The Next Mrs Russo

About us.

The words hang between us. I feel his gaze on me, piercing and heavy. He leans back and rubs his chin, and when he speaks again, it’s in a softer, lower voice.

“You know, when I first got into politics, no one thought I could do it,” he says. “People told me all the time that I wasn’t personable enough. My own mother even told me I was too cold. And she put it nicely.”

“You’re not cold,” I reply, meeting his gaze.

I mean, yeah, Warren’s always had that no-bullshit attitude ever since I started paying attention to him. He’s a bit aloof, more than a bit reserved. He’s not a man to waste words on fluffy platitudes. I get it though. If you weren’t inclined to dig a little deeper, he might appear, at surface level, cold.

“I had so many advisers tell me that I needed to portray a better image. Trot out the family for photo ops. But what they didn’t know was that my marriage was falling apart, and there was no way I was going to force Bethany into the public eye just because I had a publicity issue. So I decided I’d just focus on what I was good at—policy and getting shit done. And to hell with the rest of it. Let the chips fall where they may. Or the votes, in this case.”

“Yeah, well”—I smile—“it works for you, Guv’nor.”

“You’re good enough, Audrey,” he says, the words soft.

Now I’m not just blushing. My whole body’s on fire. It would be so easy to change the subject to something else, something easier, but I don’t want to. I want to live in this moment with him and never leave. It’s honest and terrifying, but it also makes me feel… safe.

“I never feel appropriate enough,” I say. “It’s like all the other girls figured out what to say and how to act, and I just never did. I always feel like I don’t belong. So I’m alone most of the time, unless someone basically forces me to be their friend. Like Miller.”

I laugh, thinking of that bizarre, ballsy kid. I wrote his letter of recommendation the other day. Poured my heart into it. Grammatical issues and all. At least I told the truth, and the truth is that that kid is going places and they should be honored to have him in their program.

“Alone in a crowd,” Warren says. “I learned early on to be very selective about who I could rely on. That it’s better to rely on myself than to be disappointed in someone else.”

Exactly. That’s exactly how I’ve always felt! Like everyone around me had a safety net of people that I didn’t have. Like no one ever truly saw me. But it’s a stark reminder that I haven’t really let Warren see me either. And I’m the last person he should have in his safety net.

“Then when I got married, I—” He cuts himself off. “You don’t want to hear about that.”

“Oh, I do,” I object, leaning in. I really do. Both because I’m nosey and because I care.

“I struggled with communication,” he admits. “With assuming Marissa knew what I was thinking. With being the partner she needed me to be. We were never quite on the same page. In retrospect, we got married too young and neither of us were well suited for the other. We did a poor job of merging our lives together.”

Ugh. The age thing. “I’m a very old twenty-seven,” I blurt out, and he laughs, the skin around his eyes crinkling as his eyes flash in amusement.

It’s a gut-punch because just one look at him looking at me like that and I know the truth.

I’m not falling for him.

I’ve fallen.

And it’s not the faux-love I thought it was before. Not the hero-worship.

This is love-love, and it’s going to tear me apart to let him go.

So I won’t think about it.

I’ll stay in this fantasy land a little while longer.

I’ll wear my pretty dress and let it be my armor.

And when it all goes to hell, at least I’ll have some new memories to keep me company.

Chapter Thirty

I never should’ve let myself fall for Warren.

Because now it’s so obvious that I’m disgustingly smitten. I half-expect birds to flit though the window and join me while I twirl about, daydreaming about being hopelessly, totally in love. Instead of mice, a pair of chipmunks will appear and pour tea or something equally Disney-esque while Duke and Gary scamper in and do something crazy, like behave.

It’s embarrassing but also exhilarating.

The day after our romantic date and night of confessions, Warren has an event in New York City. Some kind of fundraiser. I swear, I’m listening when he explains it. Or I’m listening as much as I can when he’s talking in that low rumble of a voice while sliding a tie around his neck, expertly flipping it into a perfect knot.