Page 50 of Three Reckless Words

“I’m not chasing fantasies,” I say through gritted teeth. “You’re not being fair. I want you to listen.”

“Then whatareyou doing? We had everything mapped out, and if it comes down to being happy, Holden would have given you a wonderful life. He would have provided for you, everything you ever needed.”

Everything but love, he means.

Without love, I can’t do it.

I can’t marry a man I have no feelings for.

“I never felt anything for him, Dad. We barely know each other.”

“Nonsense! You’ve been attending charity events and campaign mixers together since you were sixteen. You always sat beside Holden. I made sure of it.”

“You tried pairing us off, you mean. That doesn’t mean I knew him, much less liked him.” I’m pacing now, frantic energy firing through my veins. “So what if we attended a few stuffy speeches? We barely talked, and when we did, it was always about surface stuff. I know his political ambitions. I know he hates gravy. I know he met three former presidents.”

“Now listen—”

“But that doesn’t mean anything. I know shit like that about celebrities, people I’ve never met.”

“Watch your language,” he says, danger thrumming in his voice.

Oh right, I’d forgotten.

Perfect ladylike daughters of the illustrious Carroll Emberly don’tswear.

They don’t curse or wear short skirts or drink more than two glasses of wine at big glam dinners.

The many times Holden or Dad discreetly stole my second glass of wine from my hand because it wasn’tappropriate, I swear.

The memory alone leaves me vibrating with rage.

I’m so over it. I can’t stop the words spilling out now.

“Holden never once opened up to me,” I say. “I don’t know anything but the basics about his childhood and growing up as a senator’s son. I don’t know his fears, his dreams—not his ambitions, but hisdreams—or his weaknesses.”

Dad sighs, pure derision cutting through the phone like a razor.

“Don’t do this to me again, Winnie.” His voice is heavy and exhausted.

Maybe so, but I’m not stopping.

“I know he’s allergic to cats. I know he doesn’t like shrimp, but I don’t know what he would do if he found a hurt squirrel inhis backyard. I don’t know what he’s like when he’s cooking, or even if hecancook because we’ve only eaten at restaurants.”

“And? I don’t know what that has to do with—”

“I don’t know what he looks like first thing in the morning before he’s washed his hair. I don’t know what he looks like when he laughs—I mean really laughs.” Honestly, I’m not sure that man can laugh. I think he’s missing the humor gene. “We’ve been together since…” I stop, thinking back.

Since Dad pushed me into Senator Corban’s office as an intern right after college and that stupid Geopolitics degree I never wanted.

Since they organized it and I just went along with it for a couple years because I longed for Dad’s approval, and if dating Holden—or pretend dating him—was what it took, I was prepared to do it.

I was ready to put my personal life on the line for someone else’s career. Pathetic.

“It’s always business with Holden,” I say. “He dated me because he had to, because it was the logical step before we could get engaged, and he always put in the bare minimum.”

Dad makes a noise of irritation. “Marriage isn’t about romance, Wynne. How long do you think that lasts, anyway? A good marriage needs a strong foundation, based on practicality and mutual benefit.”

Any questions I had about whether my parents ever loved each other are answered in one fell swoop. My heart pinches.

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