The President's Wife

by Kathy Myme

  I look around the room as the people think. I don’t like the idea. It’s far too risky giving up our control on the narrative and hoping things blow over. But honestly, I’m struggling to see a better option.

  It also gives my enemies far too much ammunition to use against me. I can see the attack ads for the next election already.

  ‘Do you really want to re-elect President Shep-perv for another term?’

  ‘Protect Americans from President Shepard’s groping hands.’

  But it might be the only way. Sure it’s kicking the problem down the road, but if I’m impeached now then the next election doesn’t matter.

  “I’ve talked to some focus groups,” Mr Andrews says. “And an apology comes across as an admission of guilt for the majority of people.”

  I frown again. Being straight and honest with people is my preferred course of action, but it’s clear that it just won’t work here.

  “I have one other idea, sir,” Andrews says, with a faint smile on his face. “But we’ll need to get Miss Waters down here immediately.”

  I nod. We clearly aren’t getting anywhere the way things are going. “Fine. Get her here now.”

  Veronica

  I wake up to the sound of my phone ringing. Trevor, I think, grasping for it quickly even if I am groggy. I have no idea how long I’ve been out for.

  But it’s not Trevor calling. The name on my screen is far more comforting.

  “Mr Andrews,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t sound half as drowsy as I feel. “What’s going o-”

  “There’s no time for chit-chat, Miss Waters,” he says. He sounds worse than I feel. “You need to get here right away.”

  I reach for my blinds, taking a peek outside. The crowds of journalists are still there, lurking in search of me.

  I squint. Is the sky… light? How long have I been out for?

  “Yes, sir,” I reply. “I’ll be there in around an hour, sir.”

  “An hour, really? It takes that long for you women to get ready?”

  “Um…” Admitting to using public transport shouldn’t be something embarrassing, but I find myself hesitant to say it out loud. “I have to catch a few buses, sir. It takes time.”

  “Buses?” he scoffs. “Sweetie, buses aren’t a privilege you get anymore.”

  “Then how am I meant to get to work?” Am I supposed to master teleportation this morning on top of adjusting to being in the centre of a national scandal?

  “Leave via your back entrance. Jackson will be waiting for you.”

  “Who’s Jackson?”

  There’s noise in the background. Mr Andrews grunts. “Sweetie, I have to go. Be here as soon as you can. I hate to say it, but the future of this country rides on it.”

  There’s a soft click and he’s gone.

  I have no idea what’s in store for me, but I know I need to hurry. I roll out of bed as if I’ve just been told it’s on fire, hitting the floor ungracefully with a thunk.

  When I’m in the middle of brushing my teeth, my phone goes off again.

  “Mr Andrews?”

  “Few words of advice, sweetie. I wouldn’t bother wearing a suit today. Do you own a dress? It needs to be fairly conservative.”

  I think of the only fancy dress I own, a hideous purple thing that is currently sitting in the back of my closet. Mom made me wear it to fancy parties ten years ago. The two most shocking things about it are a) the putrid color and b) the fact it still fits.

  I pause. “Yeah, but-”

  “Great. See you shortly.”

  I groan. Why on earth does Mr Andrews want me to wear a dress? I suppose it makes me less recognizable than the intern in the business suit… but if anyone catches a picture of me wearing this, it’ll be aired for the whole world to see. It’s like I’m in my own personal nightmare.

  When I finally squeeze the thing on, I slide open my door and leave my bedroom. Thankfully, there’s no Hailey in the living room. I do feel somewhat guilty about leaving her to fend for herself against the hordes of paparazzi on the way to pilates, but at least there’s nobody around to scream at me.

  Mr Andrews had told me to leave by the back door. That had been my plan anyway, seeing as I don’t fancy fighting off photographers.

  But I’m not expecting what’s waiting for me when I step outside.

  A long, shiny black car is pulled up in my back alleyway. I know nothing about cars, but even I can tell that the thing is absurdly expensive.

  “Veronica Waters?” A man dressed all in black opens the driver-side door and gestures to me.

  I nod. “Yeah, that’s me.”

  He opens a car door. “Get in.”

  Ordinarily, all my common sense would be screaming at me not to get into a car with a strange man. But I suppose this is ‘Jackson’. As weird as it is to be climbing into a car like this, it sure beats getting two buses into work.

  The inside is nice. Dad had never let me go hungry, but we’d hardly been able to afford things like this. It even smells pricey.

  “We’re going to the White House?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Do you know why?”

  His eyes watch me closely from the rearview mirror. “No, ma’am.”

  Somehow I suspect he wouldn’t be allowed to tell me even if he does.

  As we set off, I lean back in my seat and take a deep breath. It’s not every day that you’re picked up in something with this much style.

  The only downside to being driven to the White House is that it’s pretty clear that we’re not just regular commuters. Thankfully the windows are tinted black, but as we pull out and around the street the press catch sight of us and a storm of bright flashes descends upon us. At least they might leave my apartment alone now if they see that I’m leaving.

  The rest of the journey is over far too quickly. I try to chat with Jackson, but his eyes remain firmly on the road and his mouth closed. They clearly train these guys well. Almost too well, I think wistfully. Some small talk would take my mind off worrying about what’s to come.

  The guards at the White House don’t give Jackson more than a moment's scrutiny. He leans out of the window and says something rushed that I can’t hear, and that’s enough for them to open the barrier and let us drive-in. When we pull up outside, Jackson steps out and opens my car door for me before I have a chance.

  “Follow me, ma’am,” he says. “The President is waiting.”

  The President is waiting. Only four words, and yet… a shiver runs down my spine. Only a few days ago, I never would have dreamed of hearing those words directed at me.

  The hallways and corridors are a lot emptier than I remember. In fact, it’s almost as if hardly anyone is here at all.

  “What time is it?” I ask Jackson, confused.

  “4:15AM, ma’am.” He doesn’t miss a beat, as if that’s a perfectly normal time to be awake.

  Holy shit. I’d been so busy following Mr Andrews’ orders and escaping the paparazzi that I’ve somehow neglected to notice that it’s still the middle of the night. Jackson had certainly given nothing away, dressed in his immaculate dark suit without a hair out of place.

  We don’t go upstairs but go around to a room on the ground floor that I’ve only seen once, on Mr Andrews’ tour. The Situation Room.

  The absurdity of the situation hits me all over again. I’m living through a situation. If there’s a reward for The Most Embarrassing First Day On The Job, it has to go to the girl who managed to cause a national scandal.

  “They’re in there?” I ask.

  Jackson gestures to the door. “This is where I leave you, ma’am.”

  I’m on my own. My heart screams at me to run or to find some way out of this. But I gather all the courage I can and push the door open firmly, stepping inside.

  “Miss Waters,” Mr Andrews says loudly, striding over to me as soon as he spots me. “Thank God.”

  Much like Jackson, he’s looking entirely too comfortable with being awa
ke so early. There aren’t even any dark circles under his eyes.

  The President… is a different story. It’s obvious that he hasn’t slept. His hair is a mess, with his dark curls no longer neatly brushed but sticking up at odd ends like his hands have been running through them for hours.

  I almost do a double-take at his clothing. I’ve never seen the man out of a suit, in-person or in the media. But here he is, stripped down to a crumpled white shirt with the two top buttons undone and a tie hanging loose around his neck.

  Immediately I feel my traitorous cheeks going red and I look away. I have no idea why it should make me blush, but looking at the President without his suit on feels like looking at him naked. It’s a stupid thought, but it’s true.

  “Mr President, you might remember Veronica Waters from the introduction I gave you the other day.” Mr Andrews looks between us both, raising an eyebrow. “Although it seems you were both acquainted previously, doesn’t it?”

  “Very funny, Andrews,” the President says. He looks me up and down, his eyes examining every inch of me like I’m hiding something unexpected underneath my clothes. “So here she is. The cause of all my problems.”

  If my face turns any redder, I’m going to spontaneously combust.

  But I keep my chin up and look the President dead in his cool blue eyes. “We both bumped into each other, sir.” Silence. “At least… that’s the way I remembered it.”

  The pause after I speak goes on for far too long.

  The President’s face is unreadable. “Really now? Because I remember a clumsy girl throwing her coffee all over me and accusing me of being… oh, what was it?” He smirks. “A ‘pervert’?”

  My mouth drops open. “I…”

  “Play nice, sir.” Mr Andrews cuts in. He turns to me, shaking his head. “You’ll have to excuse him. He’s cranky after a night of drinking ten cups of coffee and getting no rest.”

  “I’m nice,” the President replies. “Seventy percent of the American public think I’m ‘nice’. That’s why they voted me in.”

  “They voted you in because they believe in you to run the country, sir.”

  “Which I’m trying to do.” The President rolls his eyes. “Trying and having a hard time of it. It would be a lot easier if the press didn’t seem to know my every move.”

  “Maybe if you learned to delegate and let other people run things, you’d have more time-”

  “Maybe if we explained to Miss Waters why she’s here, we could all get some sleep at some point today.”

  I watch them continue to argue, feeling shell-shocked. Two of the most powerful men in the country - maybe even the world - are in front of me, sleep-deprived and bickering. And I’m at the root of the problem.

  “Are you going to fire me?” I ask bluntly. I almost wince at the straight-forwardness of my words, but it’s the question that’s been burning at the back of my mind.

  To my surprise, Mr Andrews laughs hollowly. “Oh, sweetie. If only it were that easy.”

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s no way firing you would solve this problem, darling. Although obviously you won’t be able to work as an intern in my department anymore. Not after this.” He shoots me a look filled with pity. “I don’t think you know what you’re in for.”

  I blink. I blame it on the horrifying hour we’re awake at and the fact I haven’t had my morning coffee, but I have no idea what he’s talking about. Fired… but not fired?

  “What Andrews means is that simply getting rid of the woman I’m meant to be having a scandalous affair with… well, that wouldn’t look good.” The President shrugs. “If we don’t acknowledge this situation, we only fan the flames.”

  I suppose he’s right. I can see the headlines now: ‘White House Intern FIRED By Staff In Cover-Up’.

  “Then why am I here?” I ask, looking from Mr Andrews to the President. The waiting isn’t making me feel any less anxious. “Tell me, please.”

  Mr Andrews pats the chair next to him. “Come here, sweetie. Take a seat.”

  Feeling entirely awkward, I obey and sink into the offered desk chair. It puts me eye-level with the President of the United States of America.

  I know you’re supposed to get star-struck when seeing famous people, but is it really normal to this extent? I can’t even look at him without feeling like every inch of me is on fire. It’s physically painful, to the point that every glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye makes my chest tighten.

  Instead, I try to focus on Mr Andrews. But all the while I’m acutely aware of the President’s presence not far away from me.

  “Go on,” the President says. He shoots me an amused look that gives me goosebumps. “Believe it or not, Andrews hasn’t told me his grand plan yet either. I’m praying it’s a good one.”

  “I’ve only had a night to work on this, so all I’m asking is that you’re both receptive.” Mr Andrews warns. “Miss Waters, as I’m sure you’re aware, if people really believe that the President has been secretly fraternizing with a woman… well, there are still plenty of people that would kick up a fuss that the two of you aren’t in a serious relationship. Or even married.”

  I nod impatiently. The problem is fairly obvious.

  “We might have won by a landslide last year, but there are still a lot of people loyal to the original two parties,” he continues. “The Republicans and Democrats would both love to see our American Alliance party ripped to shreds.”

  Both of the older two parties are still reeling from their loss. Nobody expected the Alliance to come out of nowhere and win the heart of the American people. But then nobody expected a man like President Shepard.

  “We have to act fast.” Mr Andrews stands up, drumming his fingers on the desk. “For the sake of everything we’ve built here, we cannot let rumor spread unchecked. That’s why…” He pauses. “That’s why I think the two of you should get engaged.”

  Silence.

  And then…

  “You’re hilarious,” President Shepard says, but he doesn’t sound amused. “Can we hear your real plan now?”

  “Sir, this is a crisis. Your reputation is on the line.” Mr Andrews points to me with one stretched finger, as if I’m some kind of evidence on display at a trial. “Do you want rumors of inappropriate conduct to bring down this administration?”

  “No. But-”

  “Mr President, we don’t have a choice. We have to announce your engagement to Miss Waters.”

  No. No. I’m very clearly dreaming. Whatever is going on right now can’t actually be happening.

  Mr Andrews turns to me. “Miss Waters, I-”

  “Engaged?” I gasp, my voice cracking. “To the President?”

  “It’s absurd,” President Shepard chimes in.

  “Calm down, both of you.” Mr Andrews sighs. “Obviously there would be no wedding. I’m suggesting the correct course of action would be for you both to pretend to be in a serious relationship. If only for a matter of months.”

  “That’s crazy,” I tell him. “This is insane. You want me to pretend to be the President’s fiancée?”

  “People will never believe it,” the President says, his brow furrowed. “How could they?”

  “People will believe it,” Mr Andrews replies. “We’ll host a press conference. It’s the twenty-first century, sir. Tell people you wanted to keep your fiancée away from the press’ scrutiny will win you some points with those that care about privacy and security.”

  “I have a boyfriend,” I exclaim, feeling guilty at how long it took me to remember Trevor’s existence. “I can’t just be engaged to another man-”

  “You wouldn’t actually be in a relationship with the President,” Mr Andrews tells me. “As long as you swear him to secrecy, your boyfriend can know the truth. And he’d be doing a great favor to his country by letting you do this. Miss Waters, the future of this administration depends upon you. If you don’t help us now, it could mean the end for the American
Alliance. Our entire party. Is that what you want?”

  Somehow, I’m certain that Trevor would rather die than do a ‘great favor’ for the President. But I keep my mouth shut.

  “The dress…” I say slowly, gesturing to the hideous purple fabric I’m clad in. “The reason you wanted me to wear this is…”

  “...to look like the President’s fiancée, not the White House’s latest intern,” Mr Andrews finishes. “Although we’ll look into getting you a higher class of wardrobe. From now on, your appearance should complement the President’s status at all times.”

  The President goes quiet. He runs a hand through his curls, looking weary. As distracted as I am, I watch him with some kind of such fascination. How is it possible for somebody to have such attractive hands?

  “Of course, I’ll give you money for agreeing to this,” the President informs me. “More than you’ve ever dreamed of. I’m a rich man, Miss Waters.”

  I don’t miss a beat. “I don’t want your money.”

  Mr Andrew’s forehead wrinkles finely. “Miss Waters… please consider this offer. This administration depends on your co-operation.”

  “I don’t want your money,” I repeat. “None of it.” If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do this because I believe it’s the right thing to do.

  When he speaks again, he isn’t talking to Mr Andrews. President Shepard is looking directly at me.

  “This will ruin your life,” he says, his voice more soft and gentle than I’ve ever heard it. Months of hearing him shout in campaign speeches and then press conferences haven’t prepared me for this. “Miss Waters, if you choose to do this… nothing will ever be the same.”

  Mr Andrews hesitates. “Don’t scare her, sir-”

  “No. She needs to hear this.” He leans closer to me, with his eyes fixed to mine like my thoughts are the most important thing in the world right now. Admittedly, maybe they are. “The press will never leave you alone. Not for the rest of your life. If you choose to help us, it’s going to cost you everything. Even once we call off our relationship, you’ll never lead a normal life again.”

  The world seems to freeze around me at the weight of his words. Both men are looking at me expectantly, waiting on my response.