I FEEL GAZES HEAVY ON our backs, hear hushed whispers as Barrett leads me out of the ballroom. His eyes are fixed forward, his body tense, but he doesn't seem to second guess his decision, even when I give him another opportunity to bail. He simply clamps his free hand over mine on his arm and keeps moving.
Like a true gentleman, he holds the French doors open as I saunter through. The air is balmy for October, a barely noticeable wind breezing through the gardens of the estate. Crickets chirp now that the sun's gone down, and the midnight blue night sky is lit with a million twinkling stars. A path extends from the flagstone patio and twists through the property, lit dreamily by flickering torches.
The door closes behind me and I turn to see Barrett standing still, his hands in his pockets, a curious, yet soft, look on his face.
There are a handful of women on the far reach of the patio. I'm not sure if he doesn't see them or if he doesn't care that they're watching us. I force the ball of anxiety that sits in the middle of my stomach off to the side and instead focus on the dapper man that's looking right at me.
He smiles and I feel my knees go weak. I reach out and steady myself on the wooden railing, willing myself to keep it together. He's just a man.
I turn my back so he doesn't see me laugh.
Just a man. Right.
"Shall we?" His voice is thick, a honeyed Southern twang that melts me from the inside out. Before I can respond, he lifts my arm and laces it through his, as if we do this all the time. His touch is gentle, yet dominant, a combination that leaves me breathless.
I smile politely, giving myself kudos for not swooning outright. There's something completely intoxicating about being treated like a lady and manners are the best foreplay.
We take the steps slowly, descending into the night. Moving away from prying eyes, we begin down the path.
The night air feels like it cocoons us, separates us from everyone else. The stress of being under scrutiny drifts away, and I think he feels it too. His shoulders relax, his breathing eases. I find myself easily falling into step with him.
"It's nice out tonight," he says.
"It's beautiful. This venue is amazing."
"Have you been here before?" He looks down at me, his eyes sparkling in the light. His jaw line is clean-shaven, strong, and I wonder what it would look like with a dash of early morning stubble.
"I was here a few weeks ago for a wedding, actually."
"Anyone I know?"
"I don't know. I don't even remember their last name."
"I didn't have you pegged as a party crasher," he teases.
I laugh. "No, no party crasher here. I was working."
"Have you ever been here when you're not working?"
Shaking my head, I keep my eyes trained ahead. Surely he realizes that I don’t hang out at the Savannah Room in my free time. My social circles don’t encompass places and people like this—not anymore.
"You and I have nothing to talk about anymore," Hayden said. "I'm a judge. You're a . . . I don't even know what you are, Alison. You've turned into nothing."
"Nothing?! You're kidding me, right? Because I surely wasn't nothing when I was working my ass off to pay your way through school! I’ve helped you get to where you are. I take care of our child. I . . . How dare you say that to me?" I seethed.
He laughed like he didn’t have a care in the world. "I can say anything I want to you. What are you going to do about it? Just . . . go home, Ali. Go be with your kind of people."
“Hey,” he says, shaking his arm and jostling me back to reality. “Are you okay? Did I say something?”
I smile at the concern in his eyes as I shake off the lingering sting of my ex-husband’s contempt. “No. It’s fine. Just . . . you know how it goes. Things pop up in your brain at the least convenient times.”
“That happens to me all the time. Nearly every time I have to give a speech, I stand at the podium and open my mouth and think something completely absurd and have to recover in a couple of seconds.”
He winks and I’m left wondering if that’s true, or if he’s saying it to make me feel better. Either way, I can’t help but realize he’s taken the pressure off me and made the entire situation feel less heavy.
“That’s the reason you’re a successful politician,” I grin.
“So there’s only one reason?”
Giggling, I say, “I only know you well enough for there to be one. Speak as you find.”
“Speak as you find,” he nods, rolling the premise around his brain. “I like that. A lot.”
“My mother always says it. It was so annoying growing up. Every time she’d hear us gossip or speculate about people, she’d repeat that,” I remember. “But now, I tell Huxley that all the time.”
“Who’s Huxley?”
We take a turn in the path and it grows darker. The spaces on the sides of the walkway grow wider, deeper, and fields are barely visible expanding to either side. I bet it’s beautiful in the day, filled with flowers and birds.