A Harmless Little Game (Harmless #1)(33)

“And I’ve been very satisfied in this role, but it’s time for a change.”

I go cold and hold my breath. I wasn’t expecting this.

“You’re not running for senate again?” Relief floods me, filling my veins with heat. Oh, sweetness. I won’t be in the spotlight. I can come home and pick up the pieces of my ruined life without being under a microscope.

“No.”

I just nod, trying not to show any emotion.

He has two more years in the senate and I know as soon as the press knows I’m home, I’ll have to deal with publicity, but this is such good news. I open my mouth to say whatever everyone expects me to say, but Mom cuts me off with a hand across the table, her chilled palm covering the back of my hand.

This morning, she is wearing her eyelashes. Full makeup, no product spared. Mom looks ten years younger than her natural age if you don’t get too close. Right now, though, I see every crease and crevice, every makeup line.

“Honey,” she says, breathy with excitement. “Your father is about to declare his campaign for President of the United States.”

I fall off the edge of the world.

You think the world is round, but it turns out to be covered with unexpected cliffs, sheer drop-offs that appear at the worst possible times, making you fall into outer space, gravity long gone as you scream into a vacuum.

And no one can hear you.

“Huh?” I say, the sound like you make when someone gut punches you. Drew’s eyes meet mine, and his eyebrows crease with compassion, his expression saying one thing: I tried to warn you.

“President,” Daddy says, one half of his mouth quirking up in a smile. “I’ve spent the better part of the last year fundraising, gathering behind-the-scenes support and testing my ideas with various voter sample groups. With the right coalition, good funds, and no major scandals, I’ve got a strong chance.”

Mom’s facade cracks for a split second as Daddy says the word scandal, her eyes floating to look at me.

Oh, no.

I suddenly understand why Marshall, Marcy and Victoria are here.

They’re my new Stacia.

In triplicate.

And I’m the scandal.





Chapter 25





I plaster a big, fake smile on my face. “Congratulations, Daddy!” I squeal, jumping up with legs that feel like melting icicles. My arms go around his neck, my nose pressed into his collar, and I smell his aftershave. It hasn’t changed. All these years, Daddy’s gone from being a district attorney to running for the U.S. House of Representatives to the U.S. Senate and now he’s running for President. He hasn’t changed his cologne.

I feel like I’m four years old, instantly, as I inhale during the hug. In a way, I am. This announcement makes me feel immature. Like a burden. A child who can’t be controlled.

Scandal.

Drew avoids eye contact with me, looking anywhere but at my face. I’m avoiding him, except that my peripheral vision is too good. Mom beams at us. Anya has the same fake smile on her face that I have. Tears fill my eyes even though I fight them.

Suddenly, I get it.

I’ve been brought home because I am a prop. I am nothing but a thing you put on a stage because the performance requires it. Daddy’s role is potential president. Mom’s role is potential first lady.

My role?

Shut up, smile, look pretty. Show the world that Senator Bosworth is a family man who has his child’s respect. Who is the authority. Who has a loving relationship with his daughter. Who is compassionate and kind, as good in real life as he will be leading the nation.

I’m a line in a script.

And I’m going to play the role of my life.

Except there's this horrible little stain in my past. Like a skid mark in a pair of underwear.

I stifle a hysterical laugh at the thought and bury it, making the sound seem like too much emotion. Daddy pulls back and looks at me, searching my face, assessing whether I’m okay. People say I look like a feminine version of him. We have similar hair, and eyes that are the same shape, a little cat-like. My eyes are rounder. His are more guarded. He’s analyzing me. It occurs to me that ever since he ran for Senate ten years ago, I’ve never seen him look at me without trying to figure something out.

Ten years.

That’s a long time.

“We have a problem, kiddo,” he says gently, holding my shoulders, peering into my eyes. “Your...incident.”

My blood runs cold.

“My incident.” I don’t phrase it like a question. And the emphasis on my is intended.

He nods. I know Daddy. He didn’t miss my inflection. Ignoring it meets his needs, so he’ll pretend I didn’t say it. “We did so much damage control four years ago, sweetie. You weren’t here to witness it.” He squares his shoulders, as if bracing for a blow. “It’s time to talk about it. Strategize. Prepare.”

Great. My gang rape is now an incident that requires more strategic management than a war. Maybe even more than Black Friday sales.

“And everything we discuss in here is absolutely confidential,” Mom says, her voice smooth but menacing. I’m not sure if her words are aimed only at me.

I look around the room as Daddy steps back to his seat at the head of the table. From the looks on some faces, I’m pretty sure Mom’s target was wide. Like buckshot.