Page 9 of Hottie on Her Shelf
True to form, Preston piled on. “A Montgomery runs for mayor in this town. A Montgomery is mayor in this town. It’s that simple, son.”
“Well, it would be.” Fitz crossed one arm over his chest, propped an elbow on his wrist and stroked his five-oh-seven o’clock shadow. “Except for one tiny caveat. A little thing you might’ve overlooked, not being intimately familiar with every line of the town charter the way I have to be.”
“Which is?”
“As I said before, democracy exists. In America, and even right here in Swan Cove.” Fitz threw out both arms wide.
“Oh, for goodness sake.” Caroline’s blue eyes, much more navy than his own, narrowed in contempt at his attempt to lighten the mood.
He shrugged. “Not my fault. I’m a pawn of the system.”
“Fitzwilliam, that is enough. We’re endeavoring to have a serious conversation with you.”
He couldn’t agree more. Because conspiring against democracy was deadly serious in his book. But he didn’t want to go round in circles all night about it.
Most of the time, a solid 65 percent of the time, his parents were great. A little distant, a lot overly focused on upholding the family legacy and making sure their son was the brightest light in their corner of the universe, but good people.
He didn’t like fighting with them. Didn’t like disappointing them. Even though, by their account, he had a habit of doing both far too often…
So, Fitz went with a classic distraction tactic. “Seriously, Mom, this is your fault. Didn’t your ancestors come over on the Mayflower seeking independence?”
“They were on the Little James. Right after the Mayflower.” Her powdered cheeks immediately pinked up as she waggled a finger at him. “You always get that wrong on purpose.”
“Because I love to watch you blush with pride when you harken back to your colonizing roots.”
“Your roots, too.”
“I know. And I know you want me to win. Trust me, I don’t want to lose.” Was that technically different from wanting to win? Maybe.
Definitely.
But phrased his way, it was the truth.
Preston smoothed his tie, looked out over the swan pond and the gazebo behind it. “It isn’t that we want you to win, son. We expect you to do so. The town needs the steady leadership of a Montgomery. We’re proven to know what’s best for Swan Cove. No one else cares more about its success than the Montgomery family.”
Yeah, see, that was the rhetoric Fitz didn’t need. Or necessarily believe. That, in fact, pissed him off all over again.
Because he wasn’t a medieval king, granted authority by God. He was just a man with an overhyped last name.
“Don’t for a minute think this woman can beat you.” Caroline took his hands and squeezed. “We won’t let that happen. She’s a nobody. You’re a Montgomery.”
“Well, I guess you’ve just written my entire stump speech.”
The dry-as-Death-Valley sarcasm went right over their heads, because both parents freaking beamed at him.
“That’s the spirit, son.” Preston clapped him on the back. “Glad we’re all on the same page. There’s no one better suited to run this town than a Montgomery.”
Another round of handshakes and air kisses and they left.
They left Fitz stewing.
Because his dad hadn’t said that Fitz was the best one to be mayor, only that anyone with their last name was best. Not exactly a ringing endorsement. His biggest asset was…nothing he’d actually done. Accomplished. Chosen. Decided.
His own parents couldn’t come up with a better reason than his name that he should be mayor? That wasn’t enough of a reason. Not for him. Not for any of the voters.
Their lack of faith in him really shone through in this unwanted visit.
He’d been planning on going home to spend the night working on the stump speech Derek had drafted. But now? He needed to get far away from platitudes. Far away from anything campaign related. Far away from anything that lauded his brilliance at having his genes attached to the name Montgomery.
He whipped off a text to his best friend. Everett Reynolds had liked him before he had any clue about the heft and portent of Fitz’s last name. Didn’t give two shits about Fitz’s family money and took every last opportunity to cut him down to size, because Everett didn’t think Fitz got enough of that.
Blowing off steam at the pub would clear out the mood his parents had left behind like a bad fart. Tomorrow was plenty soon enough to pick up worrying about the campaign.
And the pretty librarian with the massive chip on her shoulder against him…and his last name.
