Secrets of a First Daughter

by Cassidy Calloway

  George poked her head in. “The coms are buzzing. The queen is already here, and Foxfire is arriv…ing.”

  Hannah and I experienced the immense satisfaction of rendering my hard-core Secret Service agent speechless. She recovered quickly, though.

  “The protocol for a meet and greet with the queen is pretty simple. Call her Your Majesty when you first address her, then afterward ma’am. Gently shake her extended hand if she offers it. Above all, do not touch her. Unless you want to be tackled by MI6 agents.”

  “Got it.” Don’t touch the queen. Should be simple enough.

  “How long do you need?” George asked.

  Nerves began fluttering in my stomach. “Five minutes, tops.”

  “I think we can only delay the president for about two, so you’d better get to the point quickly.”

  No problem, if I could keep from babbling insanely.

  “You can do it, Morgan.” Hannah gave me a thumbs-up. “I have faith in you. And I’ll think of some way to stretch your two minutes into three by talking to your mom.”

  “Thanks, Hans.”

  George’s com chirped. “The motorcade is pulling up to the VIP entrance,” she said. “The queen is waiting for the president in the greenroom backstage with her entourage.”

  I took a deep breath. “Showtime.”

  I slipped into the greenroom through a side door, expecting to find courtiers and all sorts of security. To my surprise, the room was empty except for a dumpy woman in a satin gown a nightmarish shade of green, an MI6 agent dressed in a tuxedo, and…the queen.

  A flash of electricity jolted through me. Now I’m pretty used to meeting celebrities, I mean, some people consider me a celebrity of sorts, but when the queen of England is standing in front of you, it doesn’t get more surreal than that. Her grandmotherly figure filled out a silvery beaded number, and her hair was a beautiful shade of white. A modest diamond tiara was nestled on top of her snowy curls.

  The queen had been fiddling with the drawstring on her silver-beaded clutch, but she looked up when I entered. “Madam President?”

  The MI6 agent goggled at me, while the frumpy woman looked shocked, then annoyed. I later learned that she was the queen’s main lady-in-waiting in charge of manners and royal protocol, and I’d wrecked her whole agenda.

  Okay. Try not to freak out, Morgan.

  “Your Majesty,” I said. I remembered what George had told me about extending my hand for a gentle shake.

  “We had word that the motorcade was still at the gate,” the queen said. Her voice, plummy and cultured, held a note of surprise.

  The MI6 agent reached for his com button.

  Quickly I said, “I thought I’d slip in quietly for a moment, gather my thoughts, and break the ice before we meet formally in front of all those people.”

  To my relief, the queen nodded in agreement. “That’s a sensible notion. I never liked all the fuss, either. Protocol seems to have been invented by men to make things more important than they are. Women leaders should stick together, and things would go much more swimmingly.”

  “I agree,” I said. “Women should give every advantage they can to other women.”

  The queen gave me an odd look.

  I was trying to be subtle, but the com chirping on the MI6 agent’s lapel meant I didn’t have that luxury. “I’ll get right to the point. Usually I don’t interfere in the romantic lives of my daughter and her friends, but Hannah Davis is a lovely girl. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to give young love a chance to blossom without all the stodgy protocol getting in the way? It is the modern age, after all.”

  An unreadable emotion flickered behind the queen’s sapphire eyes, the ones her grandson had inherited. My heart sank. I thought she was totally ticked off at my presumption. I’d blown it!

  “You’re right, Madam President. I think the conventions of a past age can hamper the younger generation too much.”

  Wha?

  “That’s…great.” I could barely get the words out. The MI6 agent muttered into his com, while the frumpy lady moved closer to me.

  Worried that she’d start asking questions, I edged toward the door. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I need to visit the ladies’ room.”

  The queen graciously inclined her head, and I booked out of there. With presidential dignity, of course.

  I’d just about made it back to the vacant dressing room when I heard the horrible sound of coms buzzing and the general commotion caused by the imminent arrival of a head of state.

  Mom swept around the corner, surrounded by Secret Service agents and staff. I sped through the dressing room door as fast as I could scoot in those patent leather pumps, but not fast enough. My eyes locked with Mom’s.

  And boy, livid did not begin to describe what I saw in them.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  I shut the door to the dressing room behind me and leaned against it, heart bludgeoning my rib cage. I was going to get a colossal reaming out over this.

  I eased off the wig and told myself to chill. If I got in trouble for helping a friend, so be it. I’d take the punishment.

  Hannah and George entered a few minutes later. “We totally stalled your mom,” Hannah crowed, beaming with triumph. “You can thank George, she’s the one who sent the Secret Service team around the back way.”

  George, however, wasn’t smiling. “It should have bought you a few more minutes, Tornado. Did you accomplish the mission?”

  “If by mission, you mean talk to the queen about letting Hannah see her grandson, I did. Fingers crossed that it works. I couldn’t tell if she was convinced by my argument or being British polite.”

  Hannah glowed with happiness and her eyes sparkled with real hope. Her ecstatic mood would make my upcoming punishment worth the pain. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that their ploy to delay my mom had failed.

  “Anyway, help me out of this dress. Brittany and Trevor have to be wondering where we are by now.”

  “Yeah, we’ve been taking the longest bathroom break in history.” Hannah turned me around to unzip the gown.

  With Hannah’s help, I became Morgan in less than five minutes. George rushed us back through the corridors to our box. “The concert is about to start,” she said, listening intently to the com in her ear. “You need to be seated when that happens so the president can give you a recognition moment.”

  “Got it.” Mom was supposed to point me out from the stage, where I was to rise and wave briefly to the crowd.

  We burst into the box. “Holy hell!” Hannah squawked.

  Trevor and Brittany were totally twisted together in a major lip lock. They sprang apart, panting and sweaty. Brittany’s bubblegum-pink lipstick was smeared all over Trevor’s face.

  “Don’t you know everyone can see you from up here?” I asked. “What’s the matter with you two?”

  I pointed to the audience below. Half the spectators were craning their necks up toward the make-out session going on in our box, while the guests in the boxes on either side of ours were either laughing or scrunching their faces in disgust over the major PDA.

  “Yep, that’s going to get me in trouble with the old man,” Trevor drawled. He didn’t look worried at all, though. Instead he wore that preening expression guys get when they’ve hooked up with a hottie.

  Brittany hastily adjusted her rumpled dress. “People should mind their own business,” she said snottily. “Besides, where have you two been? Peeing can’t take that long.”

  “Maybe we were trying to give you and Trevor privacy.” Hannah settled next to Trevor. “Don’t get any ideas about me, bud.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” But Trevor still couldn’t resist one last ogle at Hannah’s cleavage.

  George leaned close to my ear. “You need to take your seat, Morgan. The concert’s getting ready to start.”

  “Right.” I sat next to Brittany, all keyed up on adrenaline. I’d pulled off a major presidential switch, and I’d spoken to the quee
n!

  Brittany sniffed in annoyance when my leg brushed hers. “God, give me some space, you cow. And your hair looks like crap. What did you do to it in the bathroom, stick your head under the air dryer?”

  I touched my hair. I’d forgotten to have Hannah brush it out when I took off the wig because we were in such a hurry.

  I went on the offensive, hoping to throw her off the trail. “I’d be super nice to me if I were you. You may enjoy getting your photo in the tabloids because of your make-out session with the prime minister’s son, but I doubt his dad will be all that thrilled. Or yours. I can either have Mom’s rapid-response team work with you…or leave you hanging.”

  “Bitch,” she muttered. Then she focused on my ear. “Hold on. Where’d you get those earrings?”

  “What are you talking about?” I touched my ears and felt the fake diamond studs in the lobes.

  “Those look exactly like the ones your mother wears. Except you weren’t wearing them before. You gave me your earrings.”

  Wow. And I had actually let myself feel good about the swap for about three seconds.

  The wheels in Brittany’s head began to turn. “You and Hannah leave for, like, ever…then you come back wearing your mother’s earrings….”

  “You’d better check yourself right now, Brits,” Hannah interjected. “Remember the last time you got crazy ideas about Morgan and her mom? Or do I need to refresh your memory?” Cough—“Jail”—cough.

  Brittany shifted uncomfortably in her seat at the reminder of her humiliation after she’d attacked my mother at the ABLC banquet.

  Hannah went in for the kill. “I’d be ever so happy to fill Trevor in about it, too. I mean, if he’s going to be sticking his tongue down your throat, he’s got a right to know where you’ve been, doesn’t he? And I’m sure he’d love to see the photos we took of you being hauled off, which happen to be right here on my cell phone—”

  “All right! God, you two are so mean!”

  “Speaking of mean, maybe you can return the earrings you took from Morgan,” Hannah said.

  “Fine.” Brittany pulled them out of her earlobes and threw them in my lap.

  “Thank you,” I said politely. Hannah and I exchanged smiles, and we couldn’t help it if they were a tad gleeful.

  The orchestra below played a musical flourish. Then the curtain rose and the program began.

  Mom and the queen looked awesome together onstage. I sniffed sentimentally at the speeches of friendship and mutual respect. I rose when Mom prompted, and the cheers from the crowd really felt genuine.

  The music wasn’t half bad, either. I wasn’t digging the orchestral rendition of a Beatles medley, but there were a few kicking licks on other Anglo-American tunes that kept the concert from being completely boring.

  Afterward, Trevor sidled up to me. I quashed an involuntary shudder. “Hey, Morgan. Would you, ah, be averse to me taking your mate Brittany out for a post-concert nosh?”

  “Mind? Why would I mind?”

  “Well.” He lowered his voice confidentially. “Don’t take this personally, love, but it means that I’m moving on. We had a good thing, lots of special memories, but it’s over now. We’re over. Now, now. Don’t cry.”

  I guess he took my strangled snort of laughter for a sob. “It’s disappointing, but somehow my heart will go on.”

  “Cheers, Morgan. Thanks for being brave.”

  “Best of luck to you both. Oh, and, Trev, make sure you increase the limit on your credit card. Brittany has expensive tastes.”

  Hannah and I watched with amusement while Brittany snaked her arm around Trevor’s waist and headed toward the prime minister’s entourage waiting downstairs. Brittany giggled when Trevor squeezed her bum.

  “Man, those two are MTB.” Hannah shook her head.

  “Yeah, a couple of reptiles. But yay for us, because we finally got rid of her.”

  “Yeah. Tonight we won’t have to worry about ditching her. Now we can relax. Maybe Rich will even call.”

  Hannah’s face went all dreamy, like it always did when she thought about Prince Richard. I felt myself go all dreamy, too, because as soon as I could, I was contacting Max. I had to convince him that breaking up with me would be a big mistake.

  George appeared before me. Grim. So very grim.

  “The president is asking for you. And me. And you.” She pointed to Hannah. “At the motorcade. Now.”

  I winced. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Once we were all assembled in the unmarked limo and Parker had secured the area, Mom did that thing when she puts the pressure on. She waited.

  The silence pulsed in the cab. George handled the anxiety pretty well, but Hannah looked nauseous. It’s not easy having the president of the United States glare at you like she’s contemplating sending you to a federal penitentiary.

  Finally I couldn’t take seeing them suffer anymore. “You would have done the same thing if you’d been in my shoes, Mom.”

  “Really, Morgan? Do you honestly think I would have jeopardized our relationship with our closest ally so I could chitchat about Hannah with the queen of England?”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “Because Her Majesty mentioned it to me in passing when I finally met her.”

  “Oh.” I guess we’d never thought through that part of the plan, though it was obvious in hindsight.

  “And you.” Mom turned to George and zapped her with a fierce look. “You enabled them.”

  “Yes.” George’s pixie face never changed, but her knuckles whitened.

  I jumped in. “I forced George into it, Mom—”

  “It’s all my fault—” Hannah began at the same time.

  “I should have stuck to protocol—” George was saying.

  Mom held up her hand to stop the three of us from talking over one another. “I don’t want to hear excuses from any of you.” She glared at the three of us. “Hannah, I’d like both you and George to exit the limo. I have a few words I want to say to my daughter. Alone. And if either of you ever speak of this again, you can forget clemency.”

  George and Hannah couldn’t scramble out of the car fast enough.

  Now my mother and I sat in stony silence. Well, it was stony on her part. On mine, it was closer to terrified.

  She sighed, and all the anger drained out of her. “Morgan, what were you thinking? Do you know how dangerous impersonating me is?”

  “I had a good reason.”

  “You think helping a friend with her love life is enough of a reason? What if you had gotten caught? Or if the queen had no sense of humor regarding her grandson? I had to do some quick thinking when I met her to cover your tracks. You put me in an embarrassing situation with a major head of state, Morgan.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t thought about how my encounter with the queen would impact Mom.

  “I wish you would learn to make better decisions,” Mom continued. Disappointment suffused her voice. “You’re an Abbott, and you need to be more careful about the repercussions of your actions.”

  Indignation welled up in me. She was right. I wasn’t a kid anymore. I knew all about being responsible for my actions. I would take whatever punishment she decided to dish out. I deserved it.

  “Maybe I do make screwy decisions sometimes,” I said. “But when I make a choice, I usually have a good reason. There are some things, really important things worth risking everything for. Hannah is definitely one of those things. She needed me, and I was the only one who could help her.”

  Now that I’d gotten started, I was finding it hard to shut up. “I don’t need a lecture on how I’m the daughter of the president, and how I need to behave appropriately and conform to expectations—I’ve been doing that ever since you became president. In fact, my whole life is ruled by what people expect of the president’s daughter. I’m getting soooo sick of worrying how disappointed everyone will be if I don’t meet those expectations. Including yo
u. I know I can royally screw things up. But I’m trying to live my life the best I can.”

  “This isn’t about Hannah anymore, is it?” Mom asked when I paused for breath.

  “I don’t think so.” Really, it wasn’t.

  “Go on.”

  “I don’t want to go to any of the colleges that have floated offers for me. They only want me because I’m your daughter.”

  “Oh, come on, honey—”

  “You’ve seen my report card. My crappy GPA. Heck, you talk to Ms. Gibson on a monthly basis about my lousy grades. It’s so obvious that these colleges want me because of you.”

  Mom couldn’t refute it. “So what do you want?”

  I took a deep breath. “I want to go to culinary school and study to become a chef.”

  “A chef. Interesting.”

  “I think I’d make a great one,” I said. “I love to cook, and I’m really good at it. It’s the one thing I know I can excel at. I’d ace my classes in culinary school for sure.”

  “Anything else?” Mom prodded when I fell silent.

  I took a deep breath. “I’m dating Max Jackson.”

  “Ah” was all Mom said. She gazed at me like she was seeing me for the first time.

  I steeled myself for a lecture.

  “It’s about time you came clean, Morgan. I was wondering when you and Max would figure it out.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, come on, sweetie. Don’t you know it’s impossible to keep secrets when you’re being watched twenty-four-seven in the bubble? And I’m your mother. Don’t you think I can see a change in you? I’ve known about Max since the moment you met each other in the Oval Office. It was pretty clear the two of you were going to be an item.”

  “You…knew?”

  “Of course. The way you made his life hell the first few weeks on the job confirmed it. I knew you were testing him to see if he was strong enough for you. He seems to be holding up to the workout you’re giving him. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, and he seems to be the perfect guy for you.”