I would if the situation were reverse.
Still, as the plane touches down and I glance out the window, a twinge of panic runs up my spine. I was expecting a few reporters, not a dozen. Our audience is bigger than I thought it would be and when Gina and I share a look, I can tell she shares my concerns.
The bigger the crowd, the better the chances are they’ll go off topic. That they’ll take the opportunity to ask questions I refuse to answer. The allegations against me, the scandal that’s plagued me recently, is not up for discussion. Let’s hope they remember that.
I don’t need to Amelia asking questions too.
Thirteen
Amelia
The first time I stepped in front of the cameras, the night after I met Johnathan, I was caught off guard. They were photographing a moment in my life I wasn't very proud of. They may not have known it at the time, but I did.
Even with the façade we're putting on, and Johnathan's little white lies, I can still feel a storm brewing around us.
As expected, there's a group of reporters waiting for us when we land. At least a dozen. More than at the hotel when I did the walk of shame. Camera's flash as we depart the plane hand in hand, both smiling.
I've perfected my fake smile at this point. I'm not sure I've ever had to fake it this much in my life. Sure there have been occasions when I've been forced to bite my tongue before. When you're trying to get a foot in the door in the music industry, you open yourself up for harsh criticism. And you have to take it with a grain of salt, a smile on your face, and keep a positive attitude.
So, yeah. I know how to fake a smile.
Still, as the cameras flash, the urge to shield my face overwhelms me.
I look a mess. Gina did her best to put me back together after my roll in the sheets with Johnathan, but she's not a magician. My hair is pinned back away from my face. My makeup has been freshly applied. It's my clothes that concern me the most.
He told me to pack casual clothes, nothing fancy, and I took him at his word. I searched my bag for anything presentable, and the nicest thing I came across was a nightie that Beth must have tossed in when I wasn't paying attention. So here I stand, in the same outfit he picked me up in. My shirt is slightly wrinkled from being tossed on the floor, and my boots have a little mud on the toes.
Let's hope they keep the cameras focused on my face.
Pulling me to his side, Johnathan steps up to the growing crowd and gives the speech I heard him practicing while Gina and I were in the bathroom. Every so often she would poke her head out and direct him on what to say, but for the most part, his words are his own.
"What a warm welcome home," he begins, garnering a laugh from a few of the reporters. "I'm aware why you're all here, and I'd like to set the record straight. A source in Houston has misinformed you about my relationship with Ms. Anderson. We've known each other for years and only reconnected on Friday night. We were able to spend some time together this weekend and decided we weren't ready to part ways yet. So she's going to be staying with me here for a while so we can get to know each other again.
"I understand your interest in her. She's an amazing woman," he says, looking to me and tossing me a smile. "However, I would appreciate it if you would give us some space. I'd hate for you to scare her off."
The crowd laughs, so I join them, but my laugh catches in my throat when I hear someone call my name.
"Amelia! How serious is your relationship?"
"Not today, Howard," I hear Johnathan scold. I'm staring at my feet, unable to look in the direction of the man that called my name. "If you have any questions, you can direct them to me."
"Fine." You can hear the irritation in the man's voice. "What does she think about your recent exposé?"
Exposé? What's he talking about? Maybe I should have Googled him when I had the chance.
"I think that will be all the questions for today," I hear Gina say before Johnathan wraps his arms around my shoulder and guides me away from the crowd.
Johnathan tucks me into the limo and shuts the door. A different city, a different car. Still a limo. It makes me wonder if he always travels in style like this. Is it for show, or is this his life?
I can hear him talking with Garcia outside the door but can't make out the words. I'm about to roll the window down when Gina slides in the other door and takes the seat across from me.
"You did well," she notes, her voice feigning pride and her face lacking any emotion.
This woman is a trip. I'm pretty sure she doesn't know how to smile. She's ruthless, and I'm sure that's part of what makes her good at her job. Still, you'd think he's at least try and be pleasant to me.
"Thank you," I reply as the door opens again and Johnathan takes the seat next to me.
"I'm sorry about that. They know better than to go off topic."
Do I ask, or do I keep it to myself and snoop later on? I'm sure he'd answer me, but how much of his story would be truth and how much would be fabricated? We're not in a serious relationship. He'd probably give me the same answers he'd give the press. It's not like he owes me the truth, and I've done nothing to earn it.
At the end of the day, he's still a politician. He needs to protect his reputation.
While I contemplate all the lies we've told and the ramifications from those lies, Gina and Johnathan talk about an upcoming event. I zone out, focused on my own issues.
My parents hate him. They hate us together. It's going to take a lot to repair the damage done to my relationship with them. Forgiveness is not something that comes easy for them. Good Christians or not, once you've wronged them, it takes a lot of work to get back in their good graces. It doesn't matter that I'm their daughter, their only child. I'll probably have to work twice as hard.
Then there's Joseph. That ass. I wouldn't be surprised if he was the one that went to the press. That strikes me as something he would do. The word vindictive comes to mind. Especially after the way we parted ways.
I didn't leave with him.
He lost me.
Not that he hasn't replaced me by now, but it wasn't his decision. He wasn't given the choice. He likes to be in control at all times of all things. Only this wasn't within his reign of control, and it threw him off balance. I saw it in his eyes. The anger and hatred.
Johnathan lightly squeezes my leg, catching me by surprise, and I swat at his hand. When I realize what I did, I apologize. He doesn't say anything, but the slight lift of his left brow makes me wonder what he's thinking.
"You two stay inside the house until I come over tomorrow. The press is already grasping for a new lead story. They'll follow you anywhere you go. Let's not give them one until we can control the subject line," Gina says as she steps out of the limo.
We're stopped outside a tall apartment building in what looks like the center of the city. There are shops and businesses lining the sidewalk. I notice a few families seated outside an ice cream shop, laughing and enjoying the cold treat on the warm afternoon.
"Noted," Johnathan states before the door closes, effectively ending the conversation.
"Where to now?" I ask as the limo begins to move again, the happy families now a blur outside the window.
"Home."
"How long before we get there?"
"About thirty minutes, depending on traffic. There's only one way on the island and the bridge can get backed up on Sunday if there are a lot of families headed to the beach."
The beach. I like the sound of that.
"And then..." he continues, pausing for dramatic effect. "Bed. We have unfinished business to attend to."
To say we left things unfinished between us is an understatement. I about lost my mind when he left me in that room alone. As if I wasn't already questioning my decisions, he up and left me naked as the day I was born in an unfamiliar bed when he was called by another woman. Not only that, but I was on the verge of what could have been the best orgasm of my life.
I expected us to pick right bac
k up when he returned but nope. Again I was wrong.
Let's just say I'll be glad to have a break from Gina for a while. No more interruptions or judgmental stares. I swear that woman is sizing me up every time she looks at me. And not in a good way. Not like she's trying to decide what size dress to buy me. More like what size grave to dig.
"You're unusually quiet," he notes as I stare out at the clear water below us. We've been on this bridge for a few minutes, and I've been engrossed in the view ever since.
It's not like Houston, or the farm where I grew up. I've been to the ocean a handful of times but I don't remember it looking like this. Beautiful boats gliding across the water, barely leaving waves in their wake. Houses that look enormous, even off in the distance. More than anything, it's the way the sun dances across the water that leaves me breathless.
My dream, once I became a famous singer, was to buy a house on the water somewhere. I love the big city, the hustle and bustle, but I want my home to be a place where I can slow down, relax, and just enjoy life. I've always been drawn to the water, whether it be the small pond between my house and Michael’s, the community pool I used to hang out with when I was younger, or the enormous ocean.
There's something calming about it for me. An inner peace, maybe. I can't describe it. All I know is I love it, and to know that while I stay here with Johnathan I'll have access to it is exciting.
"Just enjoying the view," I say, my stare still focused out the window at a large sailboat that's about to slip under the bridge.
"Me too."
Looking over my shoulder, I find Johnathan staring at me. Smooth talker. I want to call him on it, but I don't. Instead, I send him a mischievous grin and turn back to the window. The bridge is behind us now, and we're in a populated area. Businesses on both sides of the road. Tall buildings now block my view of the water as we drive through town.
As houses come into view, I start to take note of their size. They grow bigger and bigger the more we pass. They start to get farther apart from each other right before Garcia turns off the main road and into what appears to be a driveway.
There's a large gate ahead that opens for us and a warning sign posted out front.
Private Drive. No Trespassing.
This must be it. I should have figured he would be secluded. It makes me wonder who his neighbors are and why they need seclusion.
"Home sweet home," Johnathan says when Garcia opens the door for me, offering his hand to help me out.
"Thank you," I reply, accepting his outstretched hand and watching as it covers all of mine, the difference in our skin tone drastic.
The first thing that pops into my mind when I turn to face the house is what a bad idea this was. I should have stayed home. In my shitty apartment. In my part of the world, because I sure as hell won't fit in here. His world is too different than mine.
It's not a secret that Johnathan has money. He holds an important position in our government. Wealth and power, two of the most sought-after things in life. I reek of poverty and struggle.
I feel Garcia release my hand while Johnathan slips past me.
It's enormous. Pristine white pillars flank the front door, two on each side. I count at least twenty windows, and that's just the front of the house. A three-car garage is off to the right, the far stall open. I can't see inside, but I imagine a shiny sports car occupies at least one of the spaces.
"Shall we?" Johnathan asks.
"I don't think this was a good idea," I squeak out, my feet remaining planted to the ground when he tries to move us in the direction of the front door.
"It's just a house, Amelia. Don't let it intimidate you."
"It's not the house," I openly admit. "It's everything. The house. The location. The status. The money. The power. It's you."
"You're intimidated by me?" He laughs. "Since when?"
"Seeing you here, in your element, it's different. Watching you earlier as you handled the press was a glimpse at what I'll have to deal with by being associated with you. Now and when I go home. I'm not sure this is what I want. I thought I knew what I was signing up for, but I didn't."
Stepping in front of me and blocking my view of the house, Johnathan tips my chin until I'm looking him in the eyes.
"This life isn't easy, I'll admit that. But you haven't even given it a chance yet. I understand you're scared, I even understand why, but you don't need to be. As long as you're with me, I'll always protect you."
He's said it before. and I want to believe him, but my gut is telling me to run the other direction. Not that I have anywhere I can run right now. The longer I wait, the harder it'll be, though. Not just to break free but to want to leave.
I'm afraid the money, sex, and power will romance me. I'll want to stay forever, and that's not what this is. Why break my own heart?
"Come inside with me. Let me give you a tour. We can cook dinner together, and then if you still want to leave in the morning, I'll have Garcia take you to the airport on the first available flight."
He makes a compelling argument. I'm starving, having skipped lunch thanks to my parents. Not to mention if the outside is this nice, I'm curious to see what it looks like inside.
Fourteen
Johnathan
Getting her inside was more of a challenge than I had anticipated. I knew the house would be a lot to handle. My reaction was similar when I first saw it. It's honestly more than I need. The seclusion is what sold it for me.
The gated entry keeps out prying eyes.
My neighbors are far enough away I can comfortably go about my business without the fear of them being nosy.
The private beach ended up being the biggest selling point for me. I wanted to live on the water, but I didn't want to have to deal with tourists or locals bothering me all the time. Beach life should be relaxing, and when you have screaming children and people walking up to you all the time, it becomes the opposite of relaxing.
Amelia stares in awe at her surroundings as I give her a short tour of the house. She follows me, mouth slightly agape, from room to room, cautiously running her fingers across the counter tops in the kitchen and the soft pillows of the sofa.
I didn't decorate it myself. The people who lived here before me had exceptional taste. I liked the decor and asked to purchase the house with all the furnishings. My realtor said they were hesitant until they saw the price I was offering.
Per usual, I got what I wanted.
It's been almost three years since I moved in, and nothing has changed except the closet in my office. That was a necessary addition, though. I can't have my secrets getting out. I needed a place to lock everything away where no one would think to look.
Still, I prefer to keep people out of my office. So when I open the doors and Amelia attempts to cross the threshold, I stop her.
"My office is the only room in the house that's off limits."
"I'm sorry," she quickly replies, taking three steps back and bumping into the wall behind her. She looks like a frightened kitten who's backed herself into the corner as protection.
Reaching for her, I pull her into my arms and kiss her on the forehead. "Politicians can be fickle. I work from home a lot of the time, and there's confidential information in there. That's all."
Lies roll off my tongue effortlessly. Over time, I've become better at telling them. When I was first elected, I truly believed the truth was the best way to go. It didn't take long for me to realize if I wanted to stay in office, I needed to tell people what they wanted to hear. The truth didn't matter.
Part of what I told Amelia is the truth. I do work from home and there is confidential information in my office, but none of it is political. I keep all that at my office downtown. Most is public record.
The work I bring home with me is what keeps me in this house. The side businesses I run under the radar. Dealing with people like Mendez. The reason I bring Garcia with me when I travel.
That information is what I'm most concerned with prot
ecting.
Guiding her down the hall, we end our tour at my bedroom doors. Her bags are sitting outside the french doors. The hot pink standing out against the beige walls and modern white decor.
"And this will be our room," I say, pushing the doors open and motioning for her to follow me. "You can hang your things in the closet. The third and fourth drawers of the dresser are empty if there's anything you'd like to store in them. Through here," I continue, pushing open another set of french doors, "is the master bath. Towels are in the closet over there, and I had my housekeeper pick up some bath salts and bubble bath for you this morning."
"Your housekeeper?" she inquires.
"Yes. Gloria comes twice a week. She does all the shopping for me and keeps the house clean."
Amelia nods absentmindedly as she takes in every aspect of the bathroom. Her eyes land on the Jacuzzi tub and stay there a moment before looking up at me.
"Are you okay?" I ask, turning up the concern in my voice.
"Yeah. It's just a lot to take in, ya know? This morning I was sharing a tiny bathroom with another person. We couldn't even be in there at the same time. And now..." Her voice trails off as she motions around the large bathroom with her arms.
"Listen." I step up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. I pull her back against me, a move that immediately sparks a need deep inside of me, and let out a sigh. "This is new to me too. I don't share well. I've lived here alone for a long time. It'll be an adjustment for both of us, but I also think it'll be nice to have someone else around."
"What about Garcia?" she jokes.
"He's not as nice to look at as you are, and he definitely can't satisfy me the way you can." I press against her, and Amelia wiggles out of my arms and turns to face me. Reaching up, I tuck a stay strand of hair behind her ear and cup her cheek. "I don't want you to think that's the only reason I brought you here, Amelia, but it is a big part of it. I want to get to know you, but I also enjoyed myself that night. It's all I've been able to think about since."
Caught in the Storm Page 10