Page 66 of The Senator: Raphael

“Of course. Is there another way to sort through this mess?” She laughs and I chuckle.

Inside the first box is a small, white cube on a golden paper disk, a couple of inches wide.

“It looks…plain. But I guess they’ll decorate whichever one we choose.” She seems unsure about how to go about this tasting, what we should look for in a cake.

I pick up my fork, plunge it into the small cube, and then feed her the bite. Her luscious lips wrap around the fork and I can’t stop my imagination from going down a way dirtier path than cake tasting.

“So? What do you think?” I ask after I take a bite too.

“Meh. It’s…plain.” She crinkles her nose.

“I agree. Next!” I pick another box with a pink cube on a golden disk this time.

I repeat the same action as before and we both moan over the sweet vanilla flavor that explodes on our tastebuds.

“This is a yes for me!” she moans and I smile.

“I agree. Next!” I pick another box.

She giggles. I could spend hours listening to her giggle. The thought is heartwarming and terrifying at the same time.

Halfway through our testing, we’ve reached a state of sugar-induced coma.

“If I try one more bite I’ll throw up,” she whines as I take the fork from her hand and drag her onto my lap.

“I can’t try any more tonight, but if you want we can continue tomorrow,” I suggest, but she scrunches her face in disgust.

“No. No way. I’m not eating another piece of cake for the next ten years.”

I can’t stop a laugh from rising in my chest and squeeze her closer. She laughs too, but when she puts her eyes on mine, her smile fades a bit.

“Are you keeping secrets from me, Raphael?” she blurts out without a warning.

The dread invading my chest is hard to ignore. “No, I’m not keeping secrets from you.” I hear the lie slip out from my lips, and my moral compass shifts a bit in my chest when I see the hurt cross her face, then disappear almost as suddenly.

***

“God, why are you always in this sauna? Are you still on a strict diet or do you just like to sweat?” I ask Harrison as soon as I join him in one of the small saunas of the Hunting Club.

After feeling like a coward for blatantly lying to Silver, I asked him to meet, more to get out of the house than a need to sweat with one of my best friends.

“I booked another role, and guess what? They want me ripped, without an ounce of fat. Surprise, surprise!” he sneers angrily.

I take him in for a long moment. I’m so caught up in my own shit I haven’t noticed this underlying unhappiness in my best friend. He’s always wanted to be an actor since I’ve known him, but lately he’s become more angry about what he has to do. He hit stardom young, winning an Oscar early on in his career, but now he seems to struggle with getting roles that give him the chance to really act, roles he deserves. Instead, he gets stuck doing blockbuster movies that require more nudity and less acting.

“Do you really need that job? You can always turn it down and wait for something better.” There’s no easy way to say it without hurting his feelings.

“He’sthedirector. You don’t turn down his movies if you want to have a long career in Hollywood.” His tone is almost resigned.

I open my mouth to speak, but what can I say? He knows what’s best for his career. I’m in an arranged marriage to boost mine—not exactly a great position to judge his choices. I’m worried about him, though.

“So, I guess you have to suck it up and do it. Does it at least pay a lot?” I try to steer his feelings toward a more positive side to this mess he’s getting into.

He frowns and thinks about it. “Yes, it’s a very good deal. My agent wouldn’t go for anything less.”

“Of course, he wouldn’t. He gets a percentage on your contracts.” I can’t stop from rolling my eyes.

I never liked that guy much. He’s a shark, and not in a good way. He convinces people to do what makes the most money not what makes them happy or successful. Harrison is an excellent actor, and he can handle every role that falls in his lap, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t do better.

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