Dirty Scandal

by Amelia Wilde

  “I’ll talk to my team about it, but I can’t make any guarantees.”

  Bellamy considers him.

  “You don’t have it in you, do you?” The words fall softly from her lips, but I see them hit Andrew like a wrecking ball.

  “I’ll plan my next move in the coming hours and—”

  “Politicians.” Bellamy shakes her head. “Men.” She looks at me, her eyes bottomless in the midnight light of the Oval Office. “Are you ready to go?”

  Something in her tone makes the hairs on the back of my arms rise. “Yes.”

  Bellamy nods to Andrew and walks away.

  I have to hurry to catch up.

  I slip my hand into her arm to slow her pace.

  “What are you thinking?” We wend our way through the West Wing to one of the more discreet entrances, where the car is waiting. “You look like you’re about to bring down Rome.”

  “Not Rome. Just your brother.”

  42

  Bellamy

  I am bone-tired. My disgust seeps down, right into the marrow, right into the core of me.

  Nothing can shake it loose except the truth.

  My mother is under house arrest at this moment because of men who lied, men who had power and used it against her, and if it weren’t for the way I feel about Graham I’d be under house arrest, too. A different kind, but it would be a prison nonetheless.

  I’m going to free all of us.

  Graham hustles me into the car and presses close, taking my face in his hands. “What do you mean, just my brother? Bellamy, talk to me.”

  It’s been all of two minutes since I fell silent but it could be hours, the way understanding washes over his face like a waterfall, spilling down in waves.

  “Don’t play stupid.” I take a deep breath. It’s warm in the car—the driver kept it running—but the air seems sharp and cool.

  Clarity.

  Accuracy.

  When I’m finished, the entire country will know the truth. They’ll know where I stand, they’ll know where Graham stands, they’ll know where his family stands.

  It’s only then that we’ll be able to move on.

  Graham’s hands go still. “I’m not playing stupid. I want to know what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m thinking that all of this can be ended in one fell swoop.”

  He shakes his head. “You’re talking about a coup.”

  “Jesus, Graham, I’m not talking about ending his presidency.” The line from deed to a kind of salvation is thin and bright, and I can see how it’s supposed to play out. This is the way I can salvage all of this—the burned-out husks of lies our marriage was born from. “I’m talking about telling the truth, so that all the rumors can stop. Your brother won’t be under pressure from your parents to keep their secrets anymore.”

  Graham takes my hands in his. “Sweetness, you’re not seeing clearly.”

  “I’m seeing more clearly than I’ve ever seen in my life. This—” I drop one of his hands to wave mine in the air. “All of this, meeting you...it took me away from the plan I had. I was going to—” I laugh out loud. “I was going to fight for women like my mom. Women who don’t have the means to stand up for themselves. You and Andrew were only children when all of this started, I’m sure. I’m sure of it.”

  “You don’t know—”

  “Men like your father are men like my father.” I look him in those green eyes, flashing with every streetlight we pass. “They’re only concerned with their own power. That didn’t start ten years ago. It started a long, long time ago. How could you have fought against that? How could Andrew?”

  He sneers. “Andrew’s a grown man. He could have made his own decisions—”

  “Not if he wanted his father to love him.”

  Graham’s shoulders slump.

  The silence grows heavy.

  He straightens up.

  “I don’t want you to do this.”

  “You don’t have much of a choice. That’s the thing.” I follow the path of one of the streetlights until it melts into the distance. “I’m part of this now, too. I’m part of it even though I never wanted to get wrapped up in this kind of power struggle, this kind of prison, ever again.”

  “This is how it goes, Bellamy. We fight. And then we all play our parts. We back away until there’s another problem. Why can’t you understand that?”

  “Because it’s stupid. And wrong. And I’m done with it.”

  “Then why the hell are you sitting here?” Graham’s voice is rough, gravelly. “Why did you go through with this? Why did you want it to be so real?”

  “Because it is real. The only real part of this is how I feel about you.” That thin silvery line moves inward, all the way to my heart, all the way between my legs. “I love you.” I slip my hands around the hard lines of Graham’s jaw and pull him close. “I want you.”

  He pauses for the space of one breath. Pain crackles in his eyes. “I want to shout sense into you,” he whispers.

  “Impossible.” I plant a kiss on the side of his neck and turn, straddling him. His length is steely beneath his pants and I rock myself against it, pleasure blooming with every movement.

  His hands are hard on my hips—it’s the last of his resistance—and when I reach down and undo his pants, full of the fire and fury of truth, he grits his teeth. “Don’t you dare tempt me like this.”

  I bend my head close and lick his bottom lip.

  It ignites him.

  He tears my pants down, lifting me, somehow—and my panties are the next thing to go. They land in tatters on the floor of the car. Then he lifts me, spreads me, pulls me down with all the force in his body, right onto his thickness.

  “Fuck,” I say to the ceiling of the car, reveling in the stretch, in the work it takes to let him in. It doesn’t register as pain, only a desperate pressure, a desperate wanting. It’s reflected in his eyes, in the grip around my hips, and I’ve taken him all in.

  “Show me.”

  My body responds to the words even while my mind wants a sort of clarification. Swirling my hips, rising up and down, slickness coating all of him. Every downward stroke makes contact with that rough, secret spot inside of me, a glowing warmth that blazes out of control.

  “Look at me.”

  I do.

  “You look so fucking gorgeous when you come.”

  I do.

  43

  Graham

  Bellamy steps out of the car with flushed cheeks and a little grin. “Thank god we’re back. I have so much planning to do, and not much time to do it.”

  I race ahead and open the massive hotel door. If I can only get us behind the walls of our suite... “I’m planning to take you right back to bed.”

  In the elevator Bellamy leans into me. “Yes. Bed. Emails first, then bed.”

  I’d thought the sex in the car had knocked her big reveal out of her head. “Sweetness, now’s not the time to be emailing anyone. My own head is still spinning.”

  She beams up at me. “Mine’s not, Graham. Mine’s perfectly clear.”

  The elevator stops at the penthouse level and we climb out, Bellamy’s hand in mine. My skin tingles from her kisses, the bite marks still raw on my neck, and my cock pulses at her rumpled hair. I want her back in bed. I want her to stop this nonsense.

  She’s tired. We’re all tired. Andrew dropped a bombshell, but that doesn’t mean it has to ruin our wedding night.

  The door swings closed behind us and Bellamy darts for the bedroom. My chest unclenches. That little minx is heading to where she belongs—underneath me, on pure-white sheets.

  “Take off your clothes. I’m—”

  She’s not on the bed.

  She stands next to it, her phone in her hands, illuminated from the bathroom light.

  “Are you seriously emailing someone right now?”

  “I need to set up an interview. They’ll talk to me. I know they will.” Her thumbs trip over the screen, tiny taps like rainfall. “O
nce I go in front of the cameras, all this will be—hey!”

  I pluck the phone from between her fingers and toss it into a corner. “Now is not the time.”

  “That’s my phone. You can’t throw it on the ground, Graham.” It’s the same tone my mother used to use when she would insist on being home before curfew, on taking my keys. You can’t embarrass your father, Graham.

  “You’re not emailing anyone.” Bellamy is incandescent with righteousness.

  It’s fucking terrifying.

  “I am. And then I’m going to sleep. And then I’m going to do an interview. This is simple.”

  “This is not simple.” She tries to maneuver around me and I block her in. “This is my family. My brother is the president. You can’t fuck with him like that.”

  Bellamy scoffs. “I’m not the one who’s fucking with him. I’m trying to help him.” My head aches. “This is what I was saying in the car, before—” That same little grin plays at the corner of her mouth and my cock twitches. “Before we got distracted. This is the only solution. Okay? I’ve seen this kind of thing happen before.”

  “Sweetness, there’s no way on earth you’ve seen this kind of thing before. This is the entire United States government. It’s not some backwater courthouse upstate.”

  Her jaw tightens. “Wow. Okay.” She scrambles onto the bed and crawls over it, landing with a soft thud next to her phone.

  “Jesus. That’s not what I meant.”

  “What did you mean, Graham?” Her head is already bowed over the screen, thumbs working, and my heart zigzags into my throat. It’s too soon. It’s been the longest day in the history of the world. I’m drunk on the ache and the pain in the center of my chest.

  “Stop typing.”

  “I’ll type whatever the hell I want.” Bellamy darts a gaze toward me. “You can run from this all you want, but it’s happening.”

  “Bellamy, stop.”

  She swivels her head toward me at the sound of her name, her expression unfathomable. “I’m not going to stop.” Her hands drop to her sides, her phone loosely in her fingertips. “Do you know what it was like to watch my mother get sentenced to serve time because my father lied? Because he and his lawyers lied and she didn’t have the money to fight him?”

  “I can imagine—”

  “You can’t imagine. You just can’t. That house? That house we visited her in? I bought that house. I worked all through high school and instead of paying for college...”

  “You’ve done the impossible. You’re incredible, sweetness.”

  “This isn’t impossible. This?” She waves her phone in the air. “This is doing the right thing. I know that hasn’t been your biggest priority, but I know—”

  A flare of anger, a flare of pain. And I feel it—the walls coming back up, the bricks reassembling, all the tortuous unbuilding with every sigh from her lips undone in an instant. So fucking causal, the way she dismisses me, even now. So casual.

  Bellamy rushes to my side. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “You meant enough.” I run a hand over my face. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed.”

  She breathes in, breathes out. She stands in front of me, alive with her purpose, freshly fucked and ready to ruin us all.

  Her shoulders relax.

  “Okay.” Bellamy’s tongue darts out to lick her lips. “I’ll send this email and then I’ll come to bed.”

  Fury. Sheer, hot fury.

  My jaw is so tight it could crack.

  “You’re not sending that fucking email from here. You want to send it, you can leave.”

  Her mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”

  “I’ve never been more serious.” The inferno rages in my gut. “If you’re going to take over, if you’re going to take everything out of my hands because of a wedding ceremony, then you can do that elsewhere.”

  “You’re kicking me out?” Her face is the picture of disbelief.

  “I’m not the one with a phone in my hand.” One betrayal after another. Bellamy, my parents, Andrew—they always want everything to be picture-perfect, but nothing ever is.

  She lifts her chin with that passionate defiance that I loved about her from the moment I met her. “I’m sending the email. It’s my right.”

  “Then get out.”

  Bellamy snaps her lips shut into a thin line.

  She watches me, eyes luminous in the yellow light from the bathroom.

  Then, silent as a ghost, she slips out of the bedroom to god knows where.

  44

  Bellamy

  The tea is too hot, and the dressing room at CNN’s headquarters is too cold.

  Me?

  I am blank. I am nothing.

  The makeup artist, a woman named Shelly, starts with foundation and builds from there. “It’s still so cold early in the morning. I have a shawl, if you want it.”

  I’m dressed in my best suit, my coat over my bare knees. I don’t want the shawl. I want to feel the cold. I want the cold to pierce the numbness around my heart so the pain can rise to the surface.

  I keep waiting to be devastated, but I feel empty.

  “No, I’m all right.”

  “Where is she?” The familiar voice is like the rumble of the earth before an earthquake. “I’m looking for Bellamy Leighton. Where is she?”

  “Is that you?” Shelly whispers.

  “Yes.”

  “Mrs. Blackpool is in here,” Shelly calls, and a moment later Everest bursts through the door.

  “Hi.” She drops her purse onto the counter beside Shelly’s tools and gapes at me. Somehow, she is freshly showered, her hair in a bun on the top of her head, looking as if she didn’t just dance the night away at D.C.’s biggest wedding in ten years. “What the hell is going on?”

  My bottom lip quivers. It must be a reflex, because I still feel numb. Shelly steps back. “I’ll give you two a minute.”

  She disappears into the hallway and Evie comes to the side of the makeup chair. We look at each other in the mirror.

  “Spill.”

  “Did you see the news?”

  “The news about the president’s godson?” She makes scare quotes with her fingers around that word. “Uh, yeah. Nobody could miss it. It’s been everywhere.”

  “It’s not his godson.”

  Everest’s eyebrows shoot up toward the ceiling.

  “It’s his father’s son. From an affair. Ten years ago.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “Evie...” My lip trembles in earnest now, and I raise a hand to my mouth to try and stop it. “This has all been a horrible mistake.”

  “Stop.” Evie turns to me with both hands raised. “What’s a mistake? Are you having cold feet about the wedding? You can’t blame Graham for the sins of the father. Literally.”

  “It’s not—” My throat clenches. “It’s not just that. The president—” I shake my head. “I don’t have time to explain all this. The broadcast is in half an hour.”

  “Cliffs notes,” she says. “I don’t need all the details.” Everest braces herself. I see it in the way she straightens her spine and plants her feet.

  “The president asked Graham and I to fake a relationship for the press. Because of the rumors that I was prostitute.”

  “What? No, he didn’t.”

  I force the words out. “I know it sounds impossible, but it’s not. Things escalated. The situation in Bahara—he even wanted to move the wedding up.”

  “And you agreed.” Everest shrugs one shoulder. “I mean, you do love him, so all’s well that ends well.”

  “That’s the thing. It’s not ending well. I’m here because I have to tell them the truth.”

  “Tell who the truth?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “CNN?”

  “The country. Everybody. They need to know that the president isn’t the one at fault for this. They need to know that his parents are fucking crazy.”

  “I wouldn’t use those words—”

  “
I’m not going to say fucking crazy on live television, but Evie—” I grab her hand. “Am I crazy? Is this insane? The President of the United States is acting as a shield for his own parents at the expense of the country. I have a duty to do something about it. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”

  “Other people probably could.” Everest considers me. “But you’ve always had a fetish for justice.”

  I bury my head in my hands. “I’m crazy. You’re right.” One deep breath. “I’ll cancel this whole thing.”

  “Girl.” Evie’s voice is calm, despite the fact that it’s five in the morning and I called her three times to beg her to come. “You do what you think is best.”

  “He’d be so free.” I feel my eyelids lose their grip on a single tear.

  “Who? The President?”

  “Graham. They’ve been using him as a pawn all along. To keep the attention away from the family and the White House. He’s just a scapegoat.”

  Everest laughs. “He definitely is a playboy.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “You’re right. That wasn’t kind of me. He was a playboy, until he met you, the love of his life. Under insane circumstances, by the way. That’ll be one for the grandkids. Hey, wait. Where is he?”

  I can’t speak.

  If I speak, I will sob.

  Oh—there it is. There’s the gnawing pit of his absence, right where my heart is supposed to be. I cover my mouth with my hand.

  “Belle?”

  I don’t have a lot of time until Shelly comes back in, until it’s time to sit in front of the cameras and tell the truth.

  “He kicked me out. He—he was angry. He didn’t want me to do this. It’s over.” It’s a ragged whisper. It’s the only sound I can make.

  Her eyes could pop out of her head. “He dumped you over this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, man.” Everest puts her fingertips to her lips. “That was a mistake.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’ll only ever be singleminded like this. Maybe doing this is the straw that’ll break the camel’s back.”