Excerpt!
“Revisionist history, Alistair,” I say, pointing my finger in the air before taking a seat on the step. Alistair takes a seat next to me, stretching out his long legs over the marble steps of the Lincoln Memorial.
“We look back on history and memorialize a great man, but we forget about the flaws; we minimize them. His martyrdom makes it impossible to point them out. It’s true that Lincoln had one foot in the 20th century, but the other foot was still planted heavily in the 19th,” I lament, “and yet here we sit on the steps of this memorial that holds the daily pilgrimage of thousands, and we forget about those innate things that made him human.”
“We’re not really talking about Lincoln, are we?” Alistair asks astutely.
“I didn’t get along with my father,” I say as a matter of fact. “That’s never been in question; a constant since as far back as I can remember, and yet I always looked up to him.” I sigh, tilting my head towards Alistair who looks down at his clasped hands resting on his thighs. “But I always thought I knew him. Lately, I’m beginning to question that, to question a lot of things.”
“Anything in particular that you didn’t know?” he inquires, lifting a brow.
I pull out the envelope and hand it to Alistair.
“Fuck,” he says, “He was a client?”
“No, these were taken four years ago. She was a student, and my father was giving a speech at her university. She said nothing happened.”
“Do you believe her?” The photos are damning without context, but that’s the problem with photos – they’re up to the interpretation of the viewer.
“Bailey was there when they met and attests to the fact that he drove my father back to his hotel alone.”
“That’s not what I asked,” he questions.
“I wanted to believe her,” I admit, peering over at Alistair. “But it’s this part of me,” I gesture to the monument, “that needs the facts.”
“Who gave those to you?” Alistair’s question breaks through my thoughts. “Rausch?” He gives a dark laugh.
“I know he’s pissed that you circumvented the will, but now that it’s done, what does it matter to him?”
“Other than to gloat that he was right about marrying her?” I scoff. “I’m not worried about that.” I shake my head. “It’s who he got the photos from that I’m worried about.”
“If the press had gotten ahold of them…” Alistair doesn’t finish his sentence, but he doesn’t have to. This would be a huge scandal, whether it was an innocent interaction or not. Politics runs on perception, not to mention the media storm that would descend on Evangeline.
Even though I’m angry, I wouldn’t wish that upon her or the destruction of my parents’ reputation.
“Someone’s had these for four years, Alistair,” I point out, my voice sounding grave with the weight of it. “I have a feeling it was Langley.”
“But what would he have to gain from that?” Alistair asks. “Rumor around Washington was that he was going to be your father’s first pick as a running mate.”
Something my father taught me – Presidential elections aren’t won in the final hour. Presidents are made decades before they even run.
Feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket, I hold my hand up for Alistair to stop as I take a call. He rolls his eyes.
“Sir, I’ve been notified that the jet is ready for flight,” Bailey explains on the other end.
“What are you talking about?”
“The crew called me to find out if you would be joining.”
“Bailey, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I start to get agitated.
“I don’t think Evangeline knew that the flight crew would alert anyone.”
Evangeline?
Fuck!
“What’s going on?” Alistair asks, the creases of concern fanning his eyes.
“Evangeline’s leaving, and she’s taking my fucking plane.” My heart races and the sudden change makes me feel dizzy. Never did I think she would actually leave – especially when she knows what’s at stake.
“Leaving?” he asks, tilting his head in confusion. “Does she know she’s not getting any money unless she stays the whole year?”
“She knows damn well!” I yell, pacing along the steps. But if I thought Evangeline cared about the money, I’d have bought her a closet full of designer gowns, fur coats, or whatever the fuck she wanted.
She’d rather leave penniless then stay with me.
I press the phone to my ear and ask to be patched into the pilot.
“What’s the destination?” I ask before the pilot can utter a word.
“Sorry, Mr. Walker?”
“Where the fuck is my wife going?” I fume.
“Las Vegas, sir,” the captain confirms. “Do you want me to cancel the flight?”
Our marriage is fake. But our feelings are dangerously real…
Marrying playboy billionaire Darren Walker was only ever supposed to be a business deal.
If only it were that easy.
I’m finding it far too comfortable living in Darren’s world, and I never predicted I’d find real meaning in the charity I’m involved with while I pretend to be the perfect wife.
The worst thing is, I’m scared Darren’s feelings for me are becoming real, too.
But a woman with a past like mine doesn’t belong in a world like his. Especially because I thought my heart belonged to someone else before we were married. Someone much too close to him.
When Darren decides to leave his playboy ways behind and follow in his father’s footsteps, I must face reality. A marriage like ours won’t last forever.
Not when my former life has the power to come back to haunt me. There’s no way Darren’s reputation will survive the scandal of being married to a former escort.
And if I let myself get any deeper, neither will my heart…
Author bio:
Paula Dombrowiak grew up in the suburbs of Chicago, Illinois but currently lives in Arizona. She is the author of Blood and Bone, her first adult romance novel which combines her love of music and imperfect relationships. Paula is a lifelong music junkie, whose wardrobe consists of band T-shirts and leggings which are perpetually covered in pet hair. She is a sucker for a redeemable villain, bad boys, and the tragically flawed. Music inspires her storytelling.
