I was perfect in her eyes because I was able to take care of her. I realized when I stood at the foot of the aisle on our wedding day that it was a mistake I’d regret for the rest of my life. I still tried to hang in there. I told myself love would come.
It never fucking came.
Headaches came.
Trust issues came.
Love didn’t.
I learned to ignore it once Frankie was born. I threw myself into being her father and starting my political career as a senator. The older Frankie got, the less I was able to stand being around Alexis. Eventually, we divorced and went our separate ways. I paid her alimony and took good enough care of Frankie that I didn’t need to be put on child support.
My parents were pissed that we’d gotten a divorce. My father hated how it made me look in the eyes of the state and country. My mother wanted me to find another wife immediately. She still sends me information on women she thinks I’d match well with.
I didn’t match well with anyone. Nobody understood me and I wasn’t willing to open up. I was in the public eye too much and it was hard to distinguish between a woman who wanted me for me or who wanted me because of who I was. I was better off being alone.
I knew who to call when I needed pussy. I knew who to call when I needed my dick sucked. I knew who to call when I wanted threesomes. My sexual needs were being met. I was happy to have my house to myself. I was more productive without Alexis crowding my space.
Hell would have to freeze over before I ever thought about getting married again.
I was fine being the bachelor senator.
“Alexis is my daughter-in-law,” Dad said.
“No. She’s not. When I divorced her, she became your ex-daughter-in-law.”
“Either way, a mother needs her child. She’s still Francesca’s mother.”
“And I’m still her father. I’m not going to let my child get neglected because she doesn’t subscribe to Alexis’s flashy front-page lifestyle. She’s better off with me right now. If things change then I’ll reevaluate.”
“Mmm-hmm,” he grunted. “Who is this nanny? Alexis doesn’t seem to think she’s fit to tie Francesca’s shoe. Who else’s child has she nannied for? Maybe I can ask around about her background. She’s not illegal, is she?”
“Goodbye, Dad.” I ended the call and pressed the heels of my hands against the edge of the counter, letting my head drop and my shoulders rise.
I stared into my glass of whiskey and shook my head at my father. When they were picking parents in heaven what the hell made them pick Warren Freeman for me? He was stubborn, set in his ways, and always pushing an agenda.
Soft melodic sounds coming from the formal living room pulled me out of my frustration long enough to make me curious. I tilted my head and listened to the haunting sound.
What the hell was that? I knew that song.
My feet led me down the hall and to the left where I saw Xari sitting on a stool in front of a giant harp at least four times her size. I was transfixed by the way she wielded the instrument like it weighed nothing tipping it back and forth and cradling her head against it like she was rocking a child.
The most impressive and stunning thing to witness was the way her fingers moved. She pushed notes through the air by moving her fingers so eloquently that I became hypnotized. Her entire body was at ease. The smooth lines of her arms and back flowed like water.
“The Boy Is Mine. Brandy and Monica,” I said, finally recognizing the tune. Xari’s eyes popped open and she looked at me with surprise. She had to have felt me standing there.
“Oh my fucking god. You need a bell around your neck,” she gasped.
“You seriously didn’t feel me standing behind you?” I took a sip of whiskey then stood in front of her.
“When I’m playing, I get lost between the notes somewhere.”
“I see.” I scaled the impressive harp with my eyes then looked at Xari again. “So, you like to play R&B on your harp?”
“I love fusing the sound of the harp with modern music. It excites me but don’t get me wrong, I love my classics. I can’t go a day without digging my fingers into Beethoven or Chopin.” Her eyes lit up and her deep dimples popped, drawing my eyes to her smile.
“You’re amazing, Xari.” I took another step closer. My hands were ready to disobey my mind at the first signal from my dick. I needed to step away from her. I’d been drinking way too much. I was home from work, it was the weekend, and I had an absolutely gorgeous woman playing magical harp music in my living room.
It was a recipe for ruin.
“You think so? Some of those notes sounded flat.” Her brows furled together and she pushed her full lips to the side. I stared at her deep dimple and fought the urge to poke the tip of my finger into the divot. “I think I might need to tune her.”
“Did she arrive without a scratch?” I quizzed, looking at the harp instead of Xari. My mind couldn’t handle looking at her for too long. Especially when I was tipsy.
“She did. I guess I owe you an outfit change.”
“I guess you do,” I brought my glass to my lips and she watched me like she was ready to pounce.
“So you drink all day on the weekends, huh, Evander?” I’d be a bald-faced liar if I said I didn’t like the way she said my name. It made my dick hard, to be honest. I had to talk it down while I was that close to her. I couldn’t stop it from getting semi-hard and pressing against my thigh though.
“I have to relax some kind of way, right?”
“You relax by writing. Not drinking.” I watched her fiddle with the pedals at the base of the harp then with the strings, plucking the same ones over and over until she moved on to the next.
“And you know this how?” I took another sip of the comforting whiskey.
“Because when I walked in and you were writing, you were into it. I know what passion looks like. Trust me. I chase it daily.”
“Writing is a hobby that helps relieve stress. That’s it.”
“You protected your words like they were your children when I tried to see what you were writing. You love it just as much as you love Frankie.”
I felt seen but not in a way that I appreciated. I felt exposed. I took another drink and stepped away from Xari.
“I think that statement is a bit…grand. Don’t you?” I tried to conceal how much she revealed with one statement.
“I think you’re starting to hide behind your stick in the mud act again.” She pulled her scrutinizing espresso eyes away from her harp and locked onto me. “You can tell yourself whatever you want, Evander Freeman. You can pretend writing is a hobby but you know it’s more than that.”
“Are you an oracle now? You know things I don’t even know about myself?”
I knew writing was more than a hobby. She was right. She hit the nail on the fucking head but I refused to let her know that.
“Yes, I’m the oracle. I know all. I see all.” She took a seat on the stool that matched her harp to a tee with the same blonde wood and ornate carvings and began playing again. I didn’t recognize the tune that time but it was classical. She played with ease but there was something mad beneath her surface. Something incessant and constant.
Insanity.
It sparked something hot like lava inside of me. I realized I could watch her play those strings forever. I would pay her just to hear music floating through the house all the time. It sounded like a concert in heaven.