Shit. Now Della’s talking to Liz, and judging from the look on Liz’s face, it’s not good.
When Liz turns to face me, she wraps her arms around herself tightly. As if she needs to protect herself from me. I’m the one who wants to protect her. I’ve always wanted to protect her.
Chapter Eighteen
Liz
“You look like you’re having a good time,” Della says when I return to the table. She’s sitting there holding Avery, but everyone else seems to have left in favor of mingling at other tables or dancing.
“I’m having a nice time, thank you,” I reply, ignoring the snark in her voice.
“Fair warning: I’m going to ask him to cut the act. I thought I’d rather see him with you than worry about Connor, but you’re not good enough for him.”
“What are you talking about?”
She grins, almost gleefully. “My father is running for governor and needs to make the world believe that his philandering son isn’t a piece of shit, and I am married to a man you have a history of seducing when he’s feeling weak.”
“I didn’t—”
“Sam is only dating you because I asked him to and because Dad requested he work on his image by dating someone respectable.”
“Right,” I say. “I’m sure.”
She shrugs. “Ask him. I was upset when Daddy hired you, and I asked Sam to keep you away from Connor. And then there was the thing with Asia coming back around, asking for hush money. But now that Sabrina’s here, I don’t think he needs you anymore. She’s a better fit for him anyway.”
Asia? What does she know about Asia? More than me, obviously, but that doesn’t take much.
Della cocks her head and studies me. “Seriously? It didn’t seem strange to you that you started working for my father and suddenly my brother started taking a real interest in you? It didn’t seem strange that his ex-slut-whatever came back into town and suddenly he started asking you to be on his arm any time there’s a camera around? Do us all a favor and go work for Governor Guy. She wants you. We don’t.”
I back away from her—this horrible woman who used to be my friend. I back toward the exit and away from the terrible things she’s saying.
“Liz.” Sam is dancing with Sabrina Guy, and he grins when he sees me. Is that fake too? “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I mumble. It’s all I can do not to run, but I make my feet move slowly until I’m hidden around the corner. Then I bite my lip against the tears. I want to vomit. I want my body to reject what Della fed me. I picture her words sitting like poison in the bottom of my stomach, eating away at the lining and working its way toward my aching chest.
I don’t know if my heart can survive this.
I gasp when I see Sam. I shouldn’t have come this way. There’s no bathroom to hide in. But by the time I’d realized that, the tears had already started and I couldn’t go back out there.
“Hey,” he whispers. “What’s wrong?” He steps close and cups my face in his hand, running his thumb along my cheek. I love it when he does that.
I sniff and swallow back more tears. Stupid tears.
“Did Della say something to you? Liz?” he murmurs against my neck. God, he has such a great voice. It’s a low, deep rumble that I register right in my solar plexus before it shimmies its way through my limbs and his words finally register in my brain. “Tell me what’s wrong.” He draws back so his eyes connect with mine.
“Nothing’s wrong. No expectations, right?”
“Nothing is as it seems with you, Liz.” His eyes are this brown-flecked gold. Tiger eyes that always keep their guard up. I wish I could read them, but Sam’s always been a mystery to me, and I’m left relying on his words. He’s like me. Too much like me. Hiding behind bravado and outrageous suggestion. “Do you want expectations? Tell me.”
I part my lips to tell him exactly what I want, but images of homes and babies and snuggling in bed on Saturday mornings fill my brain so completely that I have to step back. I want something real, and I can’t have that with a man who’s using me to further his family’s political future. I want to rage at myself for letting it get this far, for telling myself I didn’t want anything other than sex with Sam, when I wanted so much more.
I take another step back. “You want to know what I want?”
His lips curve, hopeful but cautious. “I’m here to serve.”
“I want you to tell me about Asia.”
He stiffens. “What?”
I lift my chin and take a step forward. “Asia,” I repeat. “I want you to tell me about her.”