Omens Read Free Page A

could point out that a master’s degree in Victorian literature hardly qualifies me to write speeches about contemporary disasters, but I never did. If James was going to be my husband, I was going to be more than a bauble on his arm.
    I hadn’t planned to marry so young. I’m not sure if I planned to marry at all. My parents had a great relationship but, well, it lacked what is to me an essential component of a partnership. Namely the partnership. Dad ran the business, Mum did her charity work. Never the twain shall meet. James has let me into the business side of his life from the start, and I appreciate that. So if he asks me to write him a speech, I do.
    I will say, then, only that the speech was successful. Checkbooks opened. As they did, James made his way through the crowd, with me at his side. Then, so deftly that even I hardly noticed, we ended up in the back hall.
    “I think the party is that way,” I said.
    “Which is why we’re going this way. You looked like you needed a break.” He swung me into an alcove. “And I wanted to thank you for the speech. Perfect, as always.”
    He pressed me back against the wall, lips coming to mine in the kind of deep, hungry kiss that had, a year ago, made me decide James Morgan was a lot more interesting than he looked.
    When I finally needed oxygen, I pulled back and whispered in his ear, “If you want to thank me properly, I noticed the east wing was cordoned off.”
    He chuckled. “Dare I ask how you noticed that when we came in the
west
doors?”
    “I wander.”
    The chuckle deepened, and he lowered his hands to my rear, pulling me against him as he kissed my neck.
    “But it should probably wait,” I said. “You are a guest of honor, and it would be most improper—”
    “I like improper.”
    He let me down and we zipped along the hall toward the east wing.
    I leaned against the wall, skirt hiked up my hips, legs still wrapped around him.
    “I definitely need to write you more speeches,” I said.
    A rough laugh. “I definitely need to find more occasions for you to write me speeches.”
    We rested there. It was peaceful—the white walls, the distant voices blending into a monotone murmur, the stomach-churning mix of perfume and cologne reduced to the spicy scent of his aftershave. I buried my face against his neck, inhaled, and relaxed.
    He kissed my hair. “Speaking of speeches…”
    I lifted my head. He adjusted his stance, lowering me to the ground.
    “I need to ask you something.” He cleared his throat. “This isn’t quite how I planned it. I was going to take you to a fancy dinner and pop the question…”
    “Uh-huh. While I’m flattered that the sex was so good it caused temporary amnesia, we’re already engaged.”
    He smiled. “Yes, I know. This is a proposal of another sort. Equally terrifying in its own way. Neil Leacock came to see me today. My dad’s former campaign manager. He—
they
—the team and its supporters—would like me to consider running.”
    A moment passed before I could find my voice. “For junior senator?”
    “Yes, but not right away. They want to wait until I’m thirty-five. For now, they’d just like me to start heading in that direction. Grooming me.” He took my face in his hands. “I don’t want to hit you with this after the wedding, Liv. I know you might not want a life of endless speeches and endless dinners.”
    A senator’s wife? I swore I could hear the trap snap shut on my leg. I leaned against James, hiding my reaction.
    Just relax. Don’t say anything. You need time to think this through. Play along for now.
    It took a moment, but I found a smile that would fool James. I’d minored in drama in my undergrad years. My instructors always said I was a natural. No big surprise there. Sometimes I felt as if I’d spent my life faking it.
    I smiled up at him. “In other words, no more sex in the back hall?”
    “Er, no … Actually, I was hoping that if I promised
more
sex in the back halls it