The President's Wife

by Kathy Myme

  “Um…” the guard says, but I’m already pushing past.

  “Miss Waters…” Jackson starts.

  “You’ll stay here,” I say to him. It’s not a request from some nobody intern. It’s an order from the President’s fiancée.

  I use both arms to throw open the ornate doors.

  “We,” I say loudly, placing my hands on my hips, “need to talk, sir.”

  Three faces look back at me: two men in military gear and President Shepard. There’s a far-too-long pause as the full extent of what I just did hits me.

  Oh god, I groan. I’m getting sassy with the President. The most powerful man in the world. In the Oval Office. He could probably have me thrown in a cell if he really wanted to.

  “I think somebody wants to see you, sir,” one of the military men says eventually, coughing weakly.

  “Yes,” the President agrees. His eyes are fixed on me. “It appears so. Both of you are dismissed, but I want another report tomorrow.”

  The two of them nod frantically. “Yes, sir.”

  And just like that, I’m alone with the President.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, gesturing to the door the two men left out of.

  The President raises an eyebrow as if bemused at my interest. “Trying to learn state secrets, Miss Waters?”

  “They looked upset.”

  “Rightfully so. Somebody has let slip the details about a few changes I’m making to our military policy. The press are going to be kicking up quite the fuss come tomorrow.”

  “What kind of changes?”

  “Changes I wanted to introduce gradually. Not changes pushed into the world like a cannonball hitting our nation.” He shakes his head. “Miss Waters.”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you come here to interrupt my private conversations - without knocking, I might add - or did you actually have something meaningful to say?”

  Part of me wants to blush and back-down at his frankness, but I came here for a reason.

  I stand up a little straighter. “Mr President, sir-”

  “David.”

  “What?”

  “Call me David.” He shrugs, far too relaxed. “If we’re meant to be madly in love, I expect you should call me by my first name.”

  I stare at the man in front of me. The President. President David Shepard, leader of the free world. Could he ever be just ‘David’ to me?

  “Sir…” I begin.

  “No buts,” he warns. “We’ve both agreed to the plan. It’s important that we follow it.”

  The plan. I snap back to reality. That’s what I’m here to discuss.

  “Si- um, David,” I say, his name foreign and wrong on my tongue. “I’ve followed your schedule this morning.”

  He nods. “Good girl.”

  My train of thought disappears. “What?”

  “Aren’t I allowed to call my fiancée a good girl?”

  If he’s trying to distract me, it’s working. Good girl. The absolutely blasé way he spoke those words, the simple nod of his head as he sits leaning back in his seat… it’s enough to drive a girl insane.

  I think about the hundreds of gossip mags drooling over the President. Imagine how much they’d give to be in my situation.

  “David,” I press insistently, trying to shake it off. “I know it’s our first day doing this and there’s so much we haven’t discussed, but we need to talk.”

  “Then talk.” He looks me up and down, his gaze piercing. “Are you here to tell me you want to back out?”

  “What? No.” I swallow. I know how much this cover-up could cost him. How much it could cost the administration. “Everything that’s happened today… it’s too much.”

  “Too much?”

  “You have Jackson and god-knows-how-many Secret Service agents trailing after me,” I explain. “You’ve given me an itinerary I’m being forced to follow. I’m supposed to obey certain etiquette rules and I’m apparently being made a whole new wardrobe.”

  He nods along passively. “You have a problem with this?”

  “Yes!” I fold my arms. “It’s not practical, sir- um, David. I have a life to lead. I’m willing to lie for this administration, if it’s for a good cause. But you can’t expect me to be okay with you controlling every aspect of my life.” I give him a small smile. “Next thing you’ll be trying to tell me where to live or how to spend my evenings.”

  David waves a hand. “I don’t need to think about that. It’s already arranged.”

  My blood runs cold. “What?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he asks. “Miss Waters, your belongings are being collected from your flat and moved into a suite in my executive residence. And I will be taking you for dinner this evening.”

  Two words: hell… and no.

  “I am not giving up my apartment,” I snap. “We never agreed to that. In fact, I didn’t agree to any of this. All I promised is that I’d help you keep your reputation.”

  “The press will be hounding your apartment for weeks,” he says. “At least here we can keep you safe.”

  “I can deal with the press.”

  “Things will be better if we’re able to keep an eye on you. For your own good.”

  I glare. “I’m not an idiot. I know what you really mean. You’re scared that I’ll run to the press and tell them the truth.”

  My accusation doesn’t seem to shake him. He simply looks thoughtful, as if considering it.

  “Living here will be for your own good, Miss Waters. I can assure you that you’ll be well taken care of.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  I stare at him hard, trying to scrutinize his thoughts. Is David the type of man that would keep me here against my will? It’s scary, but… he certainly could. He has the power and means to get away with anything. Those are the perks of being the President.

  He sighs. “Obviously we wouldn’t insist you stay against your will. This is America. You’re nothing if not free.”

  I sense hesitation. “But?”

  “But… I will warn you,” David says coolly. “I’ve had several operatives house-sitting in your apartment for you this morning, in case the press tries to get a little too sneaky. There are several death threats addressed to you that have been delivered this morning.”

  I freeze. Death threats. As in…

  “Who would want me dead?” I whisper.

  David shakes his head. “You’ll find that fame comes with a heavy price. It’s hard to say why you’ve received them, but your association with me could have something to do with it.”

  Right. Crazy President fangirls. Although most people are happy to settle for drooling over pictures of David Shepard in magazines and YouTube clips, I guess some people take their obsession a little bit out of hand.

  “These people can be dangerous,” David continues. “Although you have the Secret Service on your side, I do think it’s better if we minimize all risk. Please stay with me.”

  I bet Hailey is absolutely fuming about all this inconvenience. Having strange operatives pacing around our apartment definitely violates at least four separate clauses in her special Roommate Contract.

  I don’t want to give in to the President’s demands. With the itinerary and now me moving in, it’s all too intense.

  But… I also don’t want to wake up to a knife at my throat. Although most death threats are nonsense, the idea that anyone at all out there wants to kill me… it’s unsettling. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep properly in my bed knowing there’s someone who hates me quite that much.

  “Fine.” My words are clipped. I don’t want to let him have too much of a victory. “Then we need to talk about the itinerary you gave me-”

  We’re close now. Without realizing it, I’ve leaned across the desk closer and closer to him until there’s very little separating us.

  Damn it. It’s hard to stare. This close, it’s more obvious than ever why he’s so popular. His curled dark hair and piercing blue eye
s are what’s talked about in a never-ending series of online thirst comments, but up close he’s even more distracting. I can feel the heat coming off his skin, almost scaldingly warm. His lips look too soft to be real.

  Slowly, I become conscious of the pit of my belly tingling alarmingly. I’m all too aware of every part of my body.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. I can’t let myself go down this road. I came into this room for a reason.

  “Jackson will present you with your daily itinerary every morning. You will follow it.” His voice is commanding and unforgiving. He’s clearly not having anywhere near the kind of mental crisis I am.

  “Absolutely not,” I shoot back.

  “You are an intern here,” he replies. “Try thinking of it this way: this is your work. We’re still paying you.”

  “I think this has gone a little far beyond what’s expected of most interns,” I say dryly. “I’ll lie for you, but you can’t control my whole life. I’m not a puppet.”

  “This is non-negotiable, Miss Waters.” His face is stern. “In order for this operation to work, I need you to make your position as my fiancée believable.”

  “You can’t make me-”

  There’s a knock at the door.

  I jump backwards, as if waking up from a haze. Nervously, I shuffle back a few steps and pull us apart.

  “We will continue this conversation tonight,” David says, now suddenly not looking at me. Clearly he’s past the point of being polite. “I have some business to take care of, but following that we will discuss what needs to be discussed. Does that satisfy you?”

  “I’m not finished-”

  “Jackson.” David calls loudly and sure enough, my shadow comes running. “Clear Miss Waters’ afternoon and take her to her quarters. I believe she needs to rest.”

  Jackson touches my arm. “Come with me, ma’am.”

  If I wasn’t so embarrassed at how close we’d been only moments ago, I might fight harder. But as it is, I settle for giving David a tough glare.

  “This isn’t over,” I warn him.

  “Tonight, Miss Waters.”

  “Veronica.” If I have to use his first name, he can damn well be informal too and use mine. Maybe that’ll teach him to treat me like a person and not just a pawn he can use to get away from a national scandal.

  His eyes glint with amusement. “Veronica.”

  David

  I stare out the window of my office, up at the clear blue sky.

  I knew being president would be a busy job, but I barely get a moment to myself. And right now, I’ve got about-

  My chain of thought is interrupted by my phone. Typical, just typical.

  I check the caller ID. It’s George, my Vice President. About time.

  I pick up. “George.”

  “Mr President. Sorry it took me so long.” George’s thick, southern drawl is especially noticeable over the satellite phone.

  The Vice President is in the middle of taking a short vacation, hiking in the Rockies. He deserves the time off after the long campaign trail. And given how much the man loves hiking, maybe even more than me.

  I update George on the situation.

  “I see.” The connection isn’t great, and there’s static for long enough I begin to wonder whether I’ve lost him. “Well, it sounds like you’ve gotten yourself into a right spot of trouble.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Well, what are you going to do?”

  I laugh. That really is the million-dollar question. “For now, go along with it. Hopefully the things with the girl will blow over if we keep our heads down.”

  “If you’re lucky,” George replies. “Though you do have a fair amount of luck, Mr President.”

  He’s right, I suppose, even though I don’t feel lucky right now.

  “And the leak?” George asks. “Have you got a plan?”

  “I do,” I reply. “But it could take some time.” That’s an understatement. I’ve had people working on something to catch out the leaker, but it’s really just down to luck as to when they actually get caught.

  “You don’t have a lot,” George says. “If the leak lets this slip, then we’re both in serious trouble. You could be impeached. And it’d be worse for me. I’d have to take over from you.”

  “You joke, but that’s a scary possibility.”

  George laughs. “I’m sorry I’m not there with you, to be honest, but I know you can handle yourself. You always have been able to.”

  “Thanks, George.”

  “And Mr President, if I may,” George says. “Be careful. Look after the girl, and don’t go falling in love with her.”

  I smile slightly as he signs off and hangs up.

  His final advice echoes in my head. Don’t go falling in love with her. Falling in love with her. Love with her.

  I’m not, am I? I’m not falling in love with her.

  Sure, I think about her constantly, but that’s just lust. Not love. There are no feelings attached.

  I stare back up at the sky. No, I’m not falling in love. I’m simply obsessing over her because she’s really fucking hot, and I really need a fuck.

  And even if I did catch... feelings, it’s not like I can do anything about it. I’m the President of the United States, dammit. I have actual work I have to do. I don’t have time for dates or cute nights in together.

  No, if there’s one thing that’s clear it’s that I’m in control. And I am deciding that I don’t have feelings for Veronica.

  Veronica

  Veronica

  What is a girl supposed to wear when she’s about to negotiate with the President of the United States?

  And how is she supposed to accessorize when she’s pretending to be his fiancée in an elaborate scheme to protect his reputation and preserve his political administration?

  As it turns out, there isn’t actually much choice.

  My belongings still haven’t been dropped off at the White House yet, so I have very little to work with. To my horror, for a few terrible moments I’m certain that I’m going to be stuck inside my purple dress all evening.

  I don’t have to change clothes, of course. But a part of me needs to. Like they’re armor that can protect me from all of this.

  “It’s no use,” I complain, shooting Jackson a look of displeasure. “There’s nothing to wear here. If you would just let me go home and get my things-”

  “Ma’am,” he says, pointing to a wardrobe. “Have you tried looking in there?”

  “What is it?”

  Jackson simply gestures once more.

  Begrudgingly, I do as he says and open it. It’s certainly bare looking inside… but to my surprise, it’s not empty. Several dresses are hung neatly in rows, with a few pairs of shoes and accessories lined up underneath.

  “These can’t be for me?” I frown, thinking of the clothes fitting from earlier today. No service could be that quick, could it?

  “I believe,” Jackson says, “everything in the wardrobe was left behind by the last First Lady.”

  My eyes widen. “Really?”

  Jackson nods. “This is her old suite, after all.”

  No. No way. I’d assumed the President had put me in some regular guest suite for now, but… the First Lady’s suite? This is insane.

  The suite is far bigger than any hotel room I’ve stayed in before. The ceiling is high and ornate, with a great glass chandelier hanging from it like something from a fairytale. It feels like I shouldn’t be allowed to touch or take pictures of anything inside here, never mind sleep here.

  It’s clear that the suite is fancy, but something about knowing who it used to belong to makes it all the more special.

  “Why am I in here?” I ask, looking around in shock.

  “The First Lady gets the First Lady’s rooms.” Did Jackson get a qualification in being stoic?

  “I’m not the First Lady though.”

  “The media would disagree, ma’am. You don’t have to be married t
o the President to be the First Lady.”

  I pull up Twitter on my phone. Sure enough, there are some nasty posts on there. But also some nicer ones congratulating the President on his engagement. And Jackson is somehow right. A few news articles mention me only by name, but a lot refer to the President’s new ‘First Lady’.

  The President was right when he said that this would change my life forever. A quick Google search for my name brings up millions and millions of results. I’m not a nobody anymore, like it or not.

  I look back at the wardrobe. “These dresses… do you think I’d be able to borrow them?”

  “From my knowledge, ma’am, the previous First Lady left these dresses here on purpose. Most of them are entirely unworn.”

  I gaze at the dresses in disbelief. I’m not an expert, but I can read the labels. Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Dior… there have to be thousands upon thousands of dollars in clothes just lying around in here. Just one of these dresses could probably pay a few months of my rent.

  “I can really wear these?” I say, almost speechless with disbelief.

  “I don’t see why not.”

  I pause, looking Jackson up and down. “You’ll have to leave me to get changed.”

  “I’ll be just outside your door, ma’am.”

  As soon as Jackson leaves, I breathe a sigh of relief. He’s not a bad guy to have around… but being followed at all times is just too much. I’m a private person, and the last 24 hours have seen me stripped of that entirely.

  I grab my phone from my bag hopefully, but my heart falls. Damn it. No new messages.

  I dial up Trevor’s number as quickly as I can. The ringing starts… and continues… and continues…

  He’s still not answering.

  It’s nearly been a whole day now since the story broke. And Dad said that he’d seemed upset. He has to have seen the news. He has to know.

  Is it really over? Will I never even get the chance to tell him the truth?

  I try four more times before giving up. When there’s no reply, I try a different number instead.

  “Veronica, honey?” Dad picks up right away. “Do you need me to come and break you out of there?”