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“Tyler.” He leaned in, speaking in a low voice. “The archbishop is here.”
I sighed, frowning.
Archbishop Dias was a big supporter, and I needed to at least greet him.
I glanced to Easton, torn between either taking her with me or telling her I’d see her later, but I had no right to infringe on her evening. I was the one to break it off, after all.
“Excuse me,” I said, but she just turned back to the paintings without a word.
After saying hello to the archbishop and talking about the year to come, I moved from circle to circle, chatting with members of the media, local politicians, influential voters, and it was fucking painful.
I could do it. I wanted to do it.
But over the past few weeks I’d started to feel like I was trying to walk on one leg. Nothing came easy anymore, because something was missing.
I looked up every once in a while, scanning the party for Easton. She eventually moved from the outside of the scene to the center, sitting at a table with her brother and, I assumed, some of his fellow interns as they nibbled on hors d’oeuvres.
After a while I saw her in a group, laughing.
I looked at my watch, seeing that it was ten thirty, and I texted Christian to check in one last time for the night. He was crashing at a friend’s house, since they had gone to the Krewe of Boo parade with his friend’s parents.
How’s it going? I texted.
I walked up to the bar and ordered another Chivas on the rocks.
We’re hanging out, he texted back.
Where?
But after I’d gotten my drink and tipped the bartender, I continued to stand at the marble bar top, waiting.
Christian? I prompted again.
Taqueria Corona, he shot back.
I scowled, checking my watch again.
Are Charlie’s parents with you? I typed, and hit Send.
Except I didn’t get an answer, and heat rose from my neck up to my forehead.
Either get back to Charlie’s, or I’m sending Patrick for you, I threatened, taking his silence as a no.
Taqueria Corona was a bar. A restaurant bar, but still a bar with a loud crowd, and how the hell did his friend’s fucking parents not have them in the house yet? They were fourteen years old, for Christ’s sake.
Come on! he challenged.
Are you arguing? I threw back to him.
The phone buzzed immediately. No.
I cocked an eyebrow, and another message came through immediately after.
Yes, he corrected, owning up. All right, we’re heading to Charlie’s.
I smiled, gloating, as I took a sip of whiskey.
Even though it’s stupid early, he shot back.
I could practically hear his mope. My kid had an attitude, but I’d be lying if I said it bothered me. The fact that he got sarcastic meant he was comfortable with me. I saw it as a good sign. For now.
I jutted out my thumbs, typing quickly. The only way you can be outside of the house past ten at night is if you come to me at the ball. It’s your choice.
I’d rather eat rats, his text read, and I broke out in a quiet laugh.
Shaking my head and still smiling, I typed, Ms. Bradbury is here. It wouldn’t be that boring.
A moment later, his text came through. Really? he asked. Have fun with that.
My eyebrows nose-dived as I wondered what the hell he meant.
??, I typed, almost afraid to know.
My phone buzzed, and I set down my drink.
I’m fourteen, not stupid, he wrote. If you like her, I’m cool with it.
What? How did…?
I dropped my hand to the bar and stood up straight, tensing.
Christian knew?
A million things ran through my head. What did he know exactly? Did anyone else at his school know? Did he see something?
And fuck! His mother.
But my main fear – my main reason – for backing off from Easton was Christian. Although I knew I couldn’t be a good father, the head of Marek Industries, a senator, and her lover and balance all of those responsibilities well, my main concern was alienating Christian forever.
But he already knew. And he was fine with it.
Still perplexed, I typed slowly, my fingers shaky. Your friends might have something to say.
He could be ostracized.
Not if they know what’s good for them, he replied, sounding cocky.
And then came another text.
I’m cool with it, Dad, he reassured me, and I smiled to myself in disbelief.
Running my hand down my face, I pulled at my collar, wishing I could figure out how to handle my personal life as well as I did business.
Clarify your goals. What do you want?
I placed my hands on the bar, bowing my head as my chest rose and fell harder by the second.
What do I want?
I pictured myself traveling to my work sites around the world, climbing the steps of Capitol Hill, accomplishing something that was supposed to be worthwhile and good for the world – and none of it held any luster.
None of it could replace her.
I clenched my fists and spun around, ready to charge over there and take her, but I stopped short, seeing Tessa standing before me.
“Dance with me?” she asked. “We haven’t really talked tonight.”
I glanced over to see Easton at the French doors, talking with her brother, when Mason Blackwell came up to them and shook her brother’s hand.
Tessa followed my gaze, and I watched as he spoke to Easton. She didn’t look like she was enjoying whatever she heard, but then he took her drink, put it down on the table, and I watched him lead her onto the dance floor.
I immediately snapped into action, brushing past Tessa, but she grabbed my arm.
“You were never photographed with her, were you?” she chastised. “Having an affair with your son’s teacher would kill your campaign, Tyler.”
