The President's Secret Baby: A Second Chance Romance

by Gage Grayson

  Especially since the cars all have American flags, flying proudly.

  As I juggle the gelato and the groceries to fish the keys out of my pocket, I can’t help but think about how familiar this situation is. And once I begin to climb the stairs, I realize I’m not just remembering this situation—I’m reliving it.

  Right down to the exact same Secret Service members standing in my hallway.

  My heart leaps into my mouth as they let me pass. I smile as politely as I can to the two men, and I open my front door with bated breath.

  Sure enough, there he is. President Henry Thatcher, sitting in my living room—petting the world’s worst guard dog.

  I close the door behind me with my foot, kicking it shut with a heavy slam. Henry’s looking at me expectantly, stroking between Duke’s ears and waiting for me to say something.

  I stay silent.

  I carry my groceries through the kitchen and try to make sense of what’s going on.

  Henry’s here—in my living room, of all places—when I thought I’d never see him again. After I left, I put all my love for him into a box, but now that box feels like it’s about to blow open.

  For a moment, I wonder why Henry’s here to see me, but then I look down at my belly and remember.

  “Can I help with anything?” Henry asks, appearing in the doorway of the kitchen.

  He leans against the frame of the door as Duke follows him closely.

  “That won’t be necessary, Mr. President.”

  The coldness of my voice catches Henry off guard and knocks the smile off of his face.

  It surprises me, too.

  “Don’t be like that, Bea.”

  I start unpacking my groceries. I know that if I turn to look at him, I won’t be able to help myself. I’ll want to run into his arms, and I can’t.

  I’m not what Henry needs—I can’t be what he wants me to be.

  “To what do I owe this visit, Mr. President? It’s an awfully long way from here to Texas, where you’re supposed to be.”

  “I had to see you, Bea. Hope told me everything.”

  Of course she did. I knew that my news would get back to Henry eventually, and then Hope would have no choice but to tell him.

  “It’s your child.”

  “I never doubted that it wasn’t.”

  “Good, because everyone else will,” I snap, turning to look at him finally.

  As much as I love Henry, the sight of him reminds me why I left Washington. He might have been on my side, but only when it began to feel like it was only when convenient for him.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant, Bea?”

  “Are you really asking me that?”

  “Of course, I am. This is my child, and I have a right to know!”

  There’s anger in his voice. I’ve found the passion that has been missing from in front of the cameras.

  “Even if it wasn’t convenient for you?”

  “We could have handled whatever scandal this turned into, Beatrice.”

  “There it is. That word again.” I sigh and shake my head. Scandal. “Our first baby together would have been a scandal, something negative to hover over the rest of your career.”

  Henry looks at me with frustration, but lets me pass as I walk out of the kitchen and go to sit on the sofa.

  “You know that’s not what I fucking meant, Bea.”

  “I know what you meant. And I think…I know…that I can ever be good enough for you.”

  “Beatrice, you’re perfect—”

  “Wait.” I say, shaking my head and trying to stave off the tears, “I’m not done. You, Henry, might believe I’m perfect, but what about President Thatcher? What about your team of aides and the campaign managers whose job is to make you the best you can be?”

  “I don’t care about them, Bea. What they think isn’t important.”

  “Yes, it is! You do care about what they think, because being president is your dream. I’m so proud of you for what you’ve achieved, Henry, but I was forced to the realization that I couldn’t have my dream. I couldn’t have my dream job and my dream man. I had to pick one, and...I picked the job, because I knew I would hurt you less if I left.”

  Henry sighs and comes to sit down the sofa next to me.

  Duke pushes his head onto my lap, and I stroke the top of his head. My mind casts back to the that day in the Lincoln room, when I realized that I would always be second.

  I almost can’t believe this is happening.

  “Beatrice, I’ve been an idiot.”

  I really can’t believe this is happening.

  “I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t good enough to be with me...to be the first lady. I’m so sorry I made you feel like you had to give up on your dreams in order to support me with mine.”

  Henry takes my hands between his own, squeezing them tightly.

  “I’ve been so caught up in trying to be the best president ever, in being perfect myself, that I didn’t realize how much it was hurting you and everyone around me. When I saw the picture of you like this, it made me realize something; I’m the youngest president in the history of the United States—”

  “You didn’t know that already?” I joke, and a smile flickers across Henry’s lips too.

  “What I mean is, I’m the first of my kind. I got so wrapped up in trying to be perfect and follow the presidential rule book, but that’s not why people voted for me. People voted for me because I was going to do something new and do things my own way. And I can’t do that without you.”

  I can feel tears beginning to sting in my eyes. I tell myself it’s just the hormones acting up and making me this way.

  “So what if you’re pregnant and we’re not married? I love you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  Those are some of the words I’ve wanted to hear since I discovered my pregnancy. A smile breaks across my face, despite my tears.

  “Without you, I’m not half the man I was, can be, or should be. I wish one day I can make it up to you. It may not be today, but I can start by being at least half as supportive to you as you were to me. Because fuck everyone else. I’m not happy unless I’m with you.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Henry.”

  “You don’t need to be sorry, Bea. I understand. I love you and I’m going to love our child.”

  “I love you too, Henry.”

  He takes my face between his hands and presses our forehead together. We’re both breathless from the fight, and I’m happy for the pause.

  “Come home with me. Let’s do this together, like we should have done from the start, as equals. And let’s not ever let things get this bad again.”

  I nod my head.

  “Never again.”

  Chapter 42

  Beatrice

  He does it at the Washington monument. Sure, it’s a cliché, but he’s the president.

  If anyone can get away with it, it’s him.

  “Bea,” he says, “hold up a second.”

  I turn, assuming that I’ve got dog hair on the ass of my pants again or something. Duke starts to shed like crazy this time of year—and adorable as he is, he really knows how to screw up a casual spring look.

  “I know, I know,” I say, patting my ass down with my hand. “It’s just inescapable, Henry, you know that. Duke’s a good boy and all, but my poor pants—”

  Henry makes a stifled noise in the back of his throat, and I look up at him.

  My gaze follows him downward as he drops to one knee.

  It’s late here in D.C. The moon is the size of a Kennedy half dollar, so big and so close I feel like I could pluck it from the sky and put it in my pocket.

  It reflects off the pool before the Washington Monument, giving the water an otherworldly glow.

  There are no tourists out here now—just me, Henry, Duke, and two Secret Service agents who appear to be trying very hard to look literally anywhere else.

  “It’s you, Bea,�
� Henry says, reaching into the pocket of his presidential pea coat. “It’s always been you.”

  “Always? Are you sure about that, Henry?”

  He smiles that presidential smile of his—the one that won the entire country over and put him in the oval office itself.

  But there’s something special about it, too.

  Something warm and kind and loving that he’s reserved just for me.

  “Say yes, Bea.” Henry takes my hand. “This time, say yes.”

  “Is that an executive order?”

  The special something in Henry’s smile gets even saucier. “It could be.”

  I narrow my eyes for a second...then, finally, I smile back at him.

  “Let me see your stamp of approval, then.”

  Henry withdraws his hand from his pocket and produces a little blue ring box.

  But when he opens it...well, it sure is blue, but it’s anything but little.

  “Very patriotic,” I tease as he slips it onto my finger.

  A princess-cut diamond bookended by rubies and sapphires on either side now adorns my ring finger...making me the fiancé of the President of the United States.

  “We wouldn’t want to get married until after the baby, though,” I say hesitantly.

  I place my hand over my belly protectively and look down at Henry, biting my lower lip.

  “Why not? You’d look good in white.”

  “Henry, I’m a cow!”

  He rises, lifting my chin so my lips will meet his. I do it almost completely on instinct.

  “You’re not a cow,” he reassures me. “You’re my wife. My bride.”

  “Not yet,” I remind him.

  “And this is my child.” Henry ignores me, instead dipping his lips down to kiss my belly through my blouse. “I’m going to make an honest woman out of your mother yet, you hear?”

  “If only I could say the same about its father,” I joke.

  “An honest politician? In Washington? Bea, even I have limitations—”

  “Oh, I don’t expect you to be honest,” I tease, watching his lips and hoping for a kiss of my own.

  “I’ll do my best, though.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is. For starters...” He runs his thumb along my lower lip, making me gasp for breath. “Beatrice, I am madly in love with you.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” I say with a sly smile.

  “I’d do anything for you.”

  “Nuclear launch codes?”

  “Is that what it will take to get a straight answer out of you?”

  I giggle, burying my face in Henry’s chest.

  Hey. A girl has to try!

  “Yes,” I say, finally.

  “Honestly?”

  I nod my head. “Honestly, Henry. I can’t imagine a better life.”

  “It’s not all fun and games...” he warns.

  “Like you have to tell me that.”

  “And you might not always like being in the spotlight.”

  “I’ll deal with it, though. For you.”

  “We’ll have to buy you a completely new wardrobe...”

  “Henry, are you trying to get me to change my mind?”

  He laughs—that comforting, confident, good ol’ boy’s laugh of his.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “You’re mine now, Bea. It’d take an army to stop me from having you now.”

  “Good thing you’re in charge of the best army in the world, huh?”

  “Stop talking, Bea.” Henry chuckles, then dips his lips to mine.

  The kiss goes on forever—or at least, until one of the Secret Service members lets out an awkward, somewhat audible cough.

  But it’s enough.

  We’ll have all the time in the world once Henry’s second term is over.

  It will always be enough.

  Chapter 43

  Henry

  I look out over the Rose Garden whilst waiting for the other members of my cabinet to file in. There’s a smile on my face that hasn’t budged for the past few months and I’m certain that it will ever leave my face.

  I’ve got the whole world at my feet, and I’m standing on top of it. I’ve got the best job in the world and I have the love of my life standing right beside me—ready to give birth any day now. If you had asked me a few months ago if I had ever thought this was possible, I would have said no.

  How could a man like me have ever gotten so lucky?

  Cabinet members begin to shuffle into the room, starting with the secretary of state and continuing through the ranks. We take our seats in the plush leather chairs and look between each other with a shot nod. I still can’t help but smile—these men, after all, are my colleagues and friends.

  “So, gentlemen, what’s on the agenda for today?”

  Dockets and files are pulled from briefcases, and the secretary hands me one to read over. I give it a quick glance over, but I know that we’ll be going into more detail soon enough.

  “Well, the first item on the list the discussion about the pirates from the South China Sea.”

  “What about them?”

  “Nothing serious, I just thought the cabinet might be interested to know that they face trial in the Federal Courts starting on the coming Monday, and that the hostage witnesses have all been prepped to give statements.”

  “Sounds like an open and shut case.”

  “It is. I just wanted to congratulate you again, Mr President, on how quickly and efficiently you managed to regain the enriched uranium from their hands.”

  I chuckle once, softly, and look away from the table. I know it doesn’t pay for a president to be modest, but I’ve never gotten used to hearing their praise. It’d be lazy if I did—I don’t want men to give me compliments just because I’m the president.

  “Thank you, gentlemen. But of course, I couldn’t have done it without you all and the real heroes are the servicemen and women on the Seahawk. Can we see to it that they’re all rewarded for their efforts?”

  “Certainly, Mr President,” the secretary of defense nods and writes a note to himself on the top of his file.

  “What’s next?”

  “Next, we’re looking towards domestic affairs, and we’re going to be analyzing this year’s budget.”

  Internally, I groan. The word ‘budget’ is not what any politician wants to hear, no matter how well you manage to balance it. But I don’t let that show to the rest of my cabinet, even though they’re all probably thinking the same thing.

  “So, in this fiscal year—”

  The secretary of state is cut off as there’s an insistent knock on the door.

  “Come in.”

  A particularly breathless aide rushes into the cabinet room—I recognize her as being one of Beatrice’s. She ignores the rest of the men in the room and makes a beeline towards me, and whispers into my ear.

  “Mr President, it’s the first lady—her water broke.”

  My eyes widen to the size of table plates and the rest of the cabinet look at me in concern.

  “Well, gentlemen, as much I love a budget,” there’s a few small chuckles around the room. “I have just received some special news, and so I’ll be needing my vice president to head up the meeting in my absence.”

  I push out past the chairs, with the aide rushing ahead of me, leading the way. We rush through the corridors, up to the second floor and towards the executive suite. I throw the doors open and see Beatrice standing ahead of me, pacing through the corridor.

  Duke is following in her footsteps, pacing up and down the corridor at his mistress’ side, trying to be reassuring.

  Hope sits, perched on the edge of a chair, trying to get her to stop moving about so much.

  “Bea, is it true? Is it time?” I say as I stride across the hallway, taking her face between my hands and kissing her.

  “I really hope so, or I’ve just peed myself in front of my assistant,” Bea jokes at me, but I can hear the tension in her voice.

&nb
sp; I look at Hope.

  “What the protocol for this?”

  “There isn’t one. The first and last presidential baby to be born in the White House was in 1893.”

  “What about Jackie Kennedy?”

  “She wasn’t in Washington when she gave birth.”

  Great.

  I look at Beatrice, who seems equally confused as to what to do. I have a personal physician, but he’s no midwife.

  “But it’s okay sir, we have been planning for this,” Hope smiles and motions for us to follow her through the building once again. “The helicopter is being prepared to take you both to the Walter Reed Medical center. We’ve called ahead, and a room is being made ready and available so that Beatrice will have the most peaceful, easiest birth known to modern medicine.”

  “You make it sound so easy, Hope,” Beatrice says sarcastically.

  Hope continues walking until we reach the last doors to the helipad. She turns to us both and smiles widely, “Knowing you, Bea, I know you’ll get through it. I promise you’ll be in the best hands.”

  I squeeze Beatrice’s hand reassuringly, and we walk through the doors towards the helicopter. We fly the short trip to Walter Reed, and from the moment we land, a team of physicians in white coats swarm, taking us through the sterile white corridors.

  We’re ushered into the Presidential suite. I recognize it from my checkups at the hospital, and my history tells me that this is where the likes of Reagan recovered from multiple surgeries.

  I feel reassured, but I’m not sure if Beatrice is the same. It’s her first time giving birth—to twins, no less—and she’s putting on a brave face, but I can tell that she’s nervous.

  I stay by Beatrice’s side all through the labor, sitting patiently by the bed. She squeezes my hand through the contractions, and at one point I think she’s going to squeeze me so hard that the wedding band will break through my finger.

  I turn on the TV, trying to find something peaceful or funny to help Beatrice relax, but instead all we can find is the news.

  Every network is the same as they report about the sudden departure of a helicopter from the lawn of the White House, carrying both the president and the first lady. The trashier news channels are already speculating, and some of things they’re saying begin to make my blood boil, but Beatrice quickly gestures to change the channel.