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His mother had made bail? That was news to Sam—and apparently to him as well.
“Don’t react,” she said through gritted teeth. “Just keep walking.”
They went up the stairs and through the sliding door that Brant opened for them.
“We’re in for the night,” Nick told him.
“Very well, sir. We’ll be next door and will have agents positioned around the perimeter. We took the liberty of lighting the fire for you. Please enjoy your evening.”
“Thank you. We will.”
The White House chef had sent meals for the next couple of days, with more shipments coming in a couple of days.
Sam was also determined to go out to dinner at least one night while they were there. She went to the fridge to find out what the chef had sent. “What do you feel like? Tenderloin with mashed potatoes and green beans, or shrimp and pasta?”
“Tenderloin for the win.”
“That got my vote, too.”
Per the instructions that had been affixed to the containers, Sam set the oven on 350 and put the meals in to warm for thirty minutes. Then she poured a glass of the rosé that Tracy had told her about. She’d added it to the food-and-beverage order she’d placed through the chief usher, Gideon Lawson, ahead of the trip.
She’d wanted Nick to have all his favorite things.
As she opened a bottle of Sam Adams for him, she glanced at him standing at the slider, looking out on the beach. His hands were in his pockets, but his shoulders told the true story of a man burdened by things no one else on earth had to deal with.
Sam put their drinks on the glass coffee table. “Come sit with me.”
He came over to join her.
She pointed to the floor in front of her. “There.”
When he was seated, she began to knead the tension from his shoulders. “I need you fully relaxed and not thinking about anything but me and us.”
“This is a good start.” After a moment, he added, “You heard what they said about my mother making bail.”
“I did, and we don’t care about her. What goes on with her is none of our business.”
“Right.”
She was painfully aware that this particular topic didn’t work like that for him. Sam hoped if she kept reminding him that his mother was nothing to him that he might be able to forget about her. Nicoletta had been arrested for prostitution and racketeering in Ohio more than a week ago. Since then, Nick had struggled with her being in jail when he could fix things for her with one phone call.
Sam had carefully encouraged him not to make that call. Everything involving his mother was like an emotional minefield that she had to tiptoe through to help steer him away from involvement with the woman who’d repeatedly broken his heart. If Sam had anything to say about it, she’d never get close enough to him to hurt him again.
“How do you think she made bail?” he asked. “I heard they froze her assets.”
Sam wanted to weep from the vulnerability in his voice as they talked about Nicoletta. It was like he had a whole separate tone reserved only for his mother—one filled with heartache. “Does it matter?”
“I guess not. I was just wondering.”
Sam rested her chin on the top of his head as she continued to massage his tight shoulders and neck. “I hate this for you. I hate everything about it.”
“I know, and that helps.” After a pause, he said, “Will you be annoyed if I want to know the details?”
Yes, she wanted to say, but that wasn’t what he needed to hear. “Of course not. I’m here to support you in any way that I can. You’re in charge of how you handle her.”
“It makes no sense to you. I get that.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense to me. And don’t forget, I’ve had my own mother struggles.” Things with her mother were much better these days after twenty years of silence between them after her parents’ divorce. Sam had sided firmly with her father, but had later learned there were two sides to the story, and her mother hadn’t been entirely to blame. “Nothing like what you’ve endured, but it hasn’t been easy.”
