Page 28 of I Would Beg For You
“Naomi, darling,” my father calls as I step into the open arch of the dining room that leads to the glassed-in conservatory.
“Good morning, Dad.”
There’s someone with him. Blond haired, the man appears tall and lean. When he turns to look at me, there’s something familiar about his face, though it looks utterly generic in an All-American kind of way, I have to say.
“Sweetheart,” Dad reaches out for me with an outstretched hand.
I move to his side and clasp his hand.
“Naomi, this is Thad Billings. He will be my aide de camp during the campaign, and as such, will be working closely with you.”
I take a seat at the table more because my knees have gone weak than because it’s the polite thing to do.
He’s one of the robots from the ball. Even today, he doesn’t smile, just nods at everything my father says. I frown. From his title, I assume he’ll be the one liaising with the press and the communication teams on the trail. It looks like he barely has any operating intelligence, let alone AI.
Unless…all of this will fall onto me.
A sigh escapes. I camouflage it behind a sip of the coffee I have quickly poured myself.
My dad drones on about what comes next, Thad nodding along—he even looks like a bobblehead with all the nodding.
Some of his words hit me sharply. What does he mean by ‘working closely with him’? Did I detect an emphasis on ‘closely’?
Wait, is my dad expecting me to end up with Thad? I had a bit of the marriage mart feeling, rampant in the historical novels I devour whenever I can, during the many introductions he made that evening at the ball.
A groan escapes. Of course this is what he wants, what it’s all leading to. All my life, I’ve been groomed to be at the side of Joel Smith. Any politician worth his salt needs a feminine presence to accompany him, and with my mother gone, I fill in the gap by default.
It won’t look good for me in this position to remain a confirmed spinster forever, so I’ll have to get married at some point. Will this be to a lackey of my father’s, so we’ll still both be in his entourage without any conflict?
This appears to be the path he’s set out for me. And before coming back home, I was okay with it. I had grown up with my father alluding to an arranged marriage ever since I could remember. The only time I balked at the idea was when I fell hard for Valentino but he dashed my hopes pretty quickly, so I fell back to my old way of coasting through my college years not caring about boys one way or the other. Marrying a guy my father chooses didn’t seem like a big deal. The men he’s paraded in front of me seemed interchangeable to me. Even thinking of the marital bed didn’t stir me. I knew I could bear it—lie back and think of the Smith name rising in politics, over and done with once a month during ovulation, until a child came and then we wouldn’t have to maintain any pretense.
I was okay with this a month ago. Heck, even yesterday morning.
I was okay with this until Valentino Andretti placed his mouth on my pussy and made me come with the skillful mastery of his tongue and lips.
A rush of heat flames through me, and I gulp some coffee to give myself countenance.
Across the table, Thad is watching me without expression.
It doesn’t even feel creepy, to be honest. It feels like…someone seeing right through me. Like there’s nothing behind those eyes, behind those bland features.
Milquetoast. That’s the word that comes to mind.
The complete opposite of Valentino.
Just the thought of him makes me sigh, and when my dad places his hand on mine, I jump.
“Are you okay, darling?”
“Fine,” I croak.
“You’re look a bit overheated. Actually, you do look a bit peaky.”
I choke on a sip of coffee and cough. Is it that obvious, that the mere thought of him lights up a fire in me? What has that man done to me?
“As much as I hate to concede this, it might be a good idea for you to stay home this weekend,” he adds.
I frown. Where am I supposed to be if not home this weekend?
