The Senator's Son Read online

  The Senator's Son

  The Senator's Son, Volume 1

  Anna Albo

  Published by Anna Albo, 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  THE SENATOR'S SON

  First edition. May 20, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Anna Albo.

  ISBN: 978-1999102500

  Written by Anna Albo.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  THIS MUCH IS TRUE | TEASER | CHAPTER ONE

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  Further Reading: This Much is True

  About the Author

  To Dana, Katherine and Shelley.

  There is no way I could have done this without the three of you.

  CHAPTER ONE

  EMMA

  When I was nine, Dad and Uncle Ron helped Jake and I build an igloo. Every weekend, and sometimes after school, we'd spend hours gathering snow and building our fortress. Dad and Uncle Ron did most of it, but we did what we could. They'd even built an ice top so we could have light shine through.

  Grandma brought us hot chocolate while we worked and even on the most bitterly cold days, we were out there, knee-deep in snow. That year I hoped winter would never end. And when the temperature began to rise, and our igloo dripped then fell into ruin, the best winter of my life came to an end. Jake and I had never been closer, and I'd been trying to hold on to that moment ever since.

  That had been ten years ago.

  "How's the new job at Julian's?" he asked.

  "I can now make any kind of latte."

  "That's cool."

  I glanced over at Jake. His blue eyes were trained on the road and when he looked over my heart blipped. For nineteen years we'd been best friends, but one look still sent me soaring.

  "Do you think people will like me?" I asked.

  "Why wouldn't they?"

  I shrugged. "You know how it is."

  Jake focused back on the road. In less than fifteen minutes I'd be flung into a situation I hated most: meeting new people. I was beyond shy. I could easily retreat to the most secluded corner of any party or family gathering and remain completely invisible.

  "A bunch of my friends will be there and I want you to get to know them."

  "I will." Or I'd try. People didn't exactly gravitate to me.

  Jake's phone trilled. Likely Bianca. She couldn't leave him alone for more than five minutes. It was probably killing her that I was with him this weekend instead of her, but she had an acting gig—yes, Bianca was an aspiring actor. College was something her parents made her do because, like me, they were rooted firmly in reality, and while Bianca had the looks and determination, acting wasn't exactly a long-term career ... in Minnesota.

  "Bianca?" I asked.

  "Probably."

  He met her at a frat party. She was his dream girl and he lost his mind when she paid him a little attention. He'd landed one of the hottest girls at Western University and he did everything he could to keep her. She ordered him around, made him run her errands and worst of all, he had to boost her overly inflated ego.

  The first time I'd met her we clashed like two mama bears trying to protect the same cub. She'd graced us with her presence in Pine Falls at Uncle Ron's birthday dinner. I sat on one side of Jake and she sat on the other. We both fawned over him—probably the only time she'd ever done that—passing him his favorite dishes, grabbing his soda of choice and arguing over who would cut his piece of blueberry pie. The pie I'd made.

  "How many people are going to be there?" I asked.

  "Ten, I think."

  "Who are they?"

  "Guys from a frat, Bianca's friends. One of the guys is a senator's son and Brett, his family owns the cabin. His dad is some big shot lawyer. Filthy rich. Of course their girlfriends will be there too. It'll be fine."

  "I'm sure it will be."

  Rich kids. Bianca had sucked Jake into this life. It wasn't that Jake and I were the poor kids from the wrong side of the tracks, but we didn't come from senator and big-shot-lawyer stock. Grandpa and Dad co-owned an antique shop and Jake's parents owned Pine Falls’ best burger joint. Hardly high rollers.

  Jake turned off the main highway, and we drove down the tree-lined gravel road until it became more and more remote. We pulled up to a tall iron gate with an intercom. A voice came over the speaker and Jake identified us. The gate creaked open and soon the cabins came into view, one dotting the landscape every mile or so. All were on the lake and larger than any house I'd seen before. Jake had definitely met some very rich friends his first year at Western.

  "These people are more loaded than I could have imagined," Jake said and whistled.

  "These places are amazing."

  "One day, Emma, I'm going to have a place like this."

  Knowing Jake, I'd bet on it. His mission since middle school was to be a surgeon, and absolutely nothing was going to take him off course. First an undergraduate degree, followed by med school. Thankfully his shortlist had included Western.

  "Make sure it has a balcony overlooking the water so I can sit out there and sun myself," I said.

  "That and an awesome boat to jet around the water. Maybe do a little fishing."

  "Until then, we can dream."

  Jake parked his beat-up Honda behind a Mercedes, a few BMWs, and some high-end SUVs. I grabbed my backpack, and we headed up the stone walkway to the front porch steps, all twenty of them. The place was modeled after a log cabin, but had to be ten thousand square feet. The huge bay windows gave us a glimpse inside to its soaring ceilings, massive fireplace, and on-trend furniture. My first thought was of the kitchen. I had to see it.

  Jake hit the buzzer and we waited. A minute later a guy with short dark hair and chocolaty brown eyes opened the door. He had a few inches on Jake and a stockier build. He looked at me, then Jake.

  "Hey, Jake, come in," he said, stepping aside.

  "Zach, this is my friend Emma. Emma, this is Zach Walker."

  "Nice to meet you," I said, extending my hand. He was kind of cute, something I wouldn't normally notice. He had the stubbly face thing going and it was definitely working for him. But despite it all, he wasn't my type. Rich and privileged bored me.

  He shook my hand and smiled warmly. "Nice to meet you too. Most of the guys went fishing and the girls are baking out on the balcony. Your room is down the hall, two doors from the end on the right-hand side. Bianca knows you guys are sharing a room? Because we don't have an extra."r />
  "She knows," Jake said. "Nothing's going on between me and Emma."

  "Just making sure. We don't want any trouble from her. We all know how she can be."

  A bitch?

  We clambered to our room. The first thing I saw was the huge king-sized bed. Jake and I had shared a bed before and it wasn't a big deal for him. For me, on the other hand, I usually spent a restless night wanting to reach out and nuzzle up against him. On the rare occasions we touched, it was like a lightning bolt tearing apart my veins. Honestly, the prospect of sharing a bed with him was the only reason I'd agreed to come.

  "Let's check out the lake," Jake suggested.

  My skin prickled. I was going to meet all these frivolous women who were probably exactly like Bianca. None would like me but they’d all pretend to, only to talk about me behind my back the first chance they got. I kept reminding myself that it was only two days as we walked through the tiled living room and past the stone fireplace to the French doors leading outside.

  We stepped out onto the vast balcony that looked over the lake. All the girls, in their tiny bright-colored bikinis, stared back at me from behind designer sunglasses. All were sprawled out on pool chairs taking in the last few days of summer sun. The clones had lean, toned, and tanned figures and, a few had enormous and presumably fake breasts. I felt awkward and gangly in their presence.

  "This is Emma, everyone," Jake said. One fake-waved like she was actually happy to see me while the other three muttered hellos and returned to their gossiping.

  It was going to be a long two days.

  Zach reappeared, the only friendly face. "I'm going to marinate the chicken and season the steaks. Does anyone want to help with some sides? A salad at least? Anything?" He sounded exasperated. Not one of the beach bunnies bothered to acknowledge him.

  "I will," I volunteered. "I love to cook."

  Zach's face lit. "Thank God! I don't think I can handle eating store-bought potato salad and shitty coleslaw all weekend. Follow me."

  The kitchen was only place I felt safe. I surveyed my surroundings. It reminded me of the commercial kitchen at Julian’s—chrome and stainless-steel appliances barely used and all brand new. I fell instantly in love. Zach gave me the rundown of where to find everything and then started on the marinade. I opened the huge fridge door and it was packed. For people who didn't cook, I couldn't figure out why they had all this food. I rummaged through the crisper and pulled out some broccoli that I could give a quick steam. I put to one corner a few red and yellow bell peppers and was delighted to find some kalamata olives. There was also some feta, strawberries, and, of course, a tub each of potato salad and coleslaw.

  I thought Zach would take off to more interesting places once he was done prepping the chicken and steak, but instead he pulled a beer from the fridge and took a seat at one of the bistro chairs, setting the bottle down on the granite-topped island.

  "You're hanging out with me?" I asked. Uneasiness bubbled in my stomach. I was perfectly happy alone. Didn't he have a Jet Ski or yacht to play around on?

  "If I have to go out there and listen to them talk about clothes, shoes, and makeup, I'll self-combust."

  I stifled a laugh. "Isn't one of them your girlfriend?"

  "Becca."

  The fuchsia bikini? The fake waver? The one with real breasts? I'd find out later.

  "Why didn't you go fishing?"

  "I slept in and none of the guys bothered to wake me up."

  I peeked into the pantry. "Any regular potatoes? We can barbecue them, or I can pass if you’re potatoed out."

  "There's a bag of them in the far corner. I'm good with them as long as they don't resemble a potato salad in any way."

  I laughed. "I promise."

  I scrubbed the potatoes clean and he continued to watch. Typical rich kid, but I didn't care. I actually found myself enjoying his company. "Why do you guys have all this food if no one likes to cook?"

  "Wishful thinking? I thought at least one of the ladies would make an attempt but this weekend seems to be all about tans. That sounds sexist, doesn't it? But I know all these guys, and they're useless in the kitchen."

  "Honestly, I'd be happy spending all my time in here."

  "If you can cook, I can eat."

  I smiled. He was pretty cool so far. "I could make a dessert too, but will the girls eat it?"

  Zach's huge eyes opened wider. "Who cares! I'll eat their dessert. What are you making?"

  "Jake's a sucker for chocolate cake and I see all the ingredients here. I could add a layer of strawberries. We have tons of strawberries."

  "I think it's a great plan. I'll even help you."

  "That would be nice." And totally weird.

  I combined the ingredients and Zach mixed it all together while I tackled the strawberry filling followed by some chocolate icing. The entire hour we worked on my cake, the girls wandered in and out to grab more drinks, but nothing else. Becca, who I confirmed as the fuchsia bikini girl, did give me a glare, but didn't bother to find out what her boyfriend was doing with me. Guess she didn't feel too threatened. I kept hoping Jake would stop in to check on me, but I knew he was busy catching up with his friends.

  "My mom doesn't cook or bake," Zach said, licking the spatula. "Louisa does it all."

  "Is she the housekeeper?" I took the cake batter from him before he put the spatula back in and poured the contents into two greased cake pans.

  "Yes. She's been with us since I was a kid. Mom and Dad are in Washington most of the year, so Louisa is like a second mom."

  I tilted my head. "You're the senator's son?"

  "That would be me," he said, taking the bowl back, tilting it, ringing a finger around the sides and licking up what remained. I had the cake in the oven and now worked on the main meal. First chopping onions, then steaming broccoli.

  "Does everyone kiss your ass?"

  "I don't think so."

  "But you've probably always been one of the cool kids."

  "Mostly because I'm cool," he said with a wink.

  "You seem pretty normal. How come?"

  He laughed, flashing his perfect white teeth. "What does that mean?"

  "You aren't stuck up."

  "I think I'm pretty easy going. I don't judge. My parents taught me that much."

  "It's a good quality to have."

  He went to the fridge and grabbed another beer. "Want one?" he asked.

  "Sure, why not."

  We took a break for a few minutes and enjoyed our beers. Even though I was underage, Dad and I often sat outside on the front porch on hot afternoons drinking a cold one. We'd talk sports—hockey, mostly, since Dad was a star forward in high school. Then we'd move on to football and tennis. Sometimes Uncle Ron and Jake would join in and the four of us would debate everything from player salaries to stats.

  "So you and Jake are childhood friends?"

  "Since birth."

  "That's awesome."

  "Have you and Bianca been friends for a long time?"

  He took a gulp of beer and grunted. "I wouldn't call her a friend. We hang out with the same people, but that's about it."

  "Oh," I said casually. I had to play it safe, not knowing exactly where he stood with her.

  He smirked. "Come on, she's a bitch. We can both admit it. Not sure what Jake sees in her other than the body."

  His placid expression appeared sincere. Either he was an excellent actor, or he hated the wench as much as I did. "I think that's all he sees."

  "And you two never hooked up?"

  "No. He's like my brother."

  Zach scrutinized me, his eyes fixing on mine. "How long have you liked him?"

  My cheeks burned. How could he tell? "What are you talking about?" I set down my beer and started chopping peppers with my back to Zach.

  "It's obvious to me, but I'm not sure it's obvious to an asswipe like Jake."

  "You're wrong."

  "Whatever you say. I'm on barbecue duty," he said, changing the subjec
t. "When should I fire up the grill?"

  "The potatoes will take about a half hour."

  He looked outside one of the huge windows. "The guys are back. I'm sure they're starved."

  A crowd had formed on the balcony but neither of us went to greet them. Zach barely acknowledged them. Instead, he focused on me.

  "What are we going to do with the broccoli?" he asked.

  "We?"

  "Other than manning a barbecue, I can't cook a thing. Maybe if I learn some tips from a seasoned chef like yourself, I’ll be able to feed myself a little better. Add a few real vegetables into my diet instead of the usual munching on carrots thing that I do."

  "I was thinking something simple for the broccoli. I like to keep it healthy for my dad and my grandpa."

  "Your mom not in the picture?"

  I grimaced. The thought of her ... I was not going there. "Nope, and my grandma died a few years ago. Back to the broccoli," I said before he could get onto the subject of where my mother was. "I usually make a simple vinaigrette of olive oil, lemon juice, salt, pepper and fresh garlic cloves. Do you think everyone here will like garlic? Jake loves it."

  "You mean the princesses? Who cares. Go for it."

  "We can make the vinaigrette now, but we should only dress the broccoli right before serving, otherwise it will get discolored," I added, like I was on a cooking show and needed to give Zach a tutorial.

  "Sounds delicious, for broccoli anyway. Where's your mom?"

  He stood next to me, leaning against the counter, and his playful brown eyes were waiting for an answer. So much for diverting his attention. I considered lying and saying she was dead. That would put an end to the interrogation.

  "She had me and took off. Should we bake the potatoes? Add some cheese and onions?"

  "Let's barbecue them. Do you keep in touch with her?"

  "No. Should I make my own salad dressing or do you think people will want the premade stuff?"

  "Premade stuff for the princesses, but I'll try yours if you make it. When's the last time you talked to her?"

  "Long time ago. Should you fire up the barbecue?"

  "Soon. Why'd she leave?"

  I bit on my lower lip. He seemed nice and all, but this conversation had to stop. Now. "I don't like talking about her."