over with.
“I know. I’ll deal with it. But listen, since we’re taking this step, there’s something we need to talk about.” He paused, took her hand and lifted it to his lips.
She smiled, taken in by the warmth in his eyes. “Kissing my hand in public, Orlando? I’m a fan.”
He smiled back. “And I’m a fan of you. I just wanted to talk about the whole key thing—the whole sleeping-over thing.”
She bit her lip. Maybe the fellowship was not going to be such welcome news to him after all. “I love the sleeping-over thing. I love that you gave me a key.”
“I love it, too, don’t get me wrong. That’s why I need to ask you…”
…to marry me. Sonnet heard the words in her head, and even though they hadn’t been spoken aloud, she got chills. She pictured herself saying yes, flinging her arms around him, being hoisted off the floor and spun around as they shared a joyous kiss.
“…because of all the attention he’ll be getting as we get closer to election season.”
“I’m sorry, what?” She flushed, embarrassed by her own flight of fantasy.
“I was just saying, let’s try to be discreet about you staying at my place.”
“Right. This is the twenty-first century, after all.”
“You and I know that. But there are still plenty of voters who could take issue with the idea that the candidate’s daughter—”
“—who happens to be a grown-up with a life of her own—”
“Sorry, I don’t make the rules. Honey, all I’m saying is let’s try to keep our private life just that—private.”
“Are you afraid I’m going to, what, post our status on Facebook?”
“Of course not. I’m afraid some dumb-ass from the opposition is going to try to make an issue of it.”
“Then why did you bother giving me a key—oh. I get it now. You gave me a key so I didn’t have to be buzzed up every time, which is totally indiscreet, right?”
“Honey. I gave you a key because I want you in my life. I might want you there permanently, if you know what I’m saying.”
“God, Orlando, how did you get so romantic? ‘I might want you there permanently?’ Seriously?”
“It’s true, I might. But I’m not going to break down and propose right here and now in the middle of a crowded restaurant.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“But I am going to propose. And it is going to be romantic and you’re going to say yes.”
Goose bumps suddenly covered her arms. But then, questions and second-guessing kicked in. Was he going to propose because he loved her and couldn’t live without her, or because it would make his candidate’s daughter look less like a slut to the electorate?
She brushed aside the cynical thought. When had she turned into such a skeptic? Or had she always been this way?
A large, imposing silhouette filled the doorway.
“Hey, my father just got here,” she said. “Can we talk about the key later?”
Orlando was already striding across the foyer, his hand outstretched. “Laurence, how are you?” No comment about General Jeffries being tardy.
Sonnet felt a swell of pride and excitement as the two men shook hands. Her father was every inch the military man, looking as polished as the brass buttons on his swirling greatcoat.
Standing between the two of them, she felt like a princess, flanked by visiting royalty. The host led them to their table, where he held the thronelike upholstered chair for her.
“So there’s news,” Sonnet said once they were all seated. “Good news.”
“I’m always up for good news.” Her father regarded her warmly.
She paused, savoring the moment. “I got the Hartstone Fellowship,” she said. “The call came today, and I have an official letter.”
Orlando gave a low whistle. “That’s fantastic.”
“Sonnet, I’m so proud of you.” Her father ordered a bottle of champagne. “I can’t say I’m surprised, but proud as hell.”
“Thanks. I’m still pinching myself.” She beamed at them both as the sommelier brought a bottle of Cristal and poured three flutes. “It’s so great that we’re together, celebrating. I was going to send you an email but I wanted to tell you in person.” She’d been brimming over with the news all day.
“You deserve it,” said Orlando. “I know how hard you worked for this.”
“He’s right,” her father agreed. “We’re going to miss you when you’re overseas.”
Sonnet blinked. “How do you know it’s an overseas assignment?”
He glanced up at the chandelier. “That’s usually the case. Am I wrong?”
“Never,” she said, but he failed to catch the note of irony in her voice.
“With your background and language skills, you’d excel in a foreign location.” He waved a hand to summon the waiter. “I think we’re ready to order.”
“I have the final numbers on the fundraiser.” Orlando handed Laurence a printout. “I thought you’d like to see.”
“We exceeded our goal for this stage of the campaign,” said Laurence.
“That’s great, Dad. It’s good news all around,” Sonnet said. She really wanted to talk more about the fellowship, but didn’t want to monopolize the conversation. “Maybe we should buy lottery tickets.”
“I’ve never been one to leave things to chance,” her father said. “Better to make your own luck.”
“Agreed,” said Sonnet. Her father was something of a control freak. He had been ever since she’d gotten to know him during her college years.
Orlando and her father talked shop—polls, demographic studies, campaign strategies, and she listened attentively. When their meal came, there was a pause to appreciate the perfectly prepared food, served with deftness by a waitstaff that worked like a well-oiled machine. She flashed on a memory of her childhood—Sunday dinners at her Romano grandparents’ home, with all the aunts, uncles and cousins diving into delicious but simple food, served family style. The food was simple but plentiful, the family noisy but bighearted.
“Wow, it’s crazy to think that by next year, I’ll be the daughter of a U.S. senator.” Sonnet took a bite of the wild mushroom risotto, savoring the sherry and cream flavorings.
Laurence tried the wine and accepted it with a curt nod. “I assume you mean crazy in a good way.”
