“My place is over there.” He pointed to the cluster of live oaks and palmettos, a two-story carriage house just visible through the branches.
White with slate-blue shutters, this carriage house was larger than most family homes. She understood he came from money. She had even grown up among wealthy types in Aunt Libby’s old Charleston neighborhood. But seeing Matthew’s lifestyle laid out so grandly only emphasized their different roots.
She walked up the lengthy stretch of white steps toward the large double doors on the second floor. She gripped the railing and looked out over the water view. “This view. It totally rocks.”
He slid an arm around her again. This time she couldn’t bring herself to pull away and ruin the moment. She let herself believe she leaned into his embrace simply because they might be seen by someone, the staff, his family.
Had he even told his family the truth? She assumed so but hadn’t thought to ask. It was one thing to keep his silence with his campaign manager because as much as you thought you could trust someone, she’d learned it never hurt to be extra careful.
The sound of an opening door plucked her from her reverie. She jerked in Matthew’s spicy-scented embrace and turned to find an older woman coming through the main entrance. Even if she hadn’t recognized the senator from her press coverage, Ashley would have figured out her identity all the same. Her deep green eyes declared her to be Matthew’s mother, even if her fair head contrasted with his dark brown hair.
Ginger Landis Renshaw strode toward them, her shoulder length gray-blond hair perfectly styled. Ashley recalled from news reports the woman was around fifty, but she carried the years well. Wearing a pale pink lightweight sweater set with pearls—and blue jeans—Ginger Landis wasn’t at all what Ashley had expected. Thank goodness, because the woman in front of her appeared a little less intimidating.
She had seen the woman often enough on the news—always poised and intelligent, sometimes steely, determined. Today, a softer side showed as she looked at her son then over to Ashley.
“Mother, this is Ashley. Ashley, my mother.”
Ginger extended her hands and clasped Ashley’s. “Welcome to our home. I’m sorry to hear about what happened to your business, but I’m so glad you’re all right and that Matthew brought you here to stay with us.”
“Thank you for having me on such short notice, Senator.”
“Ginger, please, do call me Ginger.”
“Of course,” she replied, not yet able to envision herself using the first name of this woman who dined with heads of state.
Matthew’s mother studied her, inventory-style, and suddenly Ashley realized the reason for the woman’s presence here instead of in D.C. with her husband. Matthew’s mother must have been called to give her a Cinderella makeover.
Ashley released Ginger’s clasp and crossed her arms over her ill-fitting dress. “It’s a pleasure and honor to meet you.”
Ginger tipped her head to the side. “Is something wrong, dear?”
Visions blossomed to mind of being stuffed into some stiff sequined gown with her hair plastered in an overdone crafted creation that would make her head ache. She might even be able to pull the look off without appearing to be a joke. She might even look presentable enough to turn a head or two.
But she would feel wretchedly fake and uncomfortable the whole time. “No, of course not. I’m grateful for your generosity in letting me stay here.”
“But…?” Ginger prodded.
Ashley let the words tumble free before she could restrain them and end up stuffed in a fashion runway mess. “I just can’t help but wonder if Matthew’s campaign manager expects you to give me some kind of makeover.”
“Why would I want to change you? My son obviously finds you perfect as you are.”
“That’s very kind of you to say. Thank you.” Ashley expected relief only to find something different altogether. She resented the twinge of disappointment sticking inside her chest like an annoying thorn. She truly didn’t want some fake redo. She liked herself just fine, but still…
Then another implication of his mother’s words soaked in. She didn’t appear to know the engagement was fake. That Matthew would keep himself so closed off from even his family gave her pause. Except wasn’t she doing the same with her own sisters?
Matthew kissed his mother’s cheek. “Always the diplomat.” He backed a step. “I’ll just go help the driver with our luggage.”
Ashley couldn’t miss how it didn’t seem to dawn on him to allow the chauffeur to haul their suitcases by himself. Yet another touch that made Matthew all the more appealing.
Forcing herself to stop watching him lope down the steps with a muscled grace, she turned her attention to following Ginger back into the house. No mere magazine layout could have done the place justice.
A wall of windows let sunshine stream through and bathe the room in light all the way up to the cathedral ceilings.
Hardwood floors were scattered with light Persian rugs around two Queen Anne sofas upholstered in a pale blue fabric with white piping. Wingback chairs in a creamy yellow angled off the side. The whole décor was undoubtedly formal, but in an airy comfortable way.
Ginger spun on her low heel. “I’ll show you to your room shortly. The view of the ocean is breathtaking.”
Having grown up at Aunt Libby’s on the water, she appreciated the sense of home she would get from the sound of the waves lulling her to sleep. Come to think of it, this woman had an Aunt-Libby-like air of kindness to her.
“Your home is gorgeous.” Ashley turned to the picturesque windows overlooking the pool and ocean. “Thank you again for letting me stay. I can’t wait to unpack my suitcase.”
“Oh, my dear, don’t worry about doing that. You won’t need to use your sister’s clothes.”
Ashley pivoted away from the windows to the room filled with the beauty and scent of fresh-cut flowers in crystal vases.
“Excuse me, but I thought you said we weren’t going to do the makeover deal.”
“I never said we weren’t going shopping.”
“You didn’t?” This woman was as good at word-plays and nuances as Matthew. Ashley would have to watch her step around both of them. “What do you mean then?”
“Your entire wardrobe was ruined. It’s obvious you need new clothes, even more so because of the predicament with my son and all the appearances you’ll need to make together.”
“I can’t let him pay for my clothes.”
Matthew’s mother planted her fists on her h*ps in a stance that brooked no argument. “Since he’s the reason you have to attend the functions, it’s only fair he pay.”
Ashley stayed silent because she knew she wouldn’t win a war of words with this master stateswoman.
Ginger smiled. “Prideful. I like you more and more by the minute.” She waved a manicured hand. “I wasn’t born into all of this. I didn’t even know about it when I met my first husband, an Air Force jet-jock who swept me off my feet so much we eloped in two weeks.”
A sweet-sad smile flickered across her face as the soft sounds of someone turning on a vacuum in the next room filled the silence.
Ashley touched her arm. “How long has he been gone?”
“Nearly eleven years. I never thought I would fall in love that way again. And in a sense, I was right. Love built slower for me the second time around, but no less strong.”
Ginger’s eyes took on a faraway look and Ashley realized the woman was staring at an old family photo across the room for at least half a minute before she returned her attention back to the present. “So, Ashley, about the shopping spree. I adore the general and my boys, but there are times I need a girls’ day out.”
Wow, this lady had a way of working a person around to her side of the argument. “How about this? He can pay for the clothes I use at official functions, but I pay for anything else I wear.”
“That sounds entirely fair and wonderfully honorable.”
“Matthew’s campaign manager says the media will eat me alive.”
Ginger cupped her cheek, her charm bracelet jingling. “No one expects you to change who you are. We’re only here to help you be comfortable as yourself. We’ll be doing that with new clothes of your choosing and some helpful tips for dealing with the press.”
Ah man, she really didn’t want to like this woman so much. Forming any kind of bond with Matthew’s family would only make things all the tougher when she walked away.
At least she could take some comfort in the sincerity lacing Ginger’s words. Matthew’s mother would help her choose appropriate clothes that stayed true to her own tastes.
There wouldn’t be a Cinderella makeover after all. Which was a relief. Except that as much as she knew she and Matthew weren’t right for each other long-term, a part of her wouldn’t have minded knocking him flat on his awesome butt.
He was only just finishing up his first speech of the day and already he was sweating—big-time.
Except he couldn’t blame the crowd or the press or even the cranking summer heat. His pumping blood pressure had more to do with the demure woman sitting serenely to his right in his peripheral vision, her attention unwaveringly focused on him.
The way Ashley’s sheathe dress kept hitching up over her knees was about to send him into cardiac arrest at thirty years old. His mother had absconded with Ashley yesterday afternoon, not returning until well after supper. Call him crazy, but he’d been expecting pastel suits and pearls like his mother wore.
Instead, his mother had picked an emerald-green form-fitting dress with a scooped neck and a pendant that drew his gaze south. A daring choice given all he’d heard about everyone appearing subdued during a campaign. Yet Ashley, with her long auburn hair pulled back with a simple gold clasp, looked classically elegant. The no-heel strappy sandals accented with gold stones matching the necklace flashed a tribute to her glowing youthfulness. She would easily appeal to a cross section of voters.
She easily appealed to him at a time when he’d sworn he would keep his distance.
He resisted the urge to swipe his wrist over his brow, a dead giveaway to anyone with a camera that he was rattled. He glanced quickly at his notes to scoop up his ender. Thank God he must have said something coherent because everyone clapped and smiled.
The Rotary president stepped up to the microphone to invite questions from the media.
An older woman stood, her press pass around her neck tangled in the buttons of her tan sweater. “Miss Carson, tell us how Congressman Landis proposed? Was it before or after the revealing photos of the two of you hit the papers?”
Yeah, that had lots to do with the issues.
His campaign manager on his left shot to his feet. “Come on, Mary.” Brent smiled at the seasoned reporter. “You know Ashley’s still new to all of this. How about you don’t put the screws to her just yet?”
Ashley placed a soft hand on Matthew’s arm, gently nudging him from the podium. “It’s all right. I would like to answer.”