Capitol Promises (The Presidential Promises Duet )

by Rebecca Gallo

  “But you obviously talked to Elias Garcia about this a while ago?”

  “After we got back. I was so messed up over everything. I didn’t know who to turn to about this.”

  DeWayne sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. This bit of news annoyed him; he didn’t mind that I decided not to run and eloped, but he cared that I discussed this with Elias first.

  “All I can do is apologize to you, DeWayne. Our friendship is important to me,” I told him sincerely.

  “I’ll get over it eventually, but you’re going to have to do some serious groveling with Sean.”

  He was right. Sean was already angry with me for eloping, for not being able to stand with me on my wedding day, but how would he react once I told him that I wasn’t going to run again? I couldn’t imagine him getting any angrier. I worked for hours after DeWayne and I finished lunch, distracting myself from the conversation that I needed to have with Sean. But it was there in the back of my mind, gnawing at me until I couldn’t concentrate any longer, so I abandoned my work and set off to find him.

  It didn’t take me long to find him; Sean was partial to the theater in the East Wing and was often there, watching old films. Today, he sat in the darkened theater alone, watching All the President’s Men. A movie about a presidential scandal seemed almost entirely too apropos.

  “I knew I’d find you here,” I said, walking to the front of the theater where Sean was sitting.

  “It’s my favorite place in the entire White House,” he commented.

  “I know. You get more use out of it than I do.”

  “I like to come here and think. Playing a movie and letting my mind wander helps me sort through all the political bullshit.”

  “Yet you’re watching a movie about one of the biggest political scandals ever.”

  “It makes what you’ve put me through look like a piece of cake.”

  I chuckled nervously. “I guess I deserve that.”

  “I understand that you and Georgie wanted to get married privately, on your own terms. You want to do every fucking thing on your own terms, but I’m hurt, man. We’re best friends. We’ve seen each other through some of the worst shit imaginable. I never thought I’d be excluded from your wedding day.”

  “I know, Sean. And I know that there isn’t a damn thing that I could say to make up for taking that away from you. But I hope you’ll forgive me anyway.”

  Sean’s jaw clenched with tension. He still hadn’t looked at me, which made it easier for him to hold his anger.

  “I have something else to tell you,” I murmured. It was now or never.

  “Is Georgie pregnant again, too?”

  “No, she’s not.” Although I dared to hope that she might soon be. “I’m not going to seek re-election.”

  Sean looked at me now, his blue eyes blazing. “What did you say?”

  “This is it. One term. I’m done.”

  “Is that what you really want, James?”

  I was confused. I was waiting for Sean to sock me in the face with even more fury, but it never came. Instead, he looked concerned.

  “Yes, it is. I’ve been thinking about it for months.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised you’re going to give this all up because honestly, I’m not. Your heart hasn’t been in this for a while. I see you struggling, day in and day out. You’ve been pulled in so many directions. If that trip to Africa and the Middle East happened in the beginning, you wouldn’t have given up on it so easily. You would have ignored all the distractions and made the deals. Something in you changed.”

  “I hate what this has done to Georgie and to our relationship. She’s everything to me, and this presidency has put her through hell. I’ve put her through hell. And I almost lost her again.”

  “Dude, stop being a pussy. You didn’t almost lose her. Miscarriages happen all the time.”

  “Well, it felt like I was fucking losing her, okay? God, you’re such an asshole sometimes.”

  “You deserve it! You eloped without me.”

  “That’s the whole point of eloping. No one is supposed to know.”

  “You’re the president. You can’t take a shit without the whole world knowing.”

  I laughed heartily. “Does this mean that you forgive me?”

  Sean shook his head. “No, it doesn’t. But you’re my best friend, and I’ll support whatever you decide and whatever you do.”

  I extended my hand out toward him, and he gripped it tightly. “Thank you.”

  “Go home to your wife,” he said with finality, dismissing me from the theater, and I was more than happy to listen.

  Georgie

  We had only been married a few days, but Jameson’s parents still didn’t know. They were coming down from Boston this weekend so we could break the news, which made me a nervous wreck. My nerves were a result, in part, of the fact that Jameson was so hyper-focused on getting as much done as possible in one term that I was left to deal with planning for their arrival.

  “This isn’t fair,” I scowled in Jameson’s direction one morning while he dashed around our suite getting ready for the day.

  “Well, do you want to negotiate world peace?” he asked cheekily.

  “That’s not what you’re doing.”

  “No, but budget negotiations always feel that way.” He turned toward me and flashed me a smile so sinful that it shouldn’t be legal. He looked dashing in his charcoal gray suit and dark, midnight blue tie. His hair was cut a bit shorter, and it was definitely grayer now. He also started growing a beard which … did unexpected things to me. I shuddered thinking about how he brushed it against the inside of my thighs.

  I knelt on the bed and reached for him, my hands fixing the crooked knot of his tie. I loved our new morning routine since returning from Finland. While I was chasing my own ambition, these were the little moments I missed. Jameson took credit for his broken promises, but I’d neglected parts of our relationship too. Marriage solved some that, but so did figuring out my own priorities.

  I smoothed the silk of his tie down the front of his shirt and gave him an appreciative nod. Jameson leaned down and kissed me, stealing away my breath and leaving me weak in the knees.

  “Try to be back for dinner,” I whispered even though I knew it wasn’t possible. He was clearing his schedule, checking things off a to-do list before his parents arrived so we could share all our news without distraction.

  “I can’t make any promises.” He left me with a wet, smacking kiss before heading to the West Wing.

  I continued preparing for Ruth and Sam’s arrival, making sure there was plenty of fresh seafood on hand because Ruth would no doubt take over the kitchen. My mouth watered at the thought of her lobster and corn chowder, and I know Sean was already sniffing around for homemade lobster rolls.

  On Friday, when they arrived, I was alone. Jameson was still knee-deep in budget negotiations but promised to be done within a few hours. I was happy to see them, especially after the tumultuous few months Jameson and I endured. I welcomed the motherly attentiveness that I missed, so when Ruth took me into her arms, I let myself feel things that I’d kept bottled up since Finland and since our wedding.

  “I am so sorry, Georgie. I should have come down to take care of you when you got back, but Jameson said everything was too hectic,” she explained as we made our way into the private residence.

  I nodded in understanding. “It’s okay. Things were pretty crazy here. We had to deal with so much when we got back that it feels like we can finally breathe now.”

  “I’ve always thought that Russia was just a bunch of meddling assholes,” Samuel grumbled.

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” Jameson’s voice echoed in the long hallway, and we all turned to see him scrambling toward us, his dress shoes slipping against the marble.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” he said, greeting first his mother with a hug and kissing her cheek before turning toward his dad and embracing him. �
�It’s good to see you both.”

  “We were excited and surprised when you invited us down for the weekend,” Ruth said. We walked toward the Treaty Room, which was Jameson’s private study and where we wanted to tell them about our marriage. It was a formal but comfortable space, and every time I entered, my eyes landed on the familiar desk where my father once sat.

  “Well, we have some news,” Jameson announced as we entered the room.

  “Are you pregnant?” Ruth exclaimed, her hands clapping together in excitement.

  “No, I’m not,” I informed her. Jameson and I sat together on one of the sofas that dominated the space in front of his desk and he placed a comforting arm around me, resting his hand on my shoulder. I looked over at him and smiled thinly. He replied with a wink. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “Well, I hope it’s not that you’re married. You wouldn’t deny your mother the opportunity to plan her only son’s wedding,” she admonished us. “I see you’re still wearing that ridiculous fake ring.”

  The moment Jameson started wearing a ring publicly, Ruth called us immediately and demanded to know if we’d eloped. At that time, we could honestly tell her we hadn’t.

  “Actually …” Jameson began, stalling.

  Ruth gasped and covered her mouth, tears immediately forming in her eyes. “You’re married?”

  I looked over at Sam, who seemed to be taking the news in stride. He watched us with curious eyes, but his romantic heart won out and he leaned across the coffee table with his hand extended. “Congratulations, son!”

  Ruth swatted Sam on the arm and made a noise of disgust. “How can you congratulate him? He eloped!”

  “So it would seem,” Sam drawled out slowly.

  Jameson shifted uncomfortably next to me, and I placed a firm hand on his knee, stilling him. “I know you’re disappointed,” Jameson began, “but so much of our lives are public, and with all this Russian bullshit, I just wanted this one thing for us.”

  Jameson continued to tell his parents about how he wanted to marry me in the hospital room in Finland, and how I turned him down. “Good girl,” his mother said, nodding in my direction. He told them how he had been making preparations in secret, something that surprised me, and decided one day when he woke up that it would be the day we married.

  “That isn’t quite everything,” Jameson continued.

  “Jesus, son, I don’t think your mother can take many more surprises,” Sam spoke up, reaching up to pat Ruth’s hand.

  “Well, then maybe we should have dinner.”

  “No, tell us everything now,” Ruth demanded.

  Jameson twisted his neck from side to side and then made eye contact with me. I gave him a reassuring smile, prompting him to keep the news flowing. He turned back to his parents and explained that he sold the Beacon Hill townhouse and bought an estate in New Hampshire, along the coast. They seemed relatively okay with that news.

  “But you’re holding something back,” Sam said, eyeing his son.

  “I’m not going to seek re-election,” Jameson breathed out quickly. I looped my arm through his and held him firmly. He reached across and patted my hand, a silent thanks for the comfort I provided.

  “Jameson!” Ruth gasped. “But you worked so hard to get here.”

  “I know, I know. But that was before Georgie. She changed everything for me.”

  “But being president is all you’ve ever wanted,” Sam added.

  “I know, Dad, and I’m working hard right now to make sure that everything I do during the remainder of my term has serious, lasting effects on the country. But I’m not willing to sacrifice my relationship with Georgie for another four years.”

  Jameson glanced down at me before planting a kiss on the top of my head. “A few days ago, I made the most important promises of my entire life, and I intend to keep every one of them.”

  “You’re a good man, son, and you have served your country well,” Sam told him.

  “Thank you, Dad.”

  Ruth began sniffling, which drew all our attention her way. She wiped away fresh tears with shaky fingers and looked up at us. “I’m sorry. I’m proud of you, Jameson, even if you denied me a wedding.”

  Everyone laughed, and then Jameson added, “You and Sean can commiserate together. He’s pissed off that he wasn’t my best man.”

  The rest of the evening went smoothly now that the hard part was out of the way. Our elopement, however, was long forgotten after Jameson enticed his parents with a weekend in the Lincoln bedroom. It was like we had done nothing wrong.

  “When my parents leave, we’ll be going on a trip of our own,” Jameson informed me that night.

  I stopped getting ready for bed and looked at him expectantly. “Are you going to tell me, or should I guess?”

  “We’re going to London. Those negotiations that I abandoned to rescue you are going to take place there.”

  I rolled my eyes. Rescue me? I hoped he wasn’t serious. “I thought I couldn’t come because of some conservative assholes.”

  “Well, that’s kind of changed, hasn’t it? We’re married. And … I don’t really care what they think. Elias Garcia will also be accompanying us because he will be the primary negotiator now.”

  “You’re giving up the throne already?” I asked.

  “No, but these are complicated affairs. I don’t expect these leaders to jump up and admit to genocide or the other unspeakable horrors that they’ve committed after a few weeks of negotiations. This will take years, and Elias needs to be a part of it.”

  “Why London? Why not just continue your trip where you ended it?”

  “It’s neutral territory. I don’t think we would have gotten much accomplished, with or without the distraction,” Jameson said, peering up at me over the black rims of his glasses.

  I grabbed a pillow from a nearby armchair and threw it at his head, knocking his glasses right off his face. “I am not a distraction!”

  Jameson crooked a finger in my direction, a devious smirk on his lips. “Come and tell me that to my face.”

  I placed one knee on the bed and slowly crawled across to him. When we were face to face, I whispered, “I … am not … a distraction.”

  And then I proved just how distracting I really could be.

  Jameson

  London was my last chance to make something right. The abandoned trip that spanned three continents was ambitious; more than I could handle. So I broke off a piece of that trip—human rights violations that needed to be addressed—and dealt with it. The leaders of the countries involved were reluctant at first. Who wants to admit to sanctioning scores of atrocities? No one. But by offering them neutral ground, they agreed.

  This wasn’t an official State visit, so we weren’t staying in Buckingham Palace or even Kensington Palace as previous presidents had. In fact, the Queen and the Prime Minister would not even be involved in these negotiations. So, we camped out in The Royal Suite at The Goring, which was perfectly fine with Georgie.

  “I cannot believe that we’re here, Jameson,” Georgie gasped with delight. She was amazed by the grandeur of the suite, which was impressive. The neutral palette of the suite felt anything but bland. In fact, I almost felt like we were back in the private residence.

  “Do you have an idea what you want to do while I’m in negotiations?” I asked her absentmindedly while I checked my email. I was planning something big for her, and some of the final preparations had finally been confirmed.

  “Museums. Lots and lots of museums.”

  I groaned. For once, I was grateful to be busy. “I’m sorry I have to miss that,” I said blandly.

  “No, you’re not. You don’t even like the Smithsonian,” Georgie quipped. That wasn’t entirely true. I liked some of the Smithsonian museums.

  Georgie rattled on about shopping as well, but I tuned her out just to stop and admire her. We had both changed significantly during our time in the White House. My hair was considerably grayer, and Georgie seemed to de
velop a subtle sophistication. Today, she wore a pair of dark jeans that stopped at her ankle and a white button-down shirt under a navy blue cashmere blazer. The emerald on her finger glittered in the sunlight streaming through the suite’s windows, and her thin gold wedding band winked out from beneath her engagement ring.

  We still hadn’t told the public we were married.

  “Well, whatever you have planned, I need you to leave Wednesday night free.”

  “What’s happening on Wednesday?”

  “I have tickets for a show on the West End.”

  Now Georgie groaned. “Theater, Jameson? Really? Didn’t you learn anything from Abraham Lincoln?”

  “That’s a terrible joke, Georgie.” She suddenly looked very guilty, which prompted me to grin. “Don’t worry, little darling. I’m sure you can make it up to Honest Abe somehow.”

  I left her with a smacking kiss on the lips because even though we just arrived, I had to begin working right away.

  For the next few days, I was so busy in negotiations that I barely had time to think about what I had planned for Wednesday. But as I stepped through the door of our suite, I knew that everything would work out perfectly.

  “You look amazing,” I whispered as Georgie stepped out of the bedroom.

  The dress that I had sent over for her to wear fit her perfectly. It was white and flowed loosely around her body with a plunging neckline and delicate lace sleeves. The only embellishment was a jeweled belt around her waist. The emerald studs that I gave her, along with her engagement ring, popped against the brilliant white fabric of the dress, and her hair was my favorite shade of golden honey.

  “Jameson, this is a wedding dress,” she informed me, sweeping a hand down the length of her dress.

  “No. It’s just a dress that happens to be white,” I contradicted her. “Give me fifteen minutes to shower and change, and then we’ll leave.”

  Suddenly, my nerves caught up with me, and while I showered, I felt like everything I had arranged for tonight would suddenly fall apart.