Page 3 of Devil’s Promise

They just have to trust me. Because this, this is only the beginning…

CHAPTER ONE

Promise

My father gives the crowd his usual waxy smile, his eyes twinkling in exactly the right way. They were made to light up in the glare of the spotlight.

One of my father’s greatest skills—he knows how to play a crowd.

Handsome and naturally charming, he’s always found this part of the job easy. Then again, he finds most of politics easy.

The cheating. The lies. The corruption.

The only part that’s difficult for Senator Donald Winthrop is being an actual person. One who can show an ounce of love or a bit of real kindness.

My Aunt Patti, my mom’s sister, is a clinical psychologist. She once told me that my father is a diagnosable narcissist. It’s why we don’t talk to Aunt Patti anymore.

I wish we did. She might have been able to save my mother.

The crowd claps at something my father says, but I can hear the difference. The roar of the crowd isn’t as loud as it should be.

The gymnasium for the rally is packed, which means noise should be echoing from the rafters.

I learned a long time ago to tune into the crowd. It will dictate how nasty my father is later.

A roaring crowd equals a happy father.

A quiet one, and he’ll be looking to draw blood.

I turn my face away, staring at the deep red curtain that hangs next to where I stand in the wings of the stage.

I’m dressed in a light wool gown, three-quarter-length sleeves, a bateau neckline. It fits me perfectly, highlighting the hourglass figure I inherited from my mother.

My mother was beautiful. Soft. Warm.

Aunt Patti told me that my father love bombed her. Made my mother feel like the most special person in the world, promised her the most beautiful life.

It wasn’t until after they married that he showed his real colors.

As the person who watches him turn his charm on and off like he’s flipping a switch, I can’t imagine ever believing it was real. His happiness always looks fake to me.

The speech is over, a polite round of applause follows, and the time for Q&A begins.

There are a few standard questions about healthcare and state budgets. He answers them with the ease of a man who has spent a great deal of time campaigning.

“As your next governor of New York, I will cut this state’s deficit in half in the next four years.”

The crowd ticks up, the cheers loud enough that my shoulders relax.

But the next question has my entire body tensing.

“What about your daughter, Promise? Some are saying that your campaign, which has continued after your wife’s untimely death, is taking a significant toll on her mental health.”

I see my father’s lips thin. My hands lace together as my neck pulls up tall and straight.

I made a choice, one that’s been grinding him for the last year.

When my mother died, I stopped talking.