“I broke off the engagement.”

His dad pushed his chair back and stood so fast it tipped over. “What the hell are you talking about, Cooper?”

“I broke off the engagement. Right before you called me.”

“My God! You and your brother are going to ruin this family. How could you be so stupid?”

“It didn’t have anything to do with the family, Dad.”

“You don’t think ‘Cheating Senator’s Brother Breaks Heart of Grieving Fiancée’ is going to be a story that gets picked up? Or did you forget somehow that your wedding is the kick-off event for the tenth anniversary of the Wish Foundation, a group that grants goddamn wishes to people who are dying? How is the governor supposed to appoint you if you’re no better than your brother?”

“Maybe it’s a good thing,” Cooper said. “I won’t be distracted by Jorie and the wedding. Total focus for the new job.”

He looked to his cousin for support, but Theo only said, “There’s no way, Coop. You’re going to get crucified.”

“Get Jorie back,” his dad said flatly.

So. It was already starting. The switch from a private, ordinary life to a life that was a career. And Jorie had gone from ex-fiancée to business asset in the span of one afternoon.

Dear Reader,

When I first started writing romance, I thought all of my books would have to end with a wedding. As I learned more about this genre, I realized I was wrong about that. (And many other things!) Romances aren’t about marriage, they’re about commitment and true love. For some of the fictional couples in my books, a wedding is the right happily ever after, but for some, their commitment to each other may take a different form, at least at the point where the book ends.

This book starts with an engagement, but I wasn’t sure how it would end until the last minutes of revision on the last draft before I handed it in. I think life works that way sometimes—it’s hard to find the right path, especially when the stakes are high and hearts are involved. I hope you’ll have a good time reading along with Jorie and Cooper as they work out their story.

Extras, including behind-the-scenes facts, deleted scenes and information about my other books are on my website at www.ellenhartman.com. Look for other Harlequin Superromance authors and readers on our Facebook page at: www.facebook.com/HarlequinSuperromance. I’d love to hear from you! Send email to ellen@ellenhartman.com.

Ellen Hartman

Married by June
Ellen Hartman

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ellen graduated from Carnegie Mellon with a degree in creative writing and then spent the next fifteen years writing technical documentation. Eventually, she worked up the courage to try fiction and has been enjoying her new career as a romance author.

Currently, Ellen lives in a college town in New York with her husband and sons.

I would like to thank my cousin, Mary Beth,

who generously provided me with background

information I used to imagine Jorie’s apartment.

I’d also like to thank my cousin, Carla, who

replayed her wedding cake tasting for me so I’d

get the details for that scene right.

My critique partners, Christianne, Diana,

Leslie, Lisa and Mary, are a source of patient

support for me on every book.

Diana gave me key insights on this one—

thanks for everything!

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

“MY MOM LOOKED A little better tonight, didn’t she?” Jorie asked.

It was a clear night but the D.C. streets were practically empty. Cooper had suggested that he walk her home after their hospital visit, and Jorie was glad he was with her. Her mom was dying. Probably before the year was over, although her doctor had hopes that his latest treatment cocktail would buy a few extra months. It was almost impossible to accept that her mom would soon be gone.

Cooper and his family had met her mom, Chelsea, only a few months ago, but they’d taken her into their hearts. For the first time, Jorie was sharing her mom with other people who loved Chelsea. It felt like a luxury.

Cooper took her hand.

“She got some news today that perked her up,” he said.

“What news? Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She wanted it to be a surprise.”

The spotlights on the front of the Capitol building glinted in his brown eyes, making them sparkle as he looked down at her. Suddenly he swung in front of her and dropped to one knee. “Jorie, will you marry me?”

“What? No!” she said. The guard halfway up the steps straightened. He held his gun casually in front of his chest, but the Capitol was no place for messing around. “You’ve got to be—”

“The Wish Team granted your mom’s wish,” Cooper said, never looking away from her.

“What wish?” Jorie could feel her world starting to spin.

“She wants to give you a princess wedding. The one she’s always dreamed of. The Wish Team is picking up the tab—”

“Wait— My wedding? To whom?”

He stood up. She’d hurt him. Well, obviously. She was acting as if he was the last man she’d ever consider marrying when he’d been the one keeping her afloat these past few months. “Oh, God, Coop. I’m sorry. I’m just—this is all…”

Suddenly he took her by the waist and swung her up onto the third step. The stairs made her slightly taller than him, but the difference in perspective didn’t do much to calm her. She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself.

“Jorie, she made this wish for us. I know it sounds nuts, but as soon as she told me, I knew she was right—the idea is inspired. Marry me.”

She couldn’t think with him looking up at her, proposing to her. How many times had her mom described this scene to her when she was a little girl? Someday, Jorie, your prince will ask you to marry him. Cooper was sweet and smart and funny and gorgeous—everything she’d ever wanted in a guy. She thought she loved him, why wouldn’t she love him? But—

“We met six months ago, Cooper,” she said, trying to remind herself why she had to say no. “You can’t let my mom’s schemes get in the way of your good sense. She’s obsessed with romance—with weddings—and always has been.”

The guard had moved down a few steps, his stance alert. Cooper noticed him for the first time and waved one hand. “I’m proposing!”

“Good luck to you,” the guard called back, but he now stood close enough to hear what they said. Cooper put his arm around her shoulders and escorted her across the sidewalk, out of view. He stopped under a streetlight and reached into the breast pocket of his suit. She expected him to come out with a ring box, and when he didn’t, she wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or disappointed. He handed her a packet of papers.

“Okay, yes. I want to make your mom happy. If we get married now, she can be there to see it. But I wouldn’t be asking you if it wasn’t right. I knew you’d say we haven’t been together long enough, but if we wait…your mom…”

He couldn’t finish, and she realized she wasn’t the only one who loved her mom. “I wrote this for you,” he said.

She took the little booklet and saw that he’d drawn a picture on the cover. The people in the picture were quick sketches in the spidery black ink she recognized from his fountain pen. The man was about twice as tall as the woman, who had a binder under one arm and a slice of cake in her other hand. She and Cooper, no doubt. He’d drawn a heart around the couple and underneath had written, “To be continued…”

She turned the page and started reading.

It was a fairy tale—the worst kind of romantic nonsense.

Her hands shook as she read each page.

He’d imagined their relationship, the way it would have been if her mom weren’t sick. If they waited to get to know each other better, to cross all their bridges and find all their necessary compromises. He was a speechwriter and knew how to pull his reader in with the perfect phrase.

On August 24, I invite you over for dinner. You thought it would be takeout because you’ve never forgiven me for the frozen pizza incident, but I’m a man who learns from his mistakes. I make you shrimp kebabs because you like seafood and I like food on sticks. We eat on the balcony and during the Perseid meteor shower we see exactly seven shooting stars, which is an omen of good fortune. We wish on each star and our last wishes are exactly the same. “I wish to spend my life with you.”

He described it all. Their first fight followed by their first make-up sex. (He kept the description to a minimum but she gave him credit for creativity. And also optimism.) The first time he took her to a college reunion and introduced her to his buddies who still called him Lefty, which she hadn’t known, but which suited his two left feet perfectly. The first time they slow danced on New Year’s Eve, Cooper stepping on her toes while she hummed along to “Love and Marriage.” The day he took her back to the Antietam Museum where they’d had their first date. He proposed as the bugle blew for the last cavalry charge in the Civil War battle reenactment, and she said yes while the fireworks display started.

He’d imagined an entire relationship, writing each scene with a deft eye for detail and his uncanny way of knowing what would make her happy.

On the second-to-last page, he’d described their wedding. They walked down the aisle, Jorie in a lace wedding dress with a huge tulle skirt, Cooper in a top hat, her mom between them, with a hand on each of their arms, as “Ode to Joy” played. On the last page another simple heart surrounded the words, “And so on…”

Her own heart was pounding. She should say no. They didn’t know each other well enough, and for most of the time they’d been dating, her mom had been dying.

Still, he’d written their fairy tale, and all she needed to do was believe.

Her tears made it hard to see the pages. When she looked up his eyes were full of the power of his story.

And so on…

Cooper didn’t know how precious those words were to her. He took it for granted that they could marry each other and live happily ever after. He was offering this dream to her.

“I love you, Jorie.”

“I love you, too, Cooper.”

“Then marry me, already. That’s how it works.”

Maybe that’s how it worked in his world, but it had never been that way for the Burkes.

“Don’t do it for your mom, do it for us,” he said. He kissed her, and she felt the same thrill she had the very first time. His shoulders were warm and strong under her hands. Here he was, and here she was, and they loved each other even if it hadn’t been long enough or any of those other arguments she couldn’t remember right now.

“Yes, Cooper. I’ll marry you.”

When they kissed again, his story got caught between them and Jorie could feel the pages against her heart.

CHAPTER ONE

Seven months later

“MOM, IT’S AN April Fool’s joke,” Nadine Richford said. “No one would seriously propose this for a wedding. You totally got her, Jorie.” She shook her head in admiration. Except, Jorie thought nervously, this wasn’t a joke.

It was eleven-fifteen on April Fool’s Day and she was meeting with Sally and Nadine Richford at one of the round ironwork tables in the lobby of the St. Renwick hotel. The fountain, whose water had doused the flames when the White House was burned by the British, was close enough that drops of spray tickled the back of her neck. Tossing pennies in the famous fountain was supposed to be good luck. Sitting in the splash zone conferred no such benefits, Jorie realized, watching as her fortunes turned as quickly and thoroughly as a wedge of Brie left on a sunny buffet table at an outdoor wedding.

The Richford wedding was the only contract standing between her and a total collapse of her wedding planning business. Maybe she should have known better than to have such an important meeting on April Fool’s Day. But Jorie had fully expected to wow the Richfords—mother and daughter—with her plans to turn the Lilac Garden and Filigree Ballroom of the St. Renwick into a fifties-themed, full-on James-Dean-Rebel-Without-a-Cause fantasy wedding. She was positive she’d nailed the interviews with the bride and groom-to-be, working her trademark magic to capture the essential elements of their relationship and the way they’d want to present themselves to their guests. They were supposed to love her concepts so much, they’d fall over themselves to sign on the dotted line.

Sally Richford frowned when Jorie mentioned the skinny ties and gray suits for the groomsmen. Her daughter, Nadine, giggled nervously when Jorie started to describe her idea for red-and-white accents in the flowers and linens, based on the colors of James Dean’s iconic jacket and T-shirt.

“I really don’t think…” Sally pushed back the gold bangle bracelets on her slender, tanned wrist.

Okay, maybe they needed a visual. Jorie pulled out the planning binder she’d put together for Nadine. During her first year in business, she’d searched long and hard to find functional but pretty binders. This style, handmade by a boutique stationer in Aspen, was one and a half inches thick and bound in linen in shades ranging from pale lemonade to ice-blue to peppermint-pink. The corners were covered in white leather, as was the spine, which was constructed so the binder lay flat when it was opened. Jorie had yet to meet a bride who didn’t fall deeply in love with her wedding binder. Nadine’s was silvery-gray to go with the old-time movie theme.

“In our conversations, you mentioned that you and David went to the movies on your first date.”

“The Sing-Along Sound of Music,” Nadine said. “David sang ‘Edelweiss’ to me on the way home in the taxi.”

“Doesn’t everyone die at the end of Rebel Without a Cause?” Sally asked. She didn’t sound as if it were really a question, though. She uncrossed her legs and stood up before Jorie could answer.

“Sal Mineo’s character dies, but he’s meant to be a symbol of…” She was losing them. “That’s not the point anyway…the point is…”

Nadine clutched the strap of her purse to her chest. The corners of her eyes were red. Brides were always crying about something. Normally, Jorie would have offered her a tissue, but in this case, she didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that she’d made Nadine cry. When a bride signed the contract, she and her mother both received a green leather, custom-designed envelope perfectly sized to hold a travel pack of tissues. Gloria Santana (September 2008, four hundred guests at the Widmere) had had the tissue envelope replicated as the favor for her shower guests. Tears and tissues were a big part of Jorie’s business. The higher the tear count, the better.

Nadine’s tears, however, were the wrong sort.

Jorie had been speaking, she realized, but now she couldn’t remember what she’d been trying to say.

“Why did you think I’d want a wedding based on a movie where everyone dies?” Nadine asked. “My cousin Mira called you the wedding whisperer. Her wedding was beautiful, all springtime-in-Paris pastels and nothing about guns.”

“I didn’t mention guns,” Jorie said. “It was just the theme, you know. Movies. We could pick a different movie. Gone With the Wind, maybe.”

“That’s a war movie!” Nadine said, turning to her mother. “What did David and I say that made her think of war? Is there something wrong with us?”

“You and David have perfectly lovely ideas,” Sally said, patting her daughter’s shoulder. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Everyone says you hire Jorie Burke because she can tell what you really want.” Nadine’s voice was rising now. “Does David want to shoot people?”

They had forgotten she was there. Just as well, probably.

Jorie held her smile until the Richfords disappeared through the revolving lobby doors, then she carefully closed the binder and slid it back into her black leather shoulder bag. Her brides never abandoned their wedding binders. Or cried the wrong kind of tears. Planning weddings used to be effortless. Coming up with this idea for Nadine and David had been nothing but hard work and it hadn’t gotten her anywhere. She sat on the uncomfortable iron chair, splashed by the lucky fountain, and waited to see if she was going to cry. But the numbness that had settled on her when her mom died six months ago didn’t seem to be affected by the impending collapse of her business.

Once she was certain she wasn’t going to cry, she picked up her bag and crossed the lobby to the restroom, where she splashed water on her face and then checked her lipstick in the mirror. That was when she saw the spiky brown splotch that spread from just beneath the neckline of her gray, crepe-silk dress to the top of her left breast. It wasn’t huge, but no one would miss it. She wet a paper towel, but even as she blotted the stain, she knew it was futile—the dress was ruined. She must have spilled her coffee on the way to her appointment. She’d been so preoccupied thinking about which of her outstanding bills she was going to clear with the Richfords’ down payment that she hadn’t even noticed. The mark had been there the entire time she’d been pitching the James Dean-themed wedding.

Two years ago, when her business had been growing faster than she could manage on her own, she’d had interns, a pair of sophisticated, romantic-minded college girls from Sweet Briar. She’d trained them to look perfect but unmemorable—brides liked their wedding planners to reflect their good taste, but they didn’t like to be shown up by the help. Between the coffee stain and the fact that the wide, patent-leather belt around her waist was straining at the very last hole, she’d lost all of the image points she normally counted on during an interview. She turned sideways and ran a hand over her stomach. She’d put on weight. As much as she wished she could attribute the too-small belt to a dry cleaning accident, she knew where the blame for her expanding waistline lay. With her. Well, with her and cake. Only she and the Lord knew exactly how many slices of her friend Alice’s cakes she’d consumed in the past few months. Jorie had always loved food, but since her mom died, she’d felt a desperate inability to get full, no matter how much she ate.

Chelsea Burke was probably rolling in her grave. Actually, knowing her mom, she was plotting some way to escape her grave so she could chide Jorie in person for letting herself go. Chelsea had loved to tell people, “The Burke women have always been thin.” She never revealed that it wasn’t genetics, but hard work, strict diets and, in her mom’s case, occasional fasts, that helped maintain that image.

Jorie missed her mom. When she was little, Chelsea had moved them from city to city, searching for the next guy to support them and shelter them. They’d been a pair of chameleons, changing themselves to suit whatever guy her mom had chosen as her next possible Mr. Right. In a way it was ironic that Jorie had become a wedding planner. Building a career around the one great disappointment of her mom’s life might seem twisted, but she was successful because she’d grown up with Chelsea Burke. She knew how much the idea of a wedding meant to the women who sought her out. The ones who were so desperate for the perfect day that they’d leave the planning to a stranger. She’d worked hard to make sure her brides had the wedding they’d dreamed of and she’d been successful. Until her mom died and she suddenly lost her ability to connect with anyone’s wedding dreams.

She slid her lipstick into a small pocket in her leather bag and then checked that she had the binder for her next appointment, a cake tasting at Alice’s bakery, where she would restrict herself to the tiniest bites possible. She may have lost her last client, but she had one more wedding to plan. She was marrying Cooper Murphy, younger brother of Senator Bailey Murphy. If her fairy-tale wedding to one of the most-desirable bachelors in Washington, D.C., couldn’t put her business back on the map, she’d eat her own bouquet (blush-pink peonies, white heather and pale green hydrangea).

ST. HELEN’S CHURCH WASN’T open on weekdays. Vandalism and a skeleton staff in the parish office combined to limit the public hours. Cooper had explained to Father Chirwa that he wanted to sit in the church to write his wedding vows, and the priest had made an exception for him. If he’d been born in an earlier generation, maybe back in County Cavan before the first Murphy emigrated, they’d have said he had the gift of the gab. His brother was fond of telling people Cooper could talk Greenpeace into advocating for more whaling. Not that he would, but the potential was there.

He’d been alone in the church for two hours now. He was supposed to meet Jorie to choose their wedding cake in a little more than forty-five minutes. So far, he’d read the Stations of the Cross, lit a candle for his grandmother, said a prayer that the Nationals would find a starting pitcher and, if it wasn’t too much, a center fielder who could both catch and hit. Then he’d decided that he shouldn’t be praying about baseball so he’d lit another candle and prayed for peace and enlightenment and fortitude, because he’d always liked that word.

The pages of his notebook stayed stubbornly blank. He uncapped his favorite fountain pen and put a heading on the page. Wedding Vows. He jotted some words underneath—love, Jorie, wife, eternal and a curse word that he immediately crossed out and then apologized to God and the saints for. He took another turn around the perimeter of the church, the leather soles of his shoes making a lonely echo. When he got to the candle rack again he stopped, and this time he prayed for wisdom.

Writing the vows was his only job for the wedding and he couldn’t even do that. He slid into a pew and laid his notebook and pen down next to him. He looked at the altar; imagined himself up there, waiting for Jorie to walk down the aisle toward him. Of course, their wedding wasn’t here in his home parish, but in the National Cathedral. The Wish Team, which had fulfilled Jorie’s mom’s wish by funding her daughter’s dream wedding, had pulled strings to get the venue. Jorie was over the moon about decorating the cathedral. The exact setting didn’t matter to Cooper. Soon enough, he’d be in a church, waiting for Jorie and minutes away from vowing to…something.

He leaned forward, resting his head in his hands.

The thing about marrying a wedding planner was that nothing was left to chance. Jorie had plans for every moment of the ceremony and the reception. She consulted him before making a decision be cause she was the kind of woman who thought men should be included in that stuff, but the wedding was really hers. Writing the vows was the only thing she’d moved permanently off her to-do list and onto his.

She said it was because he was the better writer. He’d been writing political speeches and ghostwriting op-ed pieces and thousands of other communications for close to ten years, so yeah, writing wedding vows was definitely something he should be able to do. The only trouble was…well…actually there were two problems. One, he was pretty damn sure she’d given him this job because she couldn’t have done it herself. The reality was, she didn’t know him, didn’t really love him and hadn’t ever really wanted to marry him. And number two, he was pretty sure he felt the same way.

Yeah. Those were the main issues and he had only himself to blame. It was Chelsea’s idea for them to get married, and her wish, which had been expanded into a huge fundraiser for the Wish Team’s tenth anniversary, was being granted even though she’d died months ago, much sooner than they’d hoped. But it had been his own inability to resist a romantic gesture that sealed the engagement.

He could have said no, but Chelsea’s defiant belief in the power of wishing after a lifetime of disappointment had touched him. He’d seen the hope in her eyes that she could give Jorie this one thing before she died, and he’d said yes, because how could he not help her when he knew exactly what it meant to care that much about your family?

He and Jorie had only been dating for six months at the time and their relationship was still so new he hadn’t seen any downside. He didn’t stop to think about consequences, so caught up in Chelsea’s dream that he couldn’t have said no if he’d wanted to. His mom had been complaining about this habit of acting from the heart ever since he’d set the class room pets loose in kindergarten. The rabbit hadn’t gotten far, but two of the gerbils and the corn snake hadn’t been seen again. He was the guy who always put his hand over his heart for the National Anthem. He’d given the toast at his brother’s wedding and two different women had propositioned him afterward and a guy from the World Wildlife Fund had asked him to write their annual donor appeal. Which he’d done. He liked pandas as much as the next guy.

Chelsea Burke had offered him the chance to be a knight in shining armor and he’d said yes. His fault.

His romantic impulsiveness had brought him and Jorie to this point, but his good sense had finally caught up. It was late. Too late in many ways, but they hadn’t passed the irrevocable point where they pledged some as yet unwritten vows to each other. He’d screwed up and he was going to hurt a lot of people, but he’d do the right thing before it really was too late.

When he proposed to Jorie, he knew deep down that they hadn’t been together long enough, didn’t know each other well enough, but he’d convinced himself it wouldn’t matter. If anything, he knew less about Jorie now. She was beautiful, at least to him. Her strawberry-blonde hair and sky-blue eyes meshed perfectly with creamy skin dusted with freckles. She was smart, perceptive and had a wry sense of humor he appreciated. She had impeccable fashion sense, although she tended toward the conservative, and he loved the body she kept concealed under her buttoned-up exterior.

Unfortunately, he’d found out most of those things during the first few months they were dating. Since then, he’d been unable to get closer to her. She was so guarded he couldn’t find a way in. He’d become convinced that what he’d initially thought of as sophistication was actually an ingrained reserve. Or else she didn’t much like him. Either way, he was out of ideas for how to turn his hopes for their relationship into reality.

He stood up and walked to the front of the church. Leaning on the railing around the votive candles, he watched the flames flicker. He put another dollar in the metal collection box and picked up a long wooden match, dipping it into the flame. He lit one last candle and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t sure who the apology was for. Chelsea, Jorie, himself? He hoped Jorie would understand.

COOPER DIDN’T KISS HER.

He had to pass her to get to his chair at Lucky’s tasting table, and he trailed one hand along the back of her seat, grazing the skin above the collar of her coffee-stained dress, but he didn’t bend to kiss her cheek.

Cooper always kissed her.

He kissed everyone—his mother, his brother, his father, his many cousins, his friends. Jorie wouldn’t be surprised to find out he’d kissed his bus driver in elementary school. A peck on the cheek in greeting from Cooper Murphy was nothing special. Not getting one was. Especially for the woman planning to marry him.

If she hadn’t been so intent on making every detail of her wedding perfect now that it was her only project, she would have worried more about the missing kiss, but she had bigger fish to fry.

Red velvet fish, if all went according to plan.

Alice poked her head around the door leading to the front of the bakery. “There’s our groom!” she called. “A few minutes late and Jorie had us convinced you weren’t coming. Give me one second.” She ducked back out of sight, the swinging door making a breeze strong enough to ruffle the edge of the cotton tablecloth.

“I didn’t say you weren’t coming,” Jorie protested. “I’m nervous, that’s all. Alice is being dramatic.”

He pulled his seat out but stayed on his feet, his hands wrapped tightly around the white wooden knobs on either side of the ladder-back chair. “Listen, Jorie, I almost didn’t come.” He hesitated and seemed to change his mind about what to say. “I can’t do this.”

What was he talking about? Alice’s cakes were amazing. He knew that because he’d eaten just as many pieces as she had in the past few months.

“I know you’re dubious about the red velvet, but I told you, ignore the name. You’re going to love it.” She picked up the pale aqua menu card and tried to hand it to him. “Aren’t these menus perfect? The blue and silver are our wedding colors, and see, our names and the wedding date are right here. Brides love these.” Alice made individual cake menus for all of the couples who came for tastings. As keep-sakes, they looked gorgeous mounted in Jorie’s wedding binders.

He took the menu but didn’t read it. “I was working on the vows all morning.”

The vows. She was almost afraid to ask what he’d written. Elise Gordon (348 guests, silver and white New Year’s wedding) had written rhyming vows which her husband rapped to her. (The rhymes had been planned; the rap was spur of the moment.) Jorie wasn’t interested in a rap, but she did wonder what Cooper would promise and what he’d ask from her in return. Her mom had never gotten any of her boyfriends to the vow stage, and it had seemed to Jorie that her mom had consistently given more than she got.

Alice backed through the door just then, a tray held in front of her. “I am so sorry, guys. The counter is crazy busy and my full-time help is home with a sick kid.” She slid the silver tray holding four small cakes onto the table. “I’d love to give you the full treatment, but I’m going to have to leave you on your own.” She pointed to the cake at the top of the tray. “This is the carrot. Start here.” She pointed at each one, moving clockwise around the grouping. “Carrot. Lemon. Red velvet. Chocolate. Small bites. Taste each one before you make up your mind. The usual drill, Jorie. Don’t let your man taste out of order—he’ll ruin the flavors.”

She beamed at them. “Of all the weddings we’re doing this year, yours is going to be the most perfect.” Her eyes sparkled under the brim of her Lucky’s ball cap. “Your mom would have loved this.”

The bell rang in the front of the bakery and Alice put two forks and a serving spatula next to the china dessert plates on the table. “Enjoy!” She rushed back through the door, leaving them alone.

The tasting room at Lucky’s was tucked behind the actual store. Alice had told her she’d picked grass-green for the walls with white accents because bright spaces made people hungry. Cooper, standing behind his chair, didn’t seem to be falling under the spell. Jorie leaned back so she could see him better. His thick brown hair, dark chocolate eyes and deep dimples were such a perfect combination, they still made her tingle, but she couldn’t read his expression. Cooper was characteristically open and uncomplicated. It was one of the reasons she’d been attracted to him. But today, he wouldn’t meet her eye. He still hadn’t sat down.

And he hadn’t kissed her.

She turned the tray a fraction so that the carrot cake was positioned at exactly twelve o’clock. She was reading too much into that missing kiss. He’d been late and he was distracted. She was upset about losing Nadine’s wedding. So what if he hadn’t kissed her? It didn’t mean anything. It certainly didn’t mean…

He put the menu on the table, so close to the tray that the top corner made a divot in the icing on the carrot cake. She’d have to ask Alice for an extra copy; that stained one might ruin her binder.

“Jorie,” he said, and his voice was soft. He had a terrific voice, rich and rumbly, but it could be incredibly gentle. “I wanted this to work out, you know I did. But I can’t…I couldn’t write the vows.” He looked away, his glance bouncing around the room, which was decorated with oversize black and white prints of brides and grooms. “We have to call it off.”

He wasn’t doing this. He wouldn’t. She wouldn’t let him. Her stomach was starting to hurt and she really wanted to take off her belt.

“Please sit down,” she said. “You’re too tall and I’m never going to be able to cut even slices with you looming over me.”

She pushed his chair out with her foot, a little harder than necessary. He stepped back quickly to avoid getting hit in the gut, and she panicked. He was leaving.

“You have to sit down!” she said and he did. She picked up the cake server. “Carrot first.”

He covered her hand with his own. “Please stop talking about cake.”

“Why? Why can’t we get this done? Why can’t one thing go right today?” She pulled her hand away from his. “My belt is too small, my dress is stained and I lost the Richford contract this morning because all of my ideas are stupid. Is it so awful that I’d like to sit here in Alice’s pretty room and eat these cakes with you?”

“You lost the Richford contract?” He shifted slightly toward her. “I’m sorry.”

For the first time, he looked straight at her. She’d always thought those deep brown eyes gave him an unfair advantage. Cooper was a truly good guy, kind, honest, romantic. He looked so trustworthy, she didn’t know how anyone could ever doubt him.

“They didn’t love my Rebel Without a Cause theme.”

“Everyone dies at the end of that movie.”

“Sal Mineo dies. Everyone else is fine.”

“That other kid dies in the chicken scene.”

“He was a bully!”

“Still, not exactly the first film you think of for a wedding.”

Jorie pulled the tray closer and cut a thick wedge of the red velvet. She wasn’t going to agree to lemon or carrot, so why mess around? “Maybe you should have come to the meeting. You seem to have the same taste in weddings as Sally and Nadine.” She flipped the slice onto his plate and speared a bite with his fork. She held it up and he hesitated, then took it. His mouth curved around the fork. Cooper had a beautiful mouth with strong, sculpted lips.

“That’s delicious.”

“See? I know what I’m talking about. I knew you’d love that one.”

“Liking the same cake doesn’t mean we should get married.”

“What?” The desperate, deliberate innocence in her voice reminded her so much of her mom that she could almost see Chelsea sitting at the table with them. How many times had her mom tried to hold on to a guy who was letting her down easy? How often had Jorie promised herself she’d never be that begging woman?

He folded his hands, pressing them together.

“It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Badly. I want to call off the wedding. If we go through with it, we’ll be lying. To my family, to our friends. To each other.”

“I’m not lying,” she whispered. She laid the fork gently down on the edge of his plate. She put her hand on his wrist, wanting to hold onto him and hating herself for wanting it.

“We are, Jorie. I tried to write the vows and I couldn’t. I kept winding up back at your mom. We’re doing this for her.” He shook his head. “We don’t even know each other.”

“I knew you’d like red velvet cake.”

“That’s not enough.”

“Of course it’s not.” She dropped his wrist. She knew as well as anyone that cake wasn’t enough. “Why is this suddenly coming up now? When you proposed, I said no. Remember? I said it was too soon and my mom was wedding-crazed as usual. But you persuaded me. You said we had a great start and we could build on it and we should give my mom this last gift because what better way to start a life together?” She slid out of her chair and walked a few steps before turning back. “You had your big romantic moment. You wrote me a fairy tale. And now I’ve got everything wrapped up in this wedding—my business, my reputation, the fundraiser for my mom’s registry, everything! And you’re going to leave me hanging?”

He poked the tines of his fork into the icing on the edge of the plate.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“What did you mean, then? You asked me to marry you. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I wanted to make your mom happy. To make you happy. I thought it would all work out.”

She stared at him. “No wonder,” she said. “You’re a romantic just like her. Things don’t ‘work out.’ You have to work at them. You have to try.”

“We have tried.”

“No, we haven’t,” she said quickly. “We’ve been tiptoeing around each other ever since my mom died.”

The fork clattered on the plate. He shook his head and pushed his chair back, not making eye contact. “I’m sorry. Jorie, you’re a great person. I wanted your mom to be happy and I wanted you to be happy, but I can’t marry you. It will only make more problems.”

He was walking out. Just like that. He’d decided things were over and it didn’t matter what she said or what she wanted.

“We have to at least try,” she whispered. “I can’t—” become my mother “—ruin my mother’s last wish.”

“Your mom is the reason we got engaged. I can’t get married for her, too.”

She didn’t know what to say. Her life was ending right here at the tasting table in the back room at Lucky’s. Her engagement. Her chance at being the woman Cooper Murphy chose to marry. The moment when she proved once and for all that she wasn’t going to live her mother’s life.

He leaned down and she hoped he’d changed his mind. Maybe he was going to kiss her and every thing else he’d said would fade into a bad dream. “I’m so sorry that I hurt you,” he said, very quietly.

She couldn’t speak. He didn’t kiss her. The door closed behind him and she was alone with her tray of untasted cakes and two dirty forks.

COOPER PAUSED AFTER HE closed the door. Nice going, jackass. He’d handled that about as badly as possible. He’d been screwing this up right from the start and it had ended with Jorie getting hurt. He rubbed his wrist, pressing the spot where she’d held him tightly. Jorie didn’t cling. She didn’t beg. Hell, she hardly ever asked. He was hard pressed to remember an instance in the time he’d known her when she’d asked him for something that didn’t have to do with the wedding.

He shook his head. That was the point. She didn’t want anything from him. He and Jorie didn’t have a relationship, they had plans for a wedding.

As he passed the big front window of the bakery, he glimpsed Alice through the glass. Her mouth opened when she saw him, and she glanced over her shoulder toward the tasting room. Good. Jorie wouldn’t be alone. He was halfway across the street, heading toward his office, hoping he could finally make some progress on the speech he was supposed to be writing for his brother, when his phone rang. He checked the caller ID. “Dad?”

“We need you at the house.”

“What’s wrong?” A list went through his mind… Mom, Bailey, Dad. Was someone sick? “Dad, what’s happened? Is Mom…?”

“Your mother is fine. How long before you can get here?”

“I…” He shifted the phone to his left hand and glanced at his watch. “Fifteen minutes? Why?”

“I don’t want to talk on the cell. I’ll tell you when you get here.”

So it was politics. Something was up with Bailey.

“Are you sure you need me?” he asked. “Because Jorie and I—”

“Make it ten if you can,” his dad said, and then he hung up.

Good old Dad. Whenever the tension went up, his carefully cultivated interpersonal skills went out the window, and he turned into the predator Nolan Murphy, driven, focused, ruthless when necessary. If he weren’t so brilliant, Cooper thought, it would be easy to dislike the guy. As it was, if his dad said jump, Cooper asked how high and never stopped to question why jumping was required.

CHAPTER TWO

ALICE PUSHED OPEN THE door to the tasting room. “Did Cooper leave?”

“He liked the red velvet,” Jorie said. She thought she’d done a good job of sounding exactly like a bride-to-be after a satisfactory cake tasting, but when Alice came all the way into the room and crouched down next to the table, she knew she’d failed.

“What happened?”

“He didn’t think he was going to like it.” Jorie used two fingers to slide the silver tray away from her. The uneaten cakes were making her nauseous and she thought vomiting in Alice’s tasting room might be bad for their friendship. “Whoever named it should have done better market research because that sucker is a tough sell. Velvet is fuzzy, you know?”

Alice didn’t respond.

“He called off the engagement.”

Saying it out loud made it real. Alice sat back on her heels, apparently at a loss for words. She was only the first, Jorie realized. Everyone she told would look at her with exactly the same shock mixed with pity. She’d have to notify the caterers and the hotel. She’d need to call the priest and cancel the church, but first, she’d have to call the Wish Team. They’d pulled strings to get the National Cathedral. That call would be the cap on the dissolution of her life. Once the wedding was canceled, this whole dream would be down the drain. She’d be her mother, trying to cobble some new life together after she’d lost her latest man. There was no way she’d be able to pull her business back from the brink after this. Who would hire the wedding planner who couldn’t even drag her own man to the altar?

No.

She wasn’t going to watch her life fall apart. She regretted saying anything to Alice.

“I don’t think he meant it, though,” she said quickly. “He said he was working on the vows. It could have been cold feet.”

“Tell me what he said.”

The door to the bakery opened and the college boy who was working the register stuck his head into the room. “Sorry to interrupt, Alice, but there’s a woman here who says she ordered five dozen coconut cupcakes and the only ones in the cooler are strawberry cheesecake.”

“They’re on the top shelf, already boxed. Find them. I’m with a bride.”

“Not exactly,” Jorie muttered.

The door closed again and Alice pulled the empty chair around and sat down, facing Jorie. “I want to hear what happened.”

“You have customers.”

“They can wait. Tell me.”

“He said he can’t marry me,” Jorie whispered. She should get up and leave before she embarrassed herself any more, but she didn’t.

The door swung open again. “Alice, what’s the register code for the apple pie?”

“Pies are free for the next fifteen minutes. Tell the customers it’s a cooked fruit freebie frenzy.” Alice narrowed her eyes at her assistant. “Also, Eliot? You go to Georgetown. You can manage the bakery by yourself for five minutes. It’s straightforward. Take in dollars. Hand over carbohydrates.”

Eliot retreated.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Alice said.

“You know what? I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m not the easiest person to love. I’m private and prickly and I’ve never been good at relationships.” Jorie paused. She could hear her voice rising and she really didn’t want to lose control. She and Alice were friends, but not the kind who bared their souls—it was bad enough she couldn’t seem to stop talking. “But I thought Cooper knew me. I thought he was okay with me.”

Alice put her hands on Jorie’s shoulders. “I’ll give you private, but I don’t see prickly. Whatever Cooper’s problem is, it’s not you.”

Jorie looked down at the table.

“Right?” Alice prompted.

“Sure.” Jorie sighed. “Do you think we’ll have to give the Wish Registry gifts back?” When she and Cooper had agreed they didn’t want gifts for their wedding, her mom had been disappointed that she wouldn’t get to help Jorie fill out the registry. It had been Chelsea’s inspiration, so typical of her generous spirit, that had led to the Wish Registry. It included everything from music lessons to sports tickets to trips and video game systems—a list of wishes the foundation had matched with recipients. Her mom had insisted that they wrap each item, even if it was only a gift certificate or trip itinerary, so the recipient would have something tangible. “My mom loved that stupid registry so much.”

“And you love Cooper, right?” Alice asked gently. “You were marrying him because you love him, not for your mom, right?”

“How could I not love Cooper?” she asked.

Alice let that go. “Are you too prickly for a hug?” Any other day Jorie would have felt like an idiot for being so publicly distressed, but today seemed to be a day of firsts. When Alice pulled her in and hugged her, she closed her eyes and leaned into the contact. She did love Cooper. Or she would have loved Cooper once they were married. She was quite sure she had the right feelings about him. She liked his company. They had good talks. She liked the way he looked. They were great in bed. She’d talked to enough couples to know that she wasn’t exactly passionately in love, but she was close. If only she had a little more time.

COOPER TOOK THE FRONT steps to the Georgetown row house he’d grown up in two at a time. On the way there, he’d imagined about fifty really bad reasons his dad wanted to meet him at home in the middle of the day. It was probably politics, but Cooper, who spent his life writing inspiring speeches, had a very good imagination.

His mom opened the door when he knocked, and because she’d been on his list of possible casualties, he gave her a hug in addition to his usual kiss on the cheek. His dad had told him she was fine, but his dad had lied to him before. Of course, Nolan Murphy would call it keeping him on a need-to-know basis. His dad’s standards were far from black and white when it came to the truth.

“Good to see you, Mom,” he said. “You look great.” She did, too. Rachel Murphy was tall, blonde and fit. She also had one of the best policy minds on the East Coast. She played up her feminine side with color and flowing fabrics and bold jewelry. She said her décolletage had bamboozled more senators into more deals than half the lobbying firms in the city. When he patted her shoulder, he was relieved to feel the familiar taut muscles earned from a lifetime of tennis. “Nice and healthy.”

Rachel hugged him back and then straightened, one hand still on his forearm. “Your dad didn’t fill you in on what’s going on, did he? He let you worry?”

He nodded.

“I’m telling you, Cooper. That man knows better than to torment you. The short answer is, it’s your brother. Bailey has gotten himself into a serious mess and I don’t see a way out for him this time. Your dad and Theo are still working out the angles, but I think it’s going to mean resignation—your dad just hasn’t come to grips with that yet.”

“Resignation” sent a jolt through him. A Murphy was going to resign from his Senate seat? What the hell could Bailey have done? His mom and dad lived and breathed the Senate—they had since long before Cooper was born. His mom had married into the family, but she seemed just as proud as his dad to remind people there’d been a Murphy in the Senate since 1968.

“Resign, Mom? What happened?”

“It’s not something that happened. It’s something he did. Deliberately and without even considering what it would mean for us. For your father. For his committees. For the votes he has coming up. For anyone.”

She was past furious. Usually the family could count on her to be the voice of reason. Not this time.

“You coming in?” he asked her.

“I’ve given them my opinion already, and frankly, I shouldn’t be around Bailey right now. I would hate for this situation to get any more acrimonious than it already is, but he has really…the idea that someone with his gifts would flush it all—” Rachel patted Cooper’s arm, her face tight with controlled anger. “It’s better for everyone if I stay out of the way for a while.”

“But…” Cooper didn’t know what to say. His entire life, his mom and dad had been the team in charge of the Murphys’ political fortunes. Other families had holiday traditions, annual vacations or shared religion to keep them together. The Murphys had politics. “Don’t you need to—”

“The thing I don’t need is to see your brother right now.”

Your brother. That’s what she used to call Bailey when he was in high school and had taken some stupid risk or failed to excel in class. At least she hadn’t called him “your goddamn brother.” That was more their dad’s thing.

“Okay. Well. I’ll go in and see what Dad wants.”

She patted his arm again, this time with a tight smile. “You’re going to do fine.”

And that absolutely unreassuring little statement sent his tension soaring.

He was halfway down the hall, a few steps past the dark walnut pocket doors that opened onto the formal living room, when she called after him. “I forgot to ask, did you pick a cake?”

He closed his eyes for half a second but didn’t turn around. “The red velvet was good.”

His mom laughed. “Jorie was right, huh? You’d think you’d trust the wedding planner even if you don’t trust your bride.”

He was going to hate telling her about the wedding. He’d never liked disappointing his mom. As far back as elementary school when he’d rush home to show her his report card, he’d wanted her to be proud of him. It hadn’t always been easy for him. Bailey was the golden boy who’d been marked as their father’s political heir sometime in the few seconds between clearing the birth canal and having the doctor count all his fingers and toes. Other than ending up two inches taller, Cooper had never done anything as well as his brother. If you compared their driver’s licenses, even the height difference was erased because Bailey shared their father’s more flexible approach to the truth.

Which was probably part of the reason for this meeting. Whatever was going on was bad. Bad enough that his mom wasn’t even speaking to Bailey.

WHEN HE PUSHED THE DOOR to the study open, the first thing Cooper noticed was that his brother was standing on the far side of the room, leaning on the low table in front of the window, his back to the other two men. His dad and his cousin Theo were seated together all the way on the opposite side of the room at the library table near the fireplace, notebooks and laptops open, cell phones at their elbows, heads close together as they talked.

Holy crap. Bailey was already out.

He didn’t care what his mom had said about no decisions having been made. It was one hundred percent clear that his dad and Theo were working on a problem and Bailey…across the room by himself…Bailey was that problem. Cooper let his palm rest flat on the heavy swinging door for a moment, the weight of the wood grounding him. He’d grown up knowing his brother was the center of the family universe and now, without warning, Bailey was sidelined. He didn’t know if he should go to his brother or join his dad and cousin. Nothing about this situation was normal.

“Cooper,” his dad said. “Take a seat. We’ve got a lot to cover.”

Bailey didn’t move, still hadn’t looked at him, but his voice was bitter as he said, “You shouldn’t do this to him. Saint Cooper doesn’t know how to say no to you.”

“I’m not the one causing problems,” Nolan said. “Cooper will do what needs to be done. What’s right for the family. He understands what’s expected of him. He’s not the one who’s been carrying on behind his wife’s back with an investment banker who’s going to give birth to his illegitimate child smack in the middle of his reelection campaign!” He practically shouted the last words.

So much for having a lot to cover, Cooper thought. Senator Bailey Murphy of Pennsylvania, married to one woman and having a baby with another. Not much more to explain, was there?

Nolan pointed at the chair next to him. “Let’s go, Cooper. We need you now.”

He stepped into the room, letting the door swish closed behind him, but he didn’t sit down. Bailey still hadn’t turned around. Cooper had grown up worshipping Bailey. He was the kind of magnetic, larger-than-life guy a little brother either hated or idolized. He didn’t inspire moderate reactions in anyone. Even his election had been a landslide, but then, the voters of Pennsylvania had been making a statement about more than the telegenic, charismatic Murphy heir. Their dad had resigned his seat when he’d been tapped as a vice-presidential nominee. It had been an enormous coup, but marked the end of his career when his ticket got crushed in the election. He’d thrown his weight behind Bailey as the Senate candidate in the special election to fill his seat, and the voters of Pennsylvania turned out to honor him by electing his son.

Working with and for Bailey the past six years had deepened his relationship with his brother, but Cooper didn’t exactly worship him anymore. He still loved him. He admired him, and more than anything else, he knew him. Bailey was in pain. The way he’d lashed out now meant that whatever he’d done, it hadn’t been a whim. His brother was serious.

“Well, since I’m not married, it stands to reason I couldn’t mess around with anyone, much less an investment banker, behind my wife’s back,” Cooper said. “Besides, I’ve never been a money guy.”

“See?” the bitterness was still in Bailey’s voice. “I told you to leave him out of this—he doesn’t want to be involved.”

“And I told you to shut up about two hours ago,” Nolan said. “Try to see if you can do a better job keeping your mouth zipped than you did with your pants.”

Cooper winced, but he could hear the hurt in his father’s tone. His dad swore he only had high expectations for Bailey because he was capable of meeting them. Nothing made him angrier than the thought that Bailey was throwing away opportunities.

Theo tapped his pen on the table. “Whoa, guys, we agreed sniping at each other wasn’t productive.” He was wearing jeans and a hoodie from Georgetown and his Steelers cap was turned backward, but he still managed to sound like the three-hundred-dollar-an-hour lawyer he was. “Let’s get Cooper up to speed and then we’ll see where to go next. The clock is ticking—the more time we waste, the bigger chance we have of losing our one shot at spinning this our way.”

When he finished, Nolan was still glaring at Bailey’s back as if he hadn’t even spoken. Theo gave Cooper a “please help me” look. Cooper liked his cousin. Theo was supersmart and he had a wicked sense of humor. It made him a sought-after speaker and an excellent storyteller at the bar after a few glasses of Scotch. Not that he told stories about his family, but there were always tales to be told about somebody in Washington.

Theo thought Cooper was a soft touch—hell, everyone in his family thought he was. But he respected Cooper’s opinion. He pushed a chair out from the table with his foot and Cooper hesitated before sitting down. He didn’t want to be there, but this was his family. He’d do what he had to to help them out.

“Should I ask Mom to come in before we start?”

“Mom’s not talking to me,” Bailey muttered. “If she comes in, you have to promise you’ll check her for weapons.”

“Enough!” Nolan said.

It took twenty minutes for Theo to lay it all out for Cooper. There were details he wished he could unlearn. The woman with the baby wasn’t interested in publicity, but she wasn’t going to go away either. The baby was undeniably Bailey’s. Those were the main points. Bailey was going to be a dad—Cooper couldn’t take that in. He had to stop himself from interrupting because he kept thinking Theo was skipping something important, something that he couldn’t quite grasp. As his cousin went through the recap, the weight of the debacle settled on him.

And it was a debacle. Bailey was done. God. His brother had all the gifts in the world. He could have been a legend. Except he was still human—still the same guy Cooper had grown up with, brilliant but unpredictable.

“So, Cooper.” His dad leaned toward him, the intensity in his brown eyes as unnerving as it had been when Cooper was a kid and committed some transgression. “We need you to write the speech of a lifetime. When Bailey reads the speech, it has to convince the people of Pennsylvania, and most of all, Governor Karloski, that your brother has made one, small, forgivable mistake. That his loving wife, Jill, is sticking with him in this troubled time, that he is deeply, truly sorry for said small error, and that, with the best interests of Pennsylvania in mind, he has made the difficult, but honorable decision to step down.” He counted off each point, tapping a thick finger on the legal pad in front of him. “And most importantly, you need to lay the subtle kernel of a notion that the very best person to pick up the end of Bailey’s term is his devoted and deserving brother. That’s the linchpin, Coop. We need you in there now.”

There was so much that was wrong with what his dad had just said. For one thing, according to Theo, Jill was currently on her way to her mom’s house in the Poconos with a divorce lawyer already on speed dial. Cooper wasn’t stupid, but it really did take him a second for the most important thing his dad had said to sink in. “Me? You want me to run for the Senate?”

Theo pushed his notebook toward Cooper. He’d sketched what looked like a timeline and now he ticked off each point with his pen. “You’re not running for anything. Bailey resigns and the governor appoints someone to finish his term. That’s you. Because the primary is already over, the state party committee is allowed to select the candidate to run in the general election. That’s me. I win the seat and you’re off the hook by next January.”

“Why aren’t you taking the seat right now?” It had long been understood that if anything happened to Bailey, Theo was the designated heir.

“Too young.”

Cooper looked at his dad.

“He can’t be sworn in until he’s thirty, which he won’t be until October,” Nolan said. “If any of this had been planned, we could have worked the timing and made sure Theo was ready. But your goddamn brother hasn’t left us any wiggle room and Theo is not a viable option at the moment. Which is why we need you.”

Bailey hadn’t turned around. Hadn’t opened his mouth since their dad told him to shut up. Cooper realized what had been missing from the facts as they were laid out.

“I need to talk to Bailey,” he said. “Alone.”

“Later,” his dad said. “If we don’t get in front of this thing today, we can kiss the seat goodbye. Karloski is going to have to sell you to a lot of unhappy people. We need to give him every inch of help we can. Your uncle Stephen is on his way to Harrisburg right now.”

Cooper stood up. He’d never been comfortable with defiance. Ever since he was a kid he’d been able to talk his way out of difficult situations without confrontation. But this issue was black-and-white and had to be met head-on.

“Dad, you’re talking about this as if it’s a done deal. I’ve never run for anything in my—”

His dad interrupted, chopping the air with an impatient swipe. “You’re not running now. You’re being appointed. We’re taking care of it. But it won’t happen if you don’t sit the hell down and let us get started.”

“I won’t be long.” Cooper walked toward the door.

“You’re wasting time we don’t have,” his dad said.

He pushed the door open. His neck prickled as if his dad’s stare was a living thing, ready to leap on him. He owed his brother the chance to explain. He didn’t check to see if Bailey was coming. He didn’t need to. He heard a loud smack and guessed his dad had hit the table. In the kitchen he pulled out two beers and used the bottle opener mounted on the edge of the stainless-steel-covered island to open them. He took a long swallow from one bottle and held the other one out just as Bailey came through the door. The beer ran cold down his throat but did nothing to settle his thoughts, which were pretty much an infinite loop of “Senator Cooper Murphy” and “holy hell” and “out of their freaking minds.”

“Drinking on the job already, Cooper?”

“Don’t,” he said.

“Don’t what?” Bailey took a pull of his own beer, but he flicked a glance sideways at Cooper.

“Don’t be flip. Don’t pretend you’re an asshole. I’m not Dad.”

Bailey nodded and put his beer down on the island. Cooper leaned forward, exhausted by what was turning out to be an incredibly long and horrible day.

“What do you want to know?”

“You’re too smart for this to have been a mistake or a surprise. You got her pregnant on purpose. If you wanted out, why not just withdraw from the campaign?”

Bailey glanced toward the closed door and then sighed. “I don’t know why Dad never believes me when I tell him you’re the devious one.”

“I can’t believe you’d do this. Not to your staff or the family. Jill. What the hell, Bay? Why not just retire?”

“Because they wouldn’t have let me.”

Cooper started to protest but Bailey stopped him.

“Don’t pretend it’s not true. I could never stand up to them. You were in there—Dad and Uncle Stephen, Mom, even Theo—they’re relentless. Be sides, it’s not just the job, Coop. It’s my life. Bailey Murphy. I hate freaking Bailey Murphy. If Jill and I were ever in love, that ended years ago. In the past couple years, we haven’t even been friends.” He leaned back on the counter. “She’s having an affair with Cal Dobbs.”

Cooper winced. He’d heard rumors, seen some things that didn’t add up, but he’d always thought Jill had better taste. Cal had a bad haircut and a worse personality. And he cheated at golf. Among other things, apparently.

“I used to get a charge out of the job, but that’s not enough. I want a whole life. I want to be with someone I can love and do something I care about because it’s mine, not because someone decided it should be mine for no reason other than that I was born first. I met Deb and…she’s what I want. Her and the baby. As long as I was Senator Murphy, I couldn’t be with her. I couldn’t see another way out.”

“Divorce?”

Bailey shook his head.

He was right. Divorce would have gotten him out of the marriage, but he wanted out of the job, too. Out of his life.

“You could have thrown a debate. Messed up a speech.”

“No one cares about that stuff except guys like you. It wouldn’t have affected the election.”

Cooper crossed to the round wooden breakfast table in a windowed nook overlooking the backyard. He sat, putting his beer next to him, stretching his legs in front of him, wishing he could figure out what he was supposed to feel. Growing up, he and Bailey had eaten dinner at this table more often than not. When their parents were both home, the family ate in the dining room, but nights when all four of them were around at the same time had been rare. He’d been close to Bailey and he knew his brother had struggled with their parents’ expectations when he was younger, but he’d seemed to grow out of that. Maybe he’d just gotten better at hiding it.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to say to his dad, but he was certain of one thing.

“I’m not taking this unless you swear to me you want out. If they’re pushing you out or there’s something else going on, you tell me now and we’ll deal with it together.”

“You’d stand up for me against Dad?” Bailey asked.

“Say the word.”

“I want out,” Bailey said.

Cooper pushed himself up. “That’s it then.” When he passed his brother, Bailey grabbed his arm.

“If you’d stand up to him for me, Coop, you should do it for yourself, too. Don’t let them ram this down your throat.”

“I’m not—”

“You go back in there and they won’t give you any time to think. You’re going to be handing your life over to them because you know and I know that the Murphy legacy has always meant more to Dad and Uncle Stephen, to all of them, than any one of us. Ever since he lost the vice presidency, it’s gotten worse. Even Mom is obsessed.”

Cooper blinked at the intensity on Bailey’s face.

“If I don’t take it, what happens?”

Bailey shrugged. “They went over all that before you got here. If they can’t get you in, they’re going with Harry Small—he’s a D.A. in Pittsburgh. The trouble is, he’ll want to run for the seat and Dad thinks he’d have a better than decent chance of getting the committee to back him for the nomination.”

“So Theo wouldn’t run. No more Murphys in the Senate.”

“That wouldn’t be the worst thing, Coop. It’s not your problem.”

“For you and me, maybe it’s not the end of the world. But for the rest of them…they’d never forgive you.”

“I’m not sure they’re going to forgive me anyway.” Bailey took another swig of beer. “Mom’s seriously not talking to me. She said something about polluting Dad’s legacy and then she walked out.”

“They’ll forgive you.” It would take time, but they’d come around. Cooper didn’t want to think about what his brother must be feeling right now. Politics wasn’t just their family business. In a lot of ways, it was their family. “Although if we lose the seat because of this, I doubt Uncle Stephen would ever talk to you again.” He deliberately singled out their uncle, but they both knew he’d left their dad’s name unspoken. Before today Cooper wouldn’t have thought his mom would go that far, but now he wasn’t so sure. “You’re having a kid, Bay. Now isn’t the time to lose your family.”

That was probably when it sank in that Bailey had jumped ship. He’d met someone named Deb, fallen in love with her, and had a baby on the way. He’d risked everything to give himself a chance at the life he wanted, but he wouldn’t be totally happy without the family. No matter what doubts he had about taking Bailey’s seat, Cooper wouldn’t say no. Not if it meant the seat stayed in Murphy hands long enough for Theo to get elected. That would leave the door open and Bailey might be able to salvage a relationship with their parents.

Bailey glanced away. “I want you to meet Deb,” he said. “I think you’re going to like her. She reminds me a little of Jorie.”

Cooper patted his brother’s shoulder. For the second time, he found himself unable to tell a member of his family that he’d ended his engagement. “I’d like to meet her.” He hesitated, not sure what else to say. “I want you to be happy.” That was true. He’d always wanted that. He just hadn’t known how far from happy his brother was.

“Thanks.”

“A baby, man.” He pulled Bailey in and hugged him hard. “Congratulations.”

When he stepped back, Bailey was grinning—the same grin that had probably won him a few thousand votes all on its own. “Thanks, Coop. You’re the first one to say that.”

COOPER WENT BACK TO the study by himself. He’d have to get used to this, he guessed. Starting today, he was going to be standing on his own, without Bailey in front of him. That made two losses for the day—his brother and Jorie. He missed them both.

He pushed the study door open. “I’ll do it,” he announced.

“Thank God I have one son left with some sense.”

His dad stood and shook his hand. Cooper didn’t know what to feel. He’d never wanted this, still didn’t really want it. He’d spent his entire life being Bailey’s younger brother. That role was comfortable. He knew his strengths—writing speeches was one of them—but put him in front of a crowd and ask him to deliver the words on his own? No way. He could do it, but he hated it. He hoped this temporary appointee gig wouldn’t include many public speaking obligations.

“We’re going to need to get Jorie over here to brief her. Give Theo her number and he can call her.” Nolan sat back down. “Good thing Theo is one of your groomsmen. We can use the press coverage of the wedding to our advantage.”

“Uh, Dad,” he said. “I broke off the engagement.”

His dad pushed his chair back and stood so fast it tipped over. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I broke off the engagement. Right before you called me.”

“My God! You and your brother are going to ruin this family. How could you be so stupid?”

“It didn’t have anything to do with the family, Dad.”

“You don’t think Cheating Senator’s Brother Breaks Heart of Grieving Fiancée is going to be a story that gets picked up? Or did you forget some how that your wedding is the kickoff event for the tenth anniversary of the Wish Team, a group that grants goddamn wishes to people who are dying? How is the governor supposed to appoint you if you’re no better than your brother?”

“When I broke up with her, I had no idea Bailey was resigning,” Cooper said. “Maybe it’s a good thing—I won’t be distracted by the wedding. Total focus for the new job.”

He looked to his cousin for support, but Theo said, “There’s no way, Coop. You’re going to get crucified. Bailey made sure of that.”

“Get her back,” his dad said flatly.

“You can’t honestly expect me to marry Jorie because you say so.”

His dad clenched his fists.

Theo spoke up. “What did Jorie say?”

“What?”

“Is she happy? Did she agree?”

Cooper remembered the bleak look on her face. “No.”

His dad nodded eagerly. “That’s good then. Right.” He turned to Theo and continued speaking as if Cooper wasn’t in the room. “So we’ll have him tell her he changed his mind. He can get her back and no one will be the wiser.”

“No one except me! You can’t be serious.”

“You don’t have to marry her. Postpone the wedding until after the election and then you can break up again.”

“Dad, listen to yourself. I’m not doing that to her.”

“If you dump her now,” Theo said, “your breakup is going to be dragged into Bailey’s screwed-up situation which will kill her business. Who’s going to hire a wedding planner whose own wedding turned into such a public circus? No bride will want to think about an affair and a broken engagement every time she gets advice from Jorie. Go to her and explain. Buy some time for both of you so she can get out of this with her dignity intact.”

Cooper didn’t like the way his dad looked so delighted with this solution. On the other hand, Jorie had been hurt enough. Theo’s issue with her business aside, having their breakup splashed all over the news would heap more hurt on her. She’d already had an awful year, losing her mom with so little warning. He didn’t want to marry her, but he didn’t wish her any more sadness. He owed it to her to give her the choice.

“I’ll talk to her.”

“And then you’ll get right back here because we’re already behind,” his dad said.

“I’ll talk to Jorie and then come back here,” he agreed.

“Tell her we’ll need to brief her. I’ll set up an appointment and have someone call her.”

It was already starting. The switch from a private, ordinary life to a very public one. His dad wouldn’t be calling Jorie to make a casual lunch date the way a regular father-in-law would. Instead she’d be squeezed in, reminders would be sent, and his dad’s BlackBerry would beep exactly seven minutes before the meeting. Jorie had gone from fiancée to business asset in one afternoon.

He didn’t see his mom or Bailey when he was leaving the house. Outside on the sidewalk, he thought about calling a cab. It was getting dark and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He’d had a bite of cake at Alice’s, but before that maybe coffee he’d bought on the way to the church? He decided to walk. He could grab something to eat and get his thoughts together on the way.

He pulled out the small, leather-bound notebook he carried. He got some of his best ideas while he was walking and he was going to need all of his skill tonight. Somehow, between here and Jorie’s house, he had to figure out how the hell to tell her that his brother had messed things up for all of them. He flipped the notebook open, looking for a blank page. He paused at the place where he’d tried to write his wedding vows, looking at the few words he’d managed, feeling sick about what his dad had asked him to do.

If she’d agree to postpone their breakup for a few months, he’d help her plan how to back out gracefully. At least he’d have a chance to smooth over his fumbling breakup that afternoon.

Flipping the page, he wrote 1. Bailey. 2. Senate. He hesitated, his pen resting on the notebook. What next? He scribbled 3. Me + You (for now). Which worked fine as a subject heading, but the content? What was he going to tell her exactly? That they’d have to pretend to be in love for a few more months? That was it, right?

Great. He closed the book. Now all he had to do was fill in the details that would persuade Jorie. No sweat.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN SHE GOT home, Jorie wanted to be depressed. She would spend her days doing nothing but watching daytime TV in her rattiest sweats while eating chocolate and processed cheese products. It was something jilted brides and the recently unemployed should do. It was what she’d never done. She’d spent so many years working hard to build her business and her life, to prove that she wasn’t going to be like her mom, wouldn’t have to wait for a man to complete her, and now, here she was anyway. Jilted and left with nothing. Depression was the obvious next step. She’d bought the Cheetos on the way home, and now all she needed was the sweats.

She dropped the coffee-stained dress on her bedroom floor and stepped on it deliberately. The heels she’d abandoned by the foot of the bed and the dress were the only things out of place in the room. That was going to change. She was pretty sure she would become messy during her depression.

Deep in the bottom drawer of her cherry dresser, she found the T-shirt she’d bought at the Dirty Bird Bar when she went to Ocean City for spring break back in college. The fabric was so worn it was threadbare. That shirt, together with a pair of sweats she’d stolen from a boyfriend years ago, gave her the perfect outfit for her new lifestyle.

She sat on the bed to put the sweats on, then picked up her shoes. She stopped herself just as she was about to place them on the rack in her closet. Neatness was a habit, after all. One she could break. She let the heels fall back to the floor, and when one of them landed inside the closet accidentally, she gave it a kick to the middle of the room.

She stuck with the depression plan through one small bowl of Cheetos and three do-it-yourself shows with borderline attractive hosts. Her fingers turned orange. She missed the real butter and eggs in Alice’s cakes.

She thought about Cooper saying she was lying, and anger flared, spoiling her depression.

Maybe she should turn on her computer and order some pajama bottoms because her ratty sweats weren’t presentable enough to wear if she had to run to the corner store. But she really shouldn’t waste the money. Who knew how long she’d have to make her savings last.

She glanced across the room at the top drawer of the sideboard where she’d locked up her inheritance from her mom. Some people might think of the jewelry as a safety net, but Jorie had sworn she’d never use it, no matter how broke she was. When she’d made that promise, her business hadn’t been down the tubes, but her new circumstances didn’t change the way she felt about her mother’s jewelry. Each piece represented a failed hope, a guy who’d let her mom down in the end. She wouldn’t profit from that.

A picture of her and her mom and Cooper sat on the sideboard. Taken at their engagement party, the shot had captured her mom in a rare moment of unguarded laughter. Chelsea had been so aware of her image that most photos showed her only from her “good” side, her head tilted to erase any hint of a double chin. It was suddenly imperative that Jorie get the picture out of her living room. Cooper had put that smile on her mom’s face. She couldn’t be expected to keep a photo that reminded her of her enormous failure.

She took the picture with her into the bedroom and slid a basket off the top shelf of her closet. The stack of cotton sweaters that had been in the basket joined the dress and shoes on the floor. She put the picture in instead, along with the World War II spy novel Cooper had insisted she read. The pages were littered with his underlinings and exclamations and notes to himself and her. Despite the fact that she was devouring the story, she couldn’t read the rest of it with his presence on every page.

She set the basket on the bed and pulled the drawer of her nightstand open. Into the basket went the pair of glasses he’d left at her place to wear when he took out his contacts, followed by contact solution and an extra carrying case. The box of condoms went next, but then she removed it. She wasn’t engaged anymore, and they were her condoms. Who knew when she might need one or twelve?

She collected two of his T-shirts and a sweatshirt from her dresser and tossed them into the basket, then headed back to the living room. She was proud that she didn’t sniff any of the clothing, even though Cooper’s scent—a combination of guy deodorant, paper and ink—was one of the things she’d always liked about him. Obviously, or she wouldn’t have stolen the T-shirts in the first place.

The basket was now full of the odds and ends of her year-long relationship with Cooper Murphy. She flopped on the couch, the basket on the table in front of her. Their wedding binder was on top of the clothes. Cooper wouldn’t want it, but then neither did she. Let him deal with it. In fact…she jerked the antique diamond ring he’d given her off her hand and tossed it on top of his stuff. Screw him. She wasn’t going to start a collection of jewelry for the next generation of jilted Burke women. She didn’t want any reminders of Cooper Murphy or this whole crazy year.

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