Page 18 of Where There's Smoke

I didn’t get it. He was more intimidating than my uncle and father combined, and yet he wasn’t. One second I was so tongue-tied I could barely answer his pointed demands for information about my past. The next I could keep up with him in a volley of good-natured sarcasm even while my brain wondered where the fuck my comments—or the balls to say them—came from.

Good thing he had my campaign under control, because I was fucked for concentration when I was anywhere near him.

I swore under my breath and thumped the wheel with the heel of my hand. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t stand up to Roger, couldn’t keep my wits about me with Anthony, and still thought I was cut out to govern the damned state?

I rested my elbow on the door and gnawed my thumbnail. I could do this. Roger knew his shit when it came to politics, and he wouldn’t have hesitated to tell me I had no business running for anything, never mind governor, unless he genuinely thought I could do this. But could he have picked a worse campaign manager if he wanted me to get through this election with my sanity intact?

About forty-five minutes after I left Roger’s place, I keyed in the code to my security gate. It screeched open, and I pulled past it. As I drove up the driveway and reached for the button on the visor to open the garage, a red sports car caught my eye. Grinding my teeth, I clicked the garage door button.

Just the sight of my sister-in-law’s Maserati GranCabrio always made my blood boil. I took a deep breath and turned my attention to the garage, tapping my fingers on the gearshift until the door had finished yawning open.

Once inside I parked, put the top back up, and killed the engine. As the garage door slowly closed, I went into the house.

Voices and clattering cookware drew me toward the kitchen. A distinctive shrill laugh raised the hairs on the back of my neck, but I plastered on a smile and walked in to join everyone.

Just as I expected, Simone was hard at work cooking entirely too much food for the four of us. My brother Chris sat on one of the bar stools on the other side of the kitchen island, a glass of white wine in his hand. Beside him, his wife, Julie, had her arms folded on the counter behind a mostly empty glass of the same.

Simone looked up from chopping something, smiling broadly. “There he is.”

“Sorry I’m late,” I said.

“Well.” Chris clicked his tongue and shook his head, making a grand gesture of looking at his watch. “We’ve only been waiting half the evening.”

Julie gave a tight-lipped laugh and made the most fleeting eye contact with me before turning her attention to the last half inch of wine in her glass.

Simone glanced up at me before continuing to chop a red bell pepper. “So how did everything go?”

“Everything went great.” I stepped behind the island, put a hand on the small of Simone’s back, and kissed her. “Roger’s campaign manager definitely knows what he’s doing.”Even if he doesn’t know what he’s doing to me.“Might win this thing after all.”

I ignored the dry sniff of laughter from my sister-in-law, focusing instead on leaning in to kiss Simone again. While she was distracted, I reached around her to grab a piece of a pepper, but she laughed and batted my hand away.

“Must you?” she asked with mock exasperation. To Julie she said, “I swear to God, I have to cut twice as much of anything since half of it doesn’t make it into the pot.” She threw me a playful glare.

I returned a toothy grin, and she laughed, shaking her head.

While she continued cutting vegetables, I went around to greet my brother and his wife.

Chris and I exchanged our customary half handshake, half hug, and as per usual, Julie and I both faked smiles before I kissed her cheek.

Simone and I made eye contact over the island. She gave the subtlest of nods, and I returned it.

To Chris I said, “Want to shoot a game before dinner?”

“Sure, why not?” He started to stand, but a look from his wife stopped him. He cleared his throat. “You, um, don’t mind, do you?”

“Oh go on,” Simone broke in, shooing us with one hand. “Then Julie and I won’t bore you with girl stuff.”

At that, Julie shrugged and reached for the bottle of wine. “No, I don’t mind.”

Yeah right. I looked at Chris, eyebrows up.

He nodded toward the hallway. “Let’s go.”

Without giving his wife a second look, I glanced at Simone, gave her an apologetic shrug, then left the kitchen with my brother. While our wives chatted in the kitchen, Chris and I went upstairs to the game room.

“Eight ball?” I asked.

He sniffed with cocky amusement. “Didn’t get your ass kicked hard enough last time?”

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