The Saint (Notorious 3)

“What?”

“You know everything about me. Well, not everything, but lots. Lots more than I know about you.”

“Why does that matter?” I asked.

“Because we’re supposed to be dating!” she cried. “And you’re holding my hand, and they’re going to take pictures of us, and we’re supposed to make it convincing. And I think maybe that convincing needs to start right now. With me. So spill, Carter. Give me something.”

“I…ah…have a younger sister,” I said, not entirely sure why I was indulging her. “And a brother.”

“You do?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Why is that such a surprise?”

“I don’t know.” She smiled and shrugged one elegant shoulder. “You seem kind of like a lone wolf, you know. Not exactly the big brother type.”

Oh, but I was. I was a big brother, all the way down to my core.

And if that meant staying away from my family in order to keep my mother away from them, no matter how much it might hurt me—then so be it. I could handle it. Because I knew better than to take something I wanted. I lived every minute of my life under sublimation of want. Compromise of need.

Christmas was simply another day. Another day without my family.

“Carter?” she asked. Her hand, no longer chilled, squeezed mine.

“I miss them,” I said and felt as if I’d jumped off a cliff, nothing but air under my feet. I cleared my throat, wishing I could suck the words back into my mouth.

But Zoe’s smile was wide and sincere and some of the confidence bloomed back into her eyes, making the green shine bright. Lovely, I thought, slightly spellbound. So lovely.

“All right,” she said, and took a deep breath. “That’s good stuff to know. We can go now.”

She grabbed my hand and tugged, pulling me down the narrow hallway to the front door where the flashbulbs and journalists waited like sharks in shallow water.

We pushed through the front door and the flashes exploded. Zoe stumbled slightly and lifted a hand to cover her eyes.

“Oh wow,” she whispered, sounding lost.

It wasn’t totally an act when I put my arm around her, curling her toward me.

“Mayor Pro Tem?” someone shouted. “Are you the father of the baby?”

Zoe stiffened, a fire igniting in her eyes. It was ugly, the speculation about the baby, and I wished, oddly, that I could spare her some of that—despite the fact that she’d brought it on herself, however unwittingly. She opened her mouth, no doubt about to get us deeper into trouble, and I squeezed her arm.

“The father of Zoe’s baby is no one’s business but Zoe’s,” I said.

“How long have you two been dating?” another person shouted and I glanced down at Zoe.

“Five minutes?” she whispered, and I laughed. Flashbulbs exploded again.

“A few weeks,” I finally said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’re going to get some dinner.”

Questions were hurled after us, but I ignored them. Why I kept my arm around Zoe, I wasn’t entirely sure.

ZOE

I’d never been to Bola, but what Phillip had told me didn’t do the place justice.

Bola was gorgeous, if one liked art deco, red velvet and mahogany floors, and I did. The dark lighting made me want to purr and sashay across the floor, a mink trailing behind me. I could imagine Carter, his blond hair slicked back, his big shoulders tucked into one of those exquisite tuxes from the era.

Oh, yes, I could imagine that very well. Perhaps a boutonniere, a white rose, pinned right onto that impressive chest of his. I’d pat that chest, trail one blood-red nail along his lapel—

My stomach growled like a semi roaring to life, ruining the image.

Embarrassed, I glanced over at Carter to see if he noticed. He stared at me, blank faced.

“Was that you?” he asked as we followed the white-jacketed waiter to our table.

“I’m hungry,” I protested.

“Clearly,” he muttered, but his eyes twinkled, and Carter with twinkling eyes was a very fine sight.

“Your table,” the waiter said, and as I slid past him, I whispered, “Is Phillip working tonight?”

The waiter nodded and my baby did a worried backflip. “He is. Would you like me to send him over?”

“Dear God, no,” I whispered vehemently and then smiled at the man’s slightly stunned expression. “Thanks, though.”

He bowed and left.

“So, should we just have them bring the cow?” Carter asked, glancing at the menu.

And a vat of cream cheese, I thought.

“Just part of it,” I managed to say with a smile. “You…ah…handled those reporters really well,” I said, searching for conversation now that we were here at the table with a dinner to get through. He’d been on the phone the whole car ride over, talking to someone named Amanda about retractions.

“You get used to it in politics.”

“Maybe you should give me some tips,” I said. “You know, so I don’t blow it.”

“Tell them some truth, but not all of it. Keep them wondering. That sort of thing. But you did great, tonight. Very charming,” he said, his smile brief but beautiful, revealing all that potent glamour he hid away.