The Senate Majority Leader was in love with her. The Governor's wife didn't realize this, and the Governor didn't either. In fact, the Senator was hardly aware of it himself. He was, after all, a happily married man with four children. An able politician. A hard working legislator. He had a law practice to maintain, in addition to his legislative duties and family obligations. His star, the state's major papers all predicted, was on the rise. But none of these precluded the Senate Majority Leader from being a little in love with the Governer's wife. He had fallen in love with her, slowly and surely, over a period of years, over a series of daisies and platforms and lectures and podia. The Governor's wife had a fragile, wounded look which attracted the Senate Majority Leader powerfully. He had not declared himself; he never would. He genuinely cherished his own wife and children, the law, and his rising star. But the Senator could not keep his eyes off the Governor's wife. He had no appetite when she sat beside him at head tables. He witnessed her fear and bravery across oceans of smoke and sweaty faces and watered drinks, and he wished he could adopt her. 

from Public Appearance, by Susan Dodd