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We approach the bar, and Corbin’s hand moves from my waist to the top of the makeshift table. The white cloth draped over it makes it a portable bar and the bartender behind it is dressed in all white.
“A red blend for my gorgeous girl, and I’ll take a Finlandia vodka.” He looks at me from the side and flashes me a wink. “You’re so calm. I was sweating bullets during my first political event.”
I shrug, fidgeting with the gold necklace around my neck. The initial is a script styleSthat I’ve worn every day, never taking off the last seven years. It’s a part of me now and I constantly touch it, as if it were a security blanket. “You didn’t grow up with Callum Murphy as your father.”
He grunts. He knows exactly who my father is, and exactly the type of family I come from. We’re opposites in that way. My family comes from organized crime, while he comes from old money. Da moved here with his wife and two boys from Northern Ireland, and he took advantage of a town that needed a leader. Think loan sharks, drugs, gambling. Those days are nearing an end, though, and it’s why my brother, Callum Jr., set up this marriage. Old money with blood money will make us a power couple.
Corbin agreed blindly. He’d jump off a fucking bridge if my brother ordered him to. They’re old college friends, both business majors at Harvard, and have been close ever since. Sometimes I wonder if Callum sought Corbin out—if he found something to extort early on and blackmailed him into following orders.
But I was there when my brother proposed this engagement to Corbin. He was excited. It took time for us to get into the swing of things, and we spent the last three months getting to know each other.
This event is our first public outing. We’ll spend a few months dating in the eyes of the press, and then he’ll propose properly. He’ll make a public spectacle of the event and I’ll pull the crocodile tears. We’ll seem in love to everyone who doesn’t know this is an arrangement.
The bartender serves our drinks, and we stay at the bar for a moment. Corbin tugs at the collar of his suit jacket. His hand falls to the blue hair tie wrapped around his wrist, and he twists it.
He’s nervous about something. I’ve noticed he constantly fidgets with the baby blue jewel on it whenever he’s uncomfortable and I think the tie brings him a sense of peace in the same way that I fidget with my necklace.
“You okay?” I ask, placing my hand on his bicep.
He glances down to where I’m touching him, a look of determination on his face, and I wonder if he’s also trying to force a spark where there is none.
His lips scrunch, and then he shakes his head, bringing his dark eyes to mine. “I’m fine. Are you ready to get back into the thick of it?” He flashes me a warm smile.
“I was born ready,” I say, grinning.
Corbin holds his hand for me to grab, and together we head back into the crowd to socialize. We spend an hour there, being introduced to various people before dinner begins.
I’m exhausted by the time the event is over hours later. Corbin opens the back door to the blacked-out SUV outside of the hall, and I slide in. He follows, closing the door once we’re both settled inside. Hugh glances at me through the rearview mirror, the corners of his lips tipping up in greeting. “Good evening, Mr. Governor. Miss Murphy. Where are we going tonight?”
My spine straightens. I still haven’t gotten used to this question. Yeah, this is our first official public outing, but we’ve been on dates. Every time this question is asked, I never know what to say. Do I come off as a prude if I tell the driver to take me home? Am I coming off too easy if I imply we can go home to the same place?
We haven’t even properly kissed, and I don’t know if we ever will. As far as Hugh is concerned–or anybody really–this relationship with Corbin is real. I can’t slide the mask off just because we’ve slid into the privacy of the car. Thankfully, I don’t ever have to decide because Corbin usually answers me first.
“Drop me at my place first, Hugh. Then you can take Saoirse home.” Corbin rests his hand on my knee and squeezes. He flashes that boyish grin, the one that brings a twinkle of mischief to his hazel eyes.
One that says we don’t have to move past this platonic thing we’ve got going on. He touches me, kisses me on the cheek or forehead. He’s polite, and I think he knows that I’m not sure how to move past this stage of what’s going on between us.
I want to be intimate with him, want to get close since he’s going to be my husband. But it’s hard when I have a hole in my chest where Scotty should be.
My teeth grind at even just the thought of his name.Scotty. My bodyguard turned best friend, turned asshole. He’s the reason I’ve gotten myself into this mess. I turn my head to look out of the window.
“Honey?” Corbin’s voice snaps me back to my surroundings.
I turn my head, smiling at him.
“You’re okay if I head home tonight? I’ve got early meetings. I’ll pick you up for dinner tomorrow evening.” He flashes me a wink, showing me he knows he’s giving me an out that looks good on paper.
“Of course,” I say. “Dinner is a wonderful idea.” We’ve been going to dinner twice a week, all of which are planned by him.
He nods once, then brushes a strand of hair from my face. “I’ll send you the menu early enough so you can look at the food choices.”
I smile—a genuine excitement for our date now. This is one of my love languages. Being heard and seen when it comes to my diet. Corbin is open to making sure I can eat what’s on the menu, and that’s better than flowers on a random day. It shows he’s putting in the effort to make this work.
“Thank you,” I say. I bring my forehead to rest on his shoulder.
His finger draws lazy circles against the bare skin of my shoulder. We’re domestic already, a calmness to this relationship. It’s as if we’ve skipped the early honeymoon stages and are settling into life after the excitement.
“My sister wants us to have lunch with her next week,” Corbin says, breaking the comfortable silence we had fallen into. “She was very upset to see us in the news, instead of hearing from you that we were … together.”
