AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Done," he said before taking my hand to tug me closer. "Now you better kiss me. I gotta have some way to relieve all this stress, Red."
Ten minutes and a lot of "stress relief" later, I followed Brandon out of the car and into a barrage of flash bulbs. Hope had actually called the press to the event, and we'd been carefully prepped for the thirty-second walk between the curb and the restaurant entrance.
"Breathe," Brandon whispered as he took my hand.
I was grateful for the anchor. With all the flashes in my eyes, I couldn't see a thing. I followed him down the red carpet the restaurant kept rolled out to the curb––it was that kind of place.
"Mr. Sterling!" called the reporters. "Miss Crosby! Can you answer some questions for us?"
"I could do a few," Brandon agreed amiably as he steered us over to a cluster of reporters. He couldn't let go of my hand if he'd wanted to––I had it in a death grip.
"You don't have to say anything," Hope had told me as Mary had put on the last touches of my makeup.
"That's right, sweetheart. Just smile and look pretty," Cory had added in his characteristically acerbic way.
I'd frowned at the time, resentful of the idea of being nothing more than a prop, but right now, I was happy to stay silent. I was also happy that Mary had been hired to help me for the duration of the campaign. It was strange, but the mask of make-up and finery did help me feel more equipped to take on the press.
"Andrew Davis, People Magazine. Congratulations on the announcement, Mr. Sterling. How'd you pop the question?"
Brandon glanced down at me, and I shrugged. We'd talked about it before, and everyone had agreed that the actual story was too much––the song, the fact that I'd made a speech and asked him first. Cory had argued that it made me look desperate. Brandon had looked like he wanted to punch his manager in the face, but in the end, we agreed on a few facts from the night we could share.
"It happened at my birthday party last month," he said with that cool politician's smile I was starting to see more and more. "Spur of the moment. What can I say? When you know, you know."
There was a chorus of hushed awwws.
"Gemma Drake, Boston Globe. Will Ms. Crosby be a regular fixture in the campaign now? Can we expect her to have some speaking engagements as well?"
I glanced at Brandon again, but this time he didn't look down to check with me before speaking.
"Probably not too much. Skylar's a first-year associate, and we all know how hard they get worked. I barely see her as it is, so I don't want to share her too much with you guys."
The reporters laughed along with him, and I marveled, not for the first time, at just how good Brandon was with the press after being coached extensively by Hope. Since the mishap in Woodstock, his photo-op schedule had picked up considerably, and he was now a serious media darling. Even stranger was the way that I had become central to that dialogue––more than anything, they seemed to be obsessed with the way he loved me.
I had also noticed, however, that the bruising on his knuckles continued as his workouts each morning grew more and more intense. I also knew that Mary was complaining about having to take in his pants because he had lost more weight.
"How are you liking catechism classes, Skylar?" shouted another reporter.
I looked into the flashes and did my best to smile, although I couldn't tell who had actually asked the question. Beside me, Brandon tensed.
"Um, they're progressing well," I answered, saying no more. That was about all I could say without either lying or offending someone.
Hope, it appeared, was a Machiavellian genius. She'd sent out a brief press release last week announcing the engagement and my conversion to Catholicism, and although the abortion had resurfaced somewhat, all of it had been reframed just as she'd said: I was now a sinner atoning for her mistakes, and people were eating it up. Too bad every time I went to another meeting with Father Garrett, I ended up feeling like I should go to confession just for the big lie I was undertaking. Did everyone who converted for love feel this way?
"Last question, guys," Brandon said as he squeezed an arm around my shoulder. He bantered with the press for a few more minutes before guiding me inside the restaurant to where Hope, Cory, and Mary were both waiting for us in the lobby.
"That went great," Hope said emphatically as Mary reached around Brandon with a lint roller. "They absolutely ate it up. Don't you think, Cory?"
Mary moved to me with a smile, rearranging my hair slightly and helping me reapply my lipstick and powder my face. The only press inside the party was a photographer and a reporter from Vanity Fair, who were running a feature on Brandon's campaign. They had been following him around all week, and tonight our relationship was the focus. I needed to be camera-ready at all times.
"Yeah, yeah, it was fine," Cory said. "Try not to talk about her job so much. You make it sound like she's the one earning all the money. You basically cut off your own balls that way."
I frowned, and Brandon rolled his eyes. Cory had mostly dropped the annoying nicknames after I'd officially become Brandon's fiancée, but he still had a problem referring to me by my name.
"Also, we need to work on this one's smile, Hope," he continued. "She looks like she getting a root canal every time she looks into the camera."
My scowl deepened. "It's really hard to see."
Cory didn't even look at me, busy as he was checking the photos that were already being uploaded to local gossip sites.
