Ryann rolls her eyes. “Watch out, Dad. She’s pulling out the big guns and Daddying you.”

My father wipes the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “What’s the problem, Della?”

“Is Liz Thompson working for you?”

“On a trial basis, yes.” He frowns. “Is there a problem?”

She looks at me, eyes pleading, then whispers, “I just don’t like her.” I wonder if she’d bring it up at all if Connor were here, but he’s off on some campaign errand for Dad tonight.

“Della,” Mom scolds, “don’t be ridiculous. You and Liz used to be great friends. Just because things didn’t work out with the daycare doesn’t mean she can’t work for your father.”

Della’s eyes are wide and wet, but she looks down at her plate to hide her tears. She doesn’t want them to know the truth about why she hates Liz so much. If my parents knew the truth, they never would have let her marry Connor.

“I will say I was surprised,” Mom says. “Liz doesn’t seem like the serious type. She comes off as a little too ditzy for politics.”

“She’s not ditzy.” I say it before I think, and Della glares at me. I shrug. “She’s not. Just because she’s a peppy blonde doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a brain.”

“He’s right,” Dad says. He puts another serving of salad on his plate. “I think people underestimate her. She has a lot to learn about campaign work, but she’s been helping Connor with my speech for the gala. I have to say, her early work has some real potential.”

I nod, satisfied that my dad is giving Liz a chance. I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t want her anywhere near my family after what happened with Connor, but maybe what happened between them wasn’t as cut and dry as I wanted to believe.

Mom smiles at me. “Do I sense a romantic interest in the Thompson girl? You two would make a beautiful couple.”

“You should have seen the way they were dancing together at Cally and William’s wedding last year,” my little sister, Ryann, says. “Pretty sure you could have found the meaning of life easier than the space between their bodies.”

Della turns on me and scowls, and Mom says, “Really now?”

Heat creeps up my neck, and I shoot a warning look to Ryann. “We were just dancing.”

Della glares at me one more time for good measure. “I don’t feel well, Mom. I’m going to go lie down.”

“Of course, darling.” Mom smiles as Della hoists herself and her massive stomach up from her chair and leaves the room. “Maybe you should bring Liz to the gala fundraiser next week,” Mom says to me.

“What about Governor Guy’s daughter?” Dad asks. “I thought Sam could take her.”

I bow my head and mentally count to ten.

Dad turns to me. “I think she really likes you, and more importantly, Guy likes you.”

Across from me, my little brother, Ian, smirks. “I’ll go with Sabrina if Sam doesn’t want to.”

“As if she’d want you,” Ryann says.

Ian makes a face. “Oh, and I suppose you have a date?”

“I don’t want a date. I’m a young, independent woman.”

“Code for can’t find a date,” Ian says.

Dad clears his throat, trying not to laugh, and Mom shakes her head. “You two cut it out.” She turns to me. “Sam, I think it would be lovely if you wanted to take Sabrina. You know how important their family is to ours. That said, if you’d rather take Liz, I’d support that too. If she’s working on the campaign now, it would probably be best if Liz came there anyway.”

“I’ll let you know.” I push out of my seat. “I’m going to check on Della.”

As I leave the dining room, I hear my mom saying, “I can’t believe how invested he is in this pregnancy. I think he’s finally ready to settle down.”

Their voices are fading as my father says, “That’s why I want him to give Sabrina a chance. She’s good for him, and it would finally join the Guy and Bradshaw families in a more official way.”

My father loves me. He loves all of us. But when your parent is a politician, your identity is never as simple as that of a beloved child. We’re props and collateral—something to be positioned to make him look better and bartered to better the family’s influence.

When I open the door to the nursery, Della’s sitting in the rocking chair in the corner, tears rolling down her cheeks, her hands on her belly.

“Del,” I whisper.

She offers me a wobbly smile. “I don’t want to hate her, you know. I know Connor chose me, he married me, but I’ll never know if he would have chosen me if it hadn’t been for the baby.”

“He loves you.”

She nods. “I know. And I’m trying to get over it, but the idea of them working together every day makes me crazy.”

You and me both, sis.

“But what choice do I have, right?”

I exhale slowly, then breathe in the clean scent of the nursery. As much as my parents’ meddling has made us all crazy, this is the kind of people they are—the kind who set up a nursery in their home for their grandchild.

“You could tell them,” I say. When Della swore me to secrecy about what happened that night, I thought I was agreeing to protect her. Now I realize I was compliant with her cover-up, because part of me wanted to protect Liz from the ramifications of her own poor decisions. If you would have told me eight months ago that any of my decisions were motivated by the desire to protect Liz, I would have called you a liar, but I can see it now. “You could tell Mom and Dad the truth about Liz and Connor’s history, and they’d put Liz off the campaign.”