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“No one says you have to be." I doodled a heart on the margin of my textbook. "I’m not perfect either.”
“Maybe not,” he said softly. “But you might be perfect for me.”
My heart squeezed in my chest at his words, and I smiled a little bit. But one question still remained.
"Is...Miranda...going to be there?"
I hated even saying her name. Over the last thirty-six hours I'd managed to push her out of my mind most of the time. When I did see her smirking, refined features, I'd usually just think of Brandon, whose face could always distract. This time, though, that wouldn't work.
"I'd be shocked," Brandon said. "The NECA isn't really her thing, and everyone from Sterling Grove hates her guts. Mark will be there. He loves giving her shit and isn't afraid to do it to her face."
I couldn't help but chuckle at that. I had only seen Mark Grove, the other name partner of Sterling Grove, in passing when I worked as an intern at Brandon's firm, but I already liked him. He was short, spry, and sharp-faced, a bulldog with an acute bite. I could easily imagine him cutting Miranda Sterling's stately entitlement down to size.
"Kiefer Knightly has a table, so Kieran will probably be there too," Brandon continued as a cheering crowd sounded behind him. "But more importantly, there are some people I'd like you to meet."
"Who people?" I blinked with realization. "DNC people?"
We hadn't talked any more about the bomb he'd dropped at the Petersens' house. I knew that Brandon had been waiting for me to broach the topic; he'd been dropping obvious lures, like random discussions of local political issues, all weekend via text.
"It's a way for you to see what it's all about." I could hear the longing in Brandon's voice. "Please, Red. For me?"
How was I supposed to say no to that?
"All right," I mumbled. "I'll go."
He laughed, his relief palpable even through the phone. I couldn't help but grin into the mirror.
"I'll have Margie send a car for you and Eric," Brandon said in a much lighter tone. "And babe? Thank you."
I couldn't help it. I grinned. It felt too good making him happy.
~
Later that evening I was video chatting with Jane while folding laundry. Like me, she had been deep in study mode through the weekend and was desperate for some best-friend time. We had to make do with screen versions of each other while I decompressed from the weekend.
From what I could see on the screen, Jane had turned her cousin's spare room into study central, with a mountain of notes splayed around her bed. Her mostly black, punk-inspired wardrobe was hanging on a rack behind her, and the menagerie of hair products she used was piled on a small dresser. It was actually pretty funny seeing her semi-Goth paraphernalia scattered around a room that was otherwise decorated with pink roses and ruffles.
My insides squeezed. Eric was a good roommate, but sometimes I really missed having my best friend around all the time.
"Any more news about Princess Godfather?" Jane asked, popping her spiky-haired head into view again before ducking out of the frame to put away some clothes. It was laundry night for her too.
I blew a massive sigh while I folded another shirt.
"Dad still thinks I'm nuts about Katie," I said. "She's got him stuck in her damn spider web. I'm going to have to go down there and confront them myself, I know it."
"That sounds...potentially dangerous," Jane replied from across her room. "Especially if she really is involved with Messina and his henchmen. I know you're not going to like this, but what about asking Brandon? Didn't you say he already has security watching your family? Why not just have them check her out?"
I paused, holding a black shirt up against my body and checking myself in the mirror. "Goddamn it. I think that stupid dryer shrunk this shirt."
I turned back to the computer, where Jane had framed her face with a filter that made her look like a unicorn. I laughed, and she gave me a cross-eyed grin, then took it off.
"I've thought about that, too," I admitted. "He would probably do it, but I don't want to get him more involved than he already is. What if this mess gets back to him? What if it costs him his bid for mayor?"
The idea still twisted my stomach into knots. Between my father's drama, Miranda's potential vendetta, and my recent personal choices, I felt like one big skeleton in Brandon's closet, which already had enough skeletons by itself. He hadn't even brought up that he was also trying to negotiate the fact that Miranda had served as a false alibi for him when he was just a twenty-year-old kid. That was the beginning of their relationship, and no doubt part of the divorce had to involve a non-disclosure agreement. Considering his goals for public office, her silence was paramount to his success. I couldn't get in the way of that.
"I still think you should ask him," Jane interrupted my thoughts. "Just like I think you need to tell him about ––"
"I know, I know," I cut her off. "But now I'm wondering if it's a good time."
