“What are we looking at here?” the newscaster asks his guest “expert.” Expert at what, I’m not sure. Can you go to college and major in regrettable sex photos? Does the homework require you to watch the Paris Hilton sex tape?
“These are still shots from a sex tape that was leaked to my magazine, Stars Like Us,” the journalist says. “At first, we didn’t think much of it. The redheaded woman in the video could be anyone, and we don’t get a good enough shot of her face to identify her. But beyond the woman bearing a striking resemblance to Governor Guy’s daughter, Sabrina, a closer look at the background reveals a few interesting things.” The screen flips back to the first image. “You see that bronze bust in the background there?” The screen zooms in on that part of the image. “That’s a trophy for the Woman Leader of the Year, awarded to Christine Guy a decade ago and known to be in the library of the Guys’ country home. Then if we look at the final image . . .” The image on the screen changes to the one showing Sam’s face. “Here we can see the face of the young man she’s with, Samuel Bradshaw, son of Travis Bradshaw, candidate for governor of Indiana.”
“Now introducing WCBF’s political analyst, Rhea Lane, to give her take on this situation,” the newscaster says. “Do you agree that the man in the picture appears to be Samuel Bradshaw?”
“I do,” the analyst says. “Although Bradshaw himself couldn’t be reached for comment, a friend of the family has identified him. A relationship between Bradshaw and Candidate Guy’s daughter wouldn’t be a big surprise, since the Bradshaws and the Guys have been friends for years. The Bradshaws were strong financial backers for Guy’s gubernatorial campaign, and Guy’s endorsement of Bradshaw almost guarantees him the spot as Indiana’s next governor. But his son’s tape with Guy’s daughter could cost Christine her chance at the White House.”
My stomach lurches, threatening to bring up the two sips of coffee I had while George was here, and my face pales on the chat screen.
“Who cares who he screws?” Hanna says. As much as I appreciate her righteous indignation on my behalf, I wish we weren’t on this video chat right now. If I have to find out the man I love is having kinky sex with some other woman, I’d rather not have my twin looking on while I digest the information.
“With final primaries in Montana and South Dakota in just over a week,” the analyst continues, “it’s fair to say this will be a blow to Candidate Guy’s votes from her more conservative supporters. It’s been a hotly contested race between Guy and Candidate Roe, but many people believed Roe would be giving his concession speech next week. Now that’s not so clear.”
“Can we be sure the people in this picture are Sabrina Guy and Samuel Bradshaw?” the newscaster asks.
“We contacted Guy headquarters before the broadcast, and they declined to comment, but Samuel and Sabrina have been seen together at many political events and fundraisers over the years. It’s not much of a leap to assume their relationship has expanded to one behind closed doors.”
“But their relationship isn’t really the concern here, is it?” the newscaster asks.
“Exactly. During Guy’s second term as governor, Sabrina’s been touring the public schools on an ‘I’m Worth Waiting For’ campaign that’s all about waiting until marriage to have sex. This perceived hypocrisy will reflect poorly on the Guy campaign.”
“Well, you heard it here first,” the newscaster says, turning to the camera. “Remember, WCBF is your first source for election coverage!”
I hit the power button on the remote and lean back on the couch, not bothering to center my laptop so Hanna has a good view of me.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“I . . .” What did I expect? That he’d be all torn up five months later? Did I think he’d be sitting around, lonely and miserable, wishing he’d given me a chance to explain? I couldn’t even accept a date with my cute neighbor, and Sam’s making sex tapes. “I’m fine. It’s no big deal.”
“The guy who broke your heart is a big deal, especially when he’s on the national news. It’s okay to be mad at him. Bad enough that he hasn’t come crawling back to you—and he should have—but for you to find out this way . . .”
“Hanna, I’m gonna go.”
“I love you, sis.”
“I love you too.” I close my laptop before she can say more and before I can start crying. As soon as I’m safe from the camera, I take the envelope addressed to Sam from my purse, and I rip it in half.
Chapter 3
Sam
I don’t mean to look. Not at first. But my gaze catches on the screen of Connor’s phone, and I see that telltale red hair. “No . . .” I scroll down the screen to see picture after private picture. “This can’t be . . .”
“It is.”
Sabrina Guy stands at the edge of my living room, hands tucked into the pockets of her black dress pants. Behind her is a short blond woman in wire-rimmed glasses and a black suit. If I hadn’t been so focused on my own self-pity, I may have noticed before now that Connor wasn’t alone.
“May I?” Sabrina asks, motioning to the couch across from me.
“Sure. Why the hell not?”
Sabrina and her blond companion settle onto the couch. I rub the back of my neck. I feel like a hundred pounds of tension are tied up right in that spot. “Where’d the pictures come from?” I ask Sabrina. “I don’t remember pictures.”
“These are still shots from a sex tape that was leaked to my magazine, Stars Like Us,” the journalist says. “At first, we didn’t think much of it. The redheaded woman in the video could be anyone, and we don’t get a good enough shot of her face to identify her. But beyond the woman bearing a striking resemblance to Governor Guy’s daughter, Sabrina, a closer look at the background reveals a few interesting things.” The screen flips back to the first image. “You see that bronze bust in the background there?” The screen zooms in on that part of the image. “That’s a trophy for the Woman Leader of the Year, awarded to Christine Guy a decade ago and known to be in the library of the Guys’ country home. Then if we look at the final image . . .” The image on the screen changes to the one showing Sam’s face. “Here we can see the face of the young man she’s with, Samuel Bradshaw, son of Travis Bradshaw, candidate for governor of Indiana.”
“Now introducing WCBF’s political analyst, Rhea Lane, to give her take on this situation,” the newscaster says. “Do you agree that the man in the picture appears to be Samuel Bradshaw?”
“I do,” the analyst says. “Although Bradshaw himself couldn’t be reached for comment, a friend of the family has identified him. A relationship between Bradshaw and Candidate Guy’s daughter wouldn’t be a big surprise, since the Bradshaws and the Guys have been friends for years. The Bradshaws were strong financial backers for Guy’s gubernatorial campaign, and Guy’s endorsement of Bradshaw almost guarantees him the spot as Indiana’s next governor. But his son’s tape with Guy’s daughter could cost Christine her chance at the White House.”
My stomach lurches, threatening to bring up the two sips of coffee I had while George was here, and my face pales on the chat screen.
“Who cares who he screws?” Hanna says. As much as I appreciate her righteous indignation on my behalf, I wish we weren’t on this video chat right now. If I have to find out the man I love is having kinky sex with some other woman, I’d rather not have my twin looking on while I digest the information.
“With final primaries in Montana and South Dakota in just over a week,” the analyst continues, “it’s fair to say this will be a blow to Candidate Guy’s votes from her more conservative supporters. It’s been a hotly contested race between Guy and Candidate Roe, but many people believed Roe would be giving his concession speech next week. Now that’s not so clear.”
“Can we be sure the people in this picture are Sabrina Guy and Samuel Bradshaw?” the newscaster asks.
“We contacted Guy headquarters before the broadcast, and they declined to comment, but Samuel and Sabrina have been seen together at many political events and fundraisers over the years. It’s not much of a leap to assume their relationship has expanded to one behind closed doors.”
“But their relationship isn’t really the concern here, is it?” the newscaster asks.
“Exactly. During Guy’s second term as governor, Sabrina’s been touring the public schools on an ‘I’m Worth Waiting For’ campaign that’s all about waiting until marriage to have sex. This perceived hypocrisy will reflect poorly on the Guy campaign.”
“Well, you heard it here first,” the newscaster says, turning to the camera. “Remember, WCBF is your first source for election coverage!”
I hit the power button on the remote and lean back on the couch, not bothering to center my laptop so Hanna has a good view of me.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“I . . .” What did I expect? That he’d be all torn up five months later? Did I think he’d be sitting around, lonely and miserable, wishing he’d given me a chance to explain? I couldn’t even accept a date with my cute neighbor, and Sam’s making sex tapes. “I’m fine. It’s no big deal.”
“The guy who broke your heart is a big deal, especially when he’s on the national news. It’s okay to be mad at him. Bad enough that he hasn’t come crawling back to you—and he should have—but for you to find out this way . . .”
“Hanna, I’m gonna go.”
“I love you, sis.”
“I love you too.” I close my laptop before she can say more and before I can start crying. As soon as I’m safe from the camera, I take the envelope addressed to Sam from my purse, and I rip it in half.
Chapter 3
Sam
I don’t mean to look. Not at first. But my gaze catches on the screen of Connor’s phone, and I see that telltale red hair. “No . . .” I scroll down the screen to see picture after private picture. “This can’t be . . .”
“It is.”
Sabrina Guy stands at the edge of my living room, hands tucked into the pockets of her black dress pants. Behind her is a short blond woman in wire-rimmed glasses and a black suit. If I hadn’t been so focused on my own self-pity, I may have noticed before now that Connor wasn’t alone.
“May I?” Sabrina asks, motioning to the couch across from me.
“Sure. Why the hell not?”
Sabrina and her blond companion settle onto the couch. I rub the back of my neck. I feel like a hundred pounds of tension are tied up right in that spot. “Where’d the pictures come from?” I ask Sabrina. “I don’t remember pictures.”
