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I frowned over a bite of noodles. "Like what?"
Brandon sighed. "It's nothing. These guys were just floating the idea of capitalizing on it for the campaign. Which we're not going to do."
I glanced at Hope and Cory, who were watching our interaction curiously. "Um, what were the suggestions?" I asked.
"It doesn't matter," Brandon said as he crossed one ankle over his knee and rubbed a hand through his hair. The familiar tell immediately made me more curious.
I looked to Hope. "You going to tell me?"
Beside me, Brandon groaned, but Hope just smiled.
"Everyone loves a wedding," she said. "And that goes double for a city full of romantic Irish and Italians."
"We think a church wedding would be a good idea," Cory cut in sharply. "You know, flowers, big puffy dress, altar boys, the whole fuckin' nine yards."
Only Cory could make a nice Catholic wedding sound vulgar. My stomach dropped as I looked back at Brandon.
"What about the Cape?" I asked in a small voice.
Brandon opened his mouth to speak, but Hope started talking instead.
"It's up to you," she said. "But marriage is a sacrament to a lot of people in Boston. We could get you in at Holy Cross. It would be amazing. Beautiful, really."
"Um, problem," I said. "I'm not Catholic."
"Well, that's where the reformed sinner thing comes in, doll," said Cory, earning a sharp look from Brandon. He held his hands up in mock-surrender. "Sorry, sorry. 'Skylar'," he corrected himself with mimed quotation marks. I resisted the urge to throw my fork at him.
"You would have to convert," Hope said plainly. "Brandon's already baptized Catholic, so that's not an issue, but you would have to go through confirmation classes." She sighed dreamily, as if imagining me in a white confirmation gown. "I can just see it: Converting for the love of your life. Brandon would be the man who saves you from sin."
Then her eyes drew sharp as they zeroed in on me, and I saw a ruthless streak that would make Brandon hire her over the many others I'm sure were in line for this position. Alarmed, I looked back at Brandon. Suddenly my lunch seemed really unappetizing, and I reached for my water, wishing it was something stronger.
"Is this what you want?"
Brandon snorted. "Of course not. You know exactly how pious I am."
"That doesn't matter," Hope broke in again. "You're courting votes in a city full of people who keep rosaries on their rearview mirrors and only attend Mass at Christmas and Easter. They won't be checking up on all your Sunday habits, but a wedding that's not in a church will stick out."
"It'll also get rid of the abortion narrative," Cory piped up.
A chilled silence fell across the room. Now my food definitely tasted like sawdust. I pushed the plate away and walked back into the kitchen.
"Cory," Brandon said sharply while I pulled a bottle of white wine out of the fridge. Hell, it was five o'clock somewhere.
"Want one?" I asked Brandon as I held up a beer.
"Absolutely," he said before turning to glare at his campaign manager.
Cory shrugged, like the menace in his boss's voice was an everyday occurrence. "It's a problem, and you know it. We've been trying for weeks to figure out how to spin it when things come out, and now they are out for sure, because Miranda is a backstabbing bitch."
"Cory!"
Cory frowned. "Seriously? I heard you use that exact expression three days ago."
Brandon blew a long, frustrated breath out of pursed lips and took the beer I brought him gratefully. "Just...tone it down, will you?"
"What do you mean, it will get rid of the abortion narrative?" I asked quietly as I sat back down with my wine, causing everyone to look at me again.
I blushed immediately. The whole disclosure was still so new––I didn't think I'd ever feel comfortable talking about it, but it was particularly bad now. Still, my own discomfort needed to come second here.
