Page 10 of Married in Michigan

“I can do that without getting married.”

“Well, our staff of political advisors think differently.”

“Your staff of political advisors just want to make more work for themselves. Grooming my image means they stay employed.”

“You’ve been photographed with a different woman every weekend for the last four years, Paxton.”

“So?”

“And there are the photos from your vacation to Santorini.”

“Which is why everyone signs NDAs now. Nonissue.”

“Itisan issue. Every time your name is brought up in the news cycle, those photos come out.”

“I don’t care about the news cycle.”

“Then you don’t understand politics, Paxton.”

“I took my seat in the House when I was twenty-nine—I was single, I was in the news, and I attracted trouble. Yet I still got voted in.”

“The Senate is different, Paxton. The stakes are higher, and so are the expectations.”

“I’m not playing the game your advisors want me to play, Mother.” He sips coffee again, clutching at the towel; I turn away before he catches me staring.

Camilla sighs, and lets the silence build.

“What, Mother?” I hear the impatience in his voice. “I know you have something else to say.”

“It’s time to settle down, Paxton.”

“You’ve said this already.” Paxton grunts. “I’ll tone back the parties, okay? And I’m sorry about your rug. For real.”

Another pause, and even I can tell her silence is that of a loaded gun preparing to fire. “We’ve made a decision on your behalf, Paxton.”

This gets his attention. “You have, have you?” Amused, more than anything. “And what might that be?”

“In one hundred and twenty days from today, there will be a wedding.” This time, the pause is positively explosive. “St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Manhattan—and you don’t want to know what I had to do to get that slot—with a reception at the Plaza. The invites have gone out already, and to a who’s who of politics, music, and Hollywood.”

I detect a faint note of rising panic in his flat, modulated voice. “Who’s the lucky couple?”

Another, longer, tenser, thicker pause. “You, Paxton.”

“But I’m not getting married, Mother.”

I can’t help but pause in my cleaning of a window in the living room, ears pricked, doing my best to not stop and outright listen.

“Ah, see, that’s where you’re wrong, my son.” Her voice is…somewhere between crackling with icy cold, and razor-sharp. “You are. The wedding is yours—and it is nonnegotiable.”

He’s caught speechless. “I…but…” A sharp inhalation. “I amnotgetting married. I’m not dating anyone, because I don’t date. So who, pray tell, would I be getting married to, in this theoretical wedding of yours?”

Camilla’s sigh is soft and slow, but no less somehow audibly threatening for all that. “Paxton. Dear boy. Allow me to be crystal clear.” I dare a peek: she’s cupping one of his stubble-scruffy cheeks in a manicured hand, a condescending smile on her perfect face; I immediately turn back to wiping down the window. “You will be at the altar of St. Patrick’s Cathedral in one hundred and twenty days from today. You will say ‘I do’, you will exchange vows, and you will become a married man. If you wish to continue receiving the support, both personal, political, and financial, of the deBraun family trust and board of advisors, you will take a wife, and you will cease your philandering, and clean up your playboy-every day is a party-devil may care mess of a life and image. As far as the world is concerned, you will become a family man. Your wife will appear on your arm, in photographs, on the town whether in DC, New York, LA, or anywhere on this planet. You will not be seen with any other women, you will not beconnectedin any way to any other woman ever again. There will be no scandals of any kind attached to the name Paxton deBraun.”

“Mom—”

“I’m not finished, Paxton.” A sharp snap of her voice. “Youdohave a choice in this matter, so don’t try to paint this as being left without a choice. Your choice is to get married andstaymarried, and remain in the good graces of this family’s considerable support, or if you wish, you may make your own way in this world, using the resources, influence, and finances you’ve made for yourself.”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”