Liz sputtered and then tried to collect herself. “No. We don’t have a child. I was never pregnant.”

“Why do you think that you can direct people as to what they think of you? And do you think it’s fair to tell them to stop calling you true names? You did rip apart the Congressman’s relationship with Miss Edwards.”

“People may think whatever they want, but I did not separate Erin and Brady. They broke up on their own terms months before we ever got back together.”

“Do you feel like a sham of a reporter standing here answering questions for your fake relationship?” the woman pushed.

Liz’s mouth dropped open. What the hell? How did she even respond to that? Maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe she should just say no comment and retreat. The woman was trying to get a reaction out of her. It was tactless.

Before she could speak up, she felt a presence at her side. She was immediately grateful that Brady had returned, but looked up and found Clay. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but I couldn’t help overhearing the wonderful conversation you were having. I thought I would answer some of these questions for Liz.”

Liz’s eyes widened. Oh fuck! That was not a good idea. She shook her head slightly to try to tell him to stop. But he just smiled that wicked grin, a dimple appearing.

“I’ve had the opportunity to witness Congressman Maxwell’s relationship with Liz since the beginning. Or at least almost the beginning,” he said with that same arrogant smile for Liz. Then he turned to face the reporter. “And if we’re evaluating reporter tactics, maybe you should reevaluate your own professionalism. My brother loves this woman very much. There was no adultery, no home wrecking, nothing distasteful about it at all. They only problem was that they fell in love at the wrong time. It’s a model relationship. One of commitment, dedication, honesty, and loyalty. Perhaps you should start bothering someone else with these kinds of questions, because there is nothing else to be found on my brother.”

Liz openly gaped at him. Where the hell had that come from?

“Thank you. We’ll take no more questions,” Clay said with a curt wave. He tucked Liz’s hand under his arm and then walked her away from the reporters.

When they were out of earshot, Liz finally found her voice. “What was that?”

“I believe I just defended your relationship with Brady to a particularly troubling reporter,” he answered.

“Yes. Thank you, but . . . what the hell was that, Clay?”

Clay shrugged and smiled down at her. He still had that uncanny amusement in his expression, but she saw that he was serious too. “What? I’m not completely heartless.”

“No. But you don’t agree with our relationship, and you certainly don’t believe in your brother.”

They stopped and Clay turned her to face him. He brushed a strand of hair out of her face and a strange looked passed over his face. “Maybe someone proved me wrong.”

“Me?” she whispered.

“No someone else,” he said sarcastically. “Of course you. You’ve changed him. He loves you. There’s an . . . energy between you that is hard to explain, but it’s there. It’s obvious to everyone who knows him. And maybe . . . just maybe it makes me see what you had been telling me all along. Maybe he’s actually in this for the right reasons.” He paused and glanced off into the distance. “And not just because our father wanted it for him and not me.”

Liz felt for an instant as though she finally understood Clay. She could see his life stretched out before him. The second brother with Brady the prodigal son, the golden boy always one step ahead. Maybe he had even once wanted to become a politician. Maybe he had wanted to become president, but his father had encouraged Brady. And Clay’s love for both politics and Brady had hardened with time. What would become of the man now that it was finally thawing?

Clay kissed her forehead softly at her clear astonishment. “Be good to him. He needs you.”

And then he walked away.

“What was that about?” Brady asked when he appeared at her side a minute later.

“Nothing. Clay just told a reporter off for degrading our relationship and basically endorsed you for Congress.”

It was Brady’s turn to look startled. “Are we talking about my brother still?”

Liz smiled and nodded. “He loves you. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”

Brady seemed to ponder this for a moment. “Well . . . I suppose at least we have that in common.”

“You have a lot more in common than I think you’ll ever realize.”

“Well, I’m thankful I have you to realize that for me.”

“I’m always going to be here,” she told him.

“I sure hope so, or else I’m going to need my ring back,” he joked.

Liz slapped her hand over the ring. “You can’t have it.”

He grabbed her firmly around the middle and kissed her lips feverishly. “Good. You’re mine?”

“Always.”

He brushed his nose against hers. “It’s worth it?”

“You’re worth everything,” she whispered.

Chapter 32

BRADY

Every Election Day morning growing up, Brady would wake up super early with his family. He would dress with care in what his mother had put out for him the night before. She would make sure he looked presentable, and then the whole family would pile into his father’s Mercedes and he would drive them to the polls.

As a child, Brady remembered liking it more than Christmas, even without the presents. The months of anticipation leading up to this one big momentous day for his entire family brought them all closer than they ever were. And every other year, when his dad came home victorious once more, they celebrated—just the four of them, and then when Savannah was born all five of them—before his father went to all the necessary parties.

When Brady got older, he thought that the ritual might diminish—that he would enjoy Election Day less, since it really was so much work, but the small moments with just his family were unlike anything else. As time passed, Clay helped and participated only begrudgingly, and as they grew further and further apart so did Clay’s love of the election. Clay saw it as a duty, whereas it remained to Brady a gesture of love and devotion.

Brady remembered the first time that he walked into the voting booth after his eighteenth birthday. He cast his ballot for his father and knew as he had known his whole life that there was nothing else for him. Politics was what he loved more than anything—his greatest joy from his childhood and his deepest ambition as an adult.