vest with a matching ascot, and looked calm and proud and so handsome that suddenly Julia felt drab in comparison. But no, she could not mistake the surprise and admiration lighting his eyes as he watched her slow approach. Julia's heart sang with feminine pride. It was folly -- she was deceiving herself -- but she couldn't help wanting Adam to think her beautiful.

Phil stepped aside. Adam took Julia's hand in hers. Julia could have sworn she read a fleeting tenderness in Adam's expression. She had no time to ponder it, however, as the ceremony began. In her nervousness, she barely heard the words. Only "to love and to cherish" penetrated the fog, and when she promised, Julia barely managed to choke out the words. Her "I do" sounded faint and tentative in the huge sanctuary. Adam's, of course, rang out clear and sure.

Then, suddenly, Adam was lifting her veil. He took her face gently into his hands. His lips whispered over hers, a fleeting gesture that nevertheless gave her a tantalizing taste of his cool, firm mouth. Her pulse quickened as Adam's touch sent exquisite sensations coursing through her body. Her lips softened and parted, but he had already pulled away, his eyes faintly mocking.

"Smile for the cameras, Mrs. Carmichael," he muttered, and with that, reality came crashing back.

For Julia, the reception was a blur of faces, names, handshakes, kisses, and congratulations. The questions she waved away with vague, polite smiles. Thankfully, Adam never left her side. Julia wanted to believe that his attentiveness sprang from concern for her welfare, but she suspected he merely wanted to prevent any faux pas she might commit. This was a strange new world for a girl from Cypress Point, the daughter of a bus driver and a preschool teacher.

Julia drank none of the pricey champagne that flowed like a river through the crowded room, but her mind reeled anyway. She'd eaten nothing all day except for a few bites of the enormous wedding cake, a mouth-watering concoction smothered in French butter-
crème
frosting, white chocolate shavings, and fresh raspberries.

Now she stood in the receiving line with Adam. He took her hand and leaned over to whisper in her ear. She shivered at the sensation of his warm breath against her earlobe. "How are you holding up?" he asked.

Despite her dizziness and exhaustion, Julia flashed him a brave smile. "I'm fine."

"Good. We're almost done."

The next wedding guest approached, a burly, balding man with a familiar florid face and an aura of self-possession. "Senator! Congratulations," he exclaimed He shook Adam's hand, then took Julia's and cupped it between his cool, fleshy palms. "Greg Evans at your service, Mrs. Carmichael. I'm honored to meet you."

Julia smothered a nervous giggle. She wet her dry lips. "No, Justice Evans, the honor is all mine. I've read and been impressed with so many of your decisions. I especially admired Glantz vs. Susman, and your arguments dealing with the right to. . . ." She trailed off, blushing. She felt slightly giddy, like a starstruck teenager meeting a member of her favorite band. "You probably don't want to talk about court decisions right now. Sorry, sir."

He gave a warm belly laugh as he released her hand. "Call me Greg, please." He turned to Adam. "How'd you ever get such a sweetheart to marry you, Carmichael, ornery as you are?"

Adam grinned. "Just lucky, I guess."

"Damned right you were. She's smart as well as beautiful. And who's this little fellow?"

Evans shook Danny's hand, then moved on as more guests approached to introduce themselves. Julia recognized many of these faces from her studies. In a daze, she shook hands with the state controller, the senate majority leader, the attorney general, and the publisher of the Times.

Adam scanned the room. "One more introduction, I think. My mother."

"Oh, of course. I'm surprised we haven't met yet."

Adam shrugged. "Mother's not pleased with me at the moment. I think she resents the fact that I didn't ask her to approve the bride."

He pulled Julia across the room to where a brutally thin woman in a beaded gown stood surrounded by a group of admirers. She turned to flash Adam a frosty smile as the others drifted off, leaving the three of them alone. "Adam, darling, congratulations! And to you, too, of course. . . .um. . ."

"Mother," Adam said smoothly. "This is Julia. Surely you haven't forgotten my bride's name."

"Julia. Of course." She quirked one eyebrow and stared down her nose at Julia.

"Mrs. Carmichael, hello. I -- I'm pleased to meet you."

"Yes, indeed." Adam's mother took Julia's hand with obvious reluctance. The older woman's fingers felt as thin and breakable as twigs, but her grasp startled Julia with its strength.

Adam excused himself for a moment, and Mrs. Carmichael took the opportunity to scrutinize Julia's face. "Moore. Moore. Now, are you by any chance related to the Boston Moores? Or that racing family in Kentucky?"

Julia laughed. "No, not that I know of. I'm afraid we're just ordinary folks."

"Ah. Well, Adam never has cared much for lineage. A pity, really. But then it hardly matters, since I sincerely doubt the marriage will last."

Julia bit back a startled gasp at her mother-in-law's blunt words. Mrs. Carmichael noticed her dismay and shrugged her bony shoulders. "My son is notoriously fickle, I'm afraid. He's just like his father -- incapable of loving anyone but himself."